#Sloppy bandages

[kiwisandpearls]

“silence.”

[scattered-winter]

guys i think i have to face the idea that i may actually genuinely be attracted to men in pain

[slimslamflimflam]

merman caesar i added a few more details to and thought looked slightly different enough to post :3

[yuquinzel]

atsumu who goes above and beyond to impress you, his crush and classmate of four years, in all definitions of “impress.”

honestly how the fuck isn't it obvious to you by now, he might as well be walking around with “i like y/n” tattooed on his forehead.

you mention you like guys that can cook once and holy fuck atsumu who still doesn't know how to use the microwave without quite literally burning the food, who's never chopped onions before without ending up with enough cuts to bandage his whole hand— that atsumu practices for weeks and stays up till 2 am to prepare for the lunch he'll make for himself, because osamu said said no and then because you bring homemade lunch to stay and eat in class with your friends— he'll casually just plop down on the seat next to you, his friends will then very obviously willingly talk loudly about his lunch and he'll just throw in a, “yeah, made it maself, 'm a solid chef, who do ya think taught 'samu?”

okay if that didn't get your attention, no worries, what are his friends there for?

if atsumu gets lucky in a day and catches you chatting away with your friends in the hallway, then he instructs his friends to walk past you, hover in the corner, just within your earshot— “'kay, so when we pass her by, ya gotta speak ma name real loud, loud enough so she can hear it, but don't annoy her”

and so for the time you stand there, trying to hold a conversation with your friends, all your mind can really focus on is the, “atsumu was so fucking good in practice today, if we're gonna win, then it'll be all him”

and then you hear the subject of the conversation speak, “nah, we're a team, every time we win, it's all thanks ta you guys,” because you also mentioned you like modest, humble guys.

god forbid the days you're absent in class.

atsumu who's sulking all day, doesn't know what the fuck is going on in classes, he's half in and half not in every conversation, even his passes are sloppy and weak. to the point osamu and suna are concerned, well, in their own ways, “are ya constipated or something, yer missin’ your spikes and yer passes as clumsy,” osamu says off-handedly.

“i heard y/n didn't come today, i think her friends said she's sick.” suna chips in, and atsumu shrinks in his spot like a grumpy cat.

“i already know that, wouldn't have come today if i knew she wasn't comin’.”

“you'd miss practice then.”

“don't care, don't talk to me, don't wanna do anything, what's the point.”

“down fucking bad,” suna muses, and atsumu glares at him.

atsumu's day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable. why did you get sick? how could you get sick? now he's worried and half of himself and his passes are shit and god, he wants to see you. he feels like he could die.

then when you finally show up the next day after what felt like eternity to atsumu, you find on your desk a pile of snacks with a little note— banana milk, everyone knows it's your favourite, the bar of chocolate they only sell down the convenience store near the school, the glazed donuts that you're always eating in class, and a lot of bubblegums that only one person in class knows you like— atsumu's handwriting is rushed and barely comprehensive but you know it by heart because he doesn't know you saw him slip the note you found in your locker this morning, and countless other mornings—

“i hope you smile because of this”

atsumu as a secret admirer is... not so secret because he's still unaware that you see him every morning, and let him giggle to himself as he slips the notes and the strips of bubblegums in your locker— you don't even like that flavor.

but he gave them, so you think they might just be your favourite.

then again, maybe atsumu doesn't want to be a secret admirer.

atsumu has a crush on you and you know that— he's very obvious. but he's also very dense and doesn't realise that everyone besides him can see you like him too. he doesn't know the only reason you bring homemade lunch is because he had started to eat lunch in class with his friends. you stand in the hallways with your friends pretending to talk so that when atsumu's walking past you, his friends will practically yell his name and you'll see him blushing shyly. he still doesn't know you come to his every match, cheering for him and scream with joy at every one of his scores.

atsumu makes it obvious he has a crush on you but is stupidly dense that you reciprocate all the same :'))))

© yuquinzel 2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

POSTING BECAUSE WHY TF NOT HUH HUHHHHHHHHH

@kyoghurts hi bbg

[iceunhie]

latibule.

premise. in which all too many intrusions come in the form of one particular shadow guard. (or, moze always looks to you to patch him up. inexplicably, you let him do so anyway.)

warnings: gn!reader, pining moze but he's too edgy to know, one kimi ni todoke inspired (?) scene, treating injuries, banter (obviously), probably ooc, feixiao cameo, based off of the new quest, kinda mid writing

notes: not proofread i have no excuse i just like him okay???? inspired by @luvether's mozeqiu/reader fic (i love ur works ☹️) ty @lowkeyren for the chinese help!

“You're here again, Moze.”

In the wee hours between 1AM to 3AM, it has become a daily occurence for you to tend to Moze's injuries.

He nods. “I'm here.”

Despite having a perfectly (super) capable healer who attends to even the Lady General personally at her behest, you do not know why Moze always ends up at your window of all things during the ungodly hours of the moon's turn, complete with stupid, easily treatable cuts all across his body.

As General Feixiao's Representative Proxy, such work is not your forte—and rarely do you ever employ your few practiced arts in healing; the result often clumsy and sloppy, just enough to treat the few cuts Moze sports.

Still, it has since become routine to patch Moze up, and despite your insistence that he take care of himself more, the ashy haired man never listens, instead ending up at your home. You wonder if he does this on purpose.

Next time, you think, you're never going to open the windowsill for him again.

You open the windowsill further to let him in. Hypocrite, your mind echoes unhelpfully. Great, you must be losing your mind.

“Got into trouble again, hm?”

His expression tells you that whoever he fought wasn't all that—show-off—internally, you roll your eyes. “...Will you patch me up?”

No, your mind tells you, the words are at the tip of your tongue; you're always sneaking in here at night, and making me go through all this trouble.

(Your actions betray a different tune altogether.)

You don't know when Moze started to make you his personal healer despite Jiaoqiu in the vicinity; a moment of worry led to one thing, and now here you are, Moze's budget Jiaoqiu at home. The thought makes you laugh to yourself. Compared to the foxian, your skills could be described as subpar at best.

(Complaining to your own Lady General was no use. Incredulously, Feixiao believed that it was because—

“You're special.” Feixiao says with a grin. “Is it not obvious that it is because he wishes to see you?”

“What?” Looking at her, your voice is a tired drawl of resignation. “....My Lady, it seems your recent exposure to the Luofu's romance novels have dulled your judgement. Shall I call for Jiaoqiu?”

“Wha- Hey, don't call me senile!” Your Lady General deadpans, “Anyway, I'm telling you, Moze likes you!”)

“Why is it always me?” you grumble under your breath, though it doesn't escape Moze's ears.

It's good that you don't expect an answer; if Moze had to be honest, he doesn't know why he always goes to you either.

“Why wouldn't it be you?” Moze says, not missing a beat.

Your cheeks warm, the heat crawling up your neck from his audacious words. Jeez, he really doesn't know his effect on people, did he?

“...Not to mention, Jiaoqiu is asleep.”

Never mind. “Know the shame.”

“I don't wish to disturb Jiaoqiu as well.”

“Oh, so you see it fit to bother me but don't bother with Jiao-gege?”

“You'll live.” Moze blinks. Frowns. “Wait, did you just call him... gege?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yes, what about it?”

“Since when were you two so close?”

“Mm, since a certain guard stops by my home at twilight hour?”

“....”

Sighing, your hands are nimble against the bandages, looping the white cloth in your palm and dabbing at the corners of Moze's face, gentle. Up close, his face is all sharp edges and harsh lines. Whether he notices how you gulp when you approach closer, swiping the cloth along his lower lip, he holds his tongue, for fear of disturbing whatever it was, permeating between the two of you like a thick haze, afraid of destroying the peaceful silence.

He watches, instead, as you scrub away the little bit of blood on his cheek.

You're talking; something about him being too reckless, taking care of himself more, yet he finds that he can't catch a word of what you're saying, focusing only on one thing.

Your hands are warm.

Heat creeps up to his neck like coiling vines, twisting his stomach, all because of you. Moze's heart thrums, breath stolen away—you're so close, it's unbearable—and he fights to keep himself even remotely neutral. All because of you.

“Moze?”

What are you doing to him? Why does he always come back to you? Is he sick?

“You're burning up.” You press your hand against his neck; and funnily enough, the thought of leaning into your touch crosses Moze's mind—it's maddening how much he wants to do so.

Blinking once, Moze looks to find you pulling away, and before he can think of it, his fingers wrap around your wrist in an iron grip, carefully maintained distance discarded.

“...?”

“Ah, wait, it's fine— Just—” don't pull away.

What?

Moze coughs. “Just continue.”

The night's breeze flows throughout your home; the chuang kou is wide open, with Moze looking less like General Feixiao's most trusted aide and more akin to an obedient dog. It's humiliation, Moze thinks—but when it was you, his dignity could be in tatters for all he cares.

Your eyes soften, just a bit, “If you say so.”

Inexplicably, relief assaults Moze's senses like a balm to his soul. Because the idea of being perceived, heard—by you—affects him in a dizzying, confounding way, and he knows not how to cure such an ailment whose only cure is your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, it's why he can never stop returning to you. Let you think him a fool, an idiot—so as long as he ends up at your window, by your side, it's a small price to pay.

“Okay.” he affirms, loosening his grip, (never you, though) finally letting you finish patching him up as you plaster what remains of the white bandages upon his face.

Noticeably, he doesn't let go of your hand.

“Okay.” you echo, and finally, you're finished with your work. The sight of Moze all bandaged up perfectly and finally getting to sleep makes you happier than you should be, the prospect of sleep way too enticing.

“There, all done. Take care of yourself better next time, 'kay?”

He hums, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“You sure you will?”

“Yes.” Moze looks at you, and he looks at you like it would be a sin of the greatest kind to take his eyes of off you; holding your presence in his irises, emulating you deeply onto his pupils, his tendons and his limbs. “I will.”

(How could he ever not listen to you?)

You release him, much to Moze's reluctance—opening the closed chuang kou. The night breeze welcomes Moze, kissing his skin, with the colors of the rising sun beginning to rise, vibrancy in the darkness of the inky night.

“...Moze?” you call, in the corner of your eye, seeing him already putting a foot on the rooftop.

“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....” you mumble, glad that your back is turned from him, lest he sees the heat dusting your cheeks. You know Moze has probably left, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Well, you'll bring it up another time, then. Something tells you he'll listen, this time.

This time, you don't ignore the flutter of the butterflies in your stomach.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....”

In the darkened corner of shadow, a figure slumps disgracefully with a loud thud. Using a hand to grip the side of the wall, nothing can compare to the burning heat crawling up Moze's skin, positively flushed.

Moze puts a hand to his face, slumping further to a near kneel.

It's warm—just like the ghostly feeling of your hands upon his skin minutes prior.

Maybe he'll take you up on your offer.)

a/n: sorry for the long sporadic activity :,D this is what a chuang kou looks like btw

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.

[ellecdc]

⬜️idea!🟩

poly marauders. reader sees James fall off of his broom during a game. he gets injured, but makes it out fine. it affects reader more than she wishes to admit, but hides her concern/fear. maybe her hurt turns into anger when she hears him talk highly about his upcoming game, snaps at him to leave the team (maybe Sirius and Remus ganging up on her too?) maybe after a nightmare she seeks him out, apologizing and just wanting to ensure he’s all alright?

maybe a fic on this, if you wish to!

hi sweets! thanks for this idea - I hope I did it justice!

poly!marauders x fem!reader who hates seeing her boys get hurt - 2.7k words

CW: James gets injured [he's fine tho], brief mention of Sirius' crappy childhood, angst [with a happy ending, obviously], poor communication [but ends in good communication]

Every step you took seemed to lodge your heart further and further up your throat; you were nearly certain that one wrong move would have it leaping right out of your mouth as you made your way to the infirmary.

You had a one track mind as you pushed your way through various students and staff in the halls; get to James. Get to James. Get to James.

You had been sitting with your friends from Ravenclaw during the game instead of with Remus and Lily which was obviously problem number one.

Problem number two had to be this stupid sodding game - quidditch. Whoever invented it clearly wished death on many generations to come.

The third problem - and arguably your biggest problem - had been watching James hurdle from nearly thirty feet in the air before hitting the ground with a bone crushing thud. 

You were certain you were only three steps away from actually losing your heart (and your dinner) as you pushed your way into the infirmary to see two familiar silhouettes standing over a hospital bed.

Whatever relief the sight of two of your boys had on you quickly melted into something uneasy when Sirius let out a bark of laughter. 

“Hope he gets suspended for at least one game.” You heard James chuckle, which caused Remus to snort.

“Please, Madame Hootch looked like she was ready to bar him from the pitch all together.” 

“Good; one less beater we have to worry about then.” Sirius added before you stepped around the curtain to look at the patient and alert them all to your presence.

Save the bandage currently wrapped around James’ head and the fact that his left arm was situated in a sling, he looked like he was being served a cheeky breakfast in bed rather than emergency medical care.

“Hey sweetheart! Did you enjoy the game?” He called to you with a cartoonish smile on his face. 

You found that you had no response to that. 

Did you enjoy the game? You had been enjoying the game, until…oh…you don’t know, had to watch your sodding boyfriend fall out of the godsdamn sky!? 

You took a moment to survey your surroundings. You currently had:

One boyfriend situated in a hospital bed with an injury to his head and clearly something wrong with the left side of his body

There was an empty bottle of pain potion and what looked to be a vial of skele-gro 

Your long haired boyfriend was still decked in his quidditch kit as he took a casual and sloppy seat in the chair beside James’ bed

And Remus roughly patted James’ knee as he moved to stand on the other side of him, leaving you standing at the end of the bed on your own as all three of your boyfriends waited for you to respond. 

“No.”

James’ brows furrowed momentarily as he cocked his head to the side as if perhaps your answer would make more sense from a 45 degree angle. 

Remus merely offered you a sympathetic smile. 

“No?” James parroted.

“No.” You insisted, growing more and more agitated at the nonchalance the boys were showing the current circumstances. 

“Not enough action for you, dollface?” Sirius teased.

That apparently had been your last straw.

“Oh fuck off, Sirius.” You hissed, causing the air to be sucked out of your quasi curtain-walled room. 

“Hey, easy Y/N…” Remus started, but it was too late.

“What the fuck were you doing out there?” You asked James pointedly, throwing your arm behind you as you gestured in the direction of the quidditch pitch.

“Erm…I was playing quidditch?” 

“That was a trick question, babe.” Sirius added rather unhelpfully; smirking at Remus and James.

“This isn’t sodding funny Sirius; he could’ve died!”

“But he didn’t.” Sirius offered with a tone harsher than you were used to hearing from him, though you figured perhaps you deserved it. “As you can clearly see, he’s fine.”

“He’s not fine.” You fumed, gesturing to his current state. “He could have brain damage, he could have broken his neck, he could have-”

“But I didn’t, sweetheart. Listen, I know-”

“No!” You cut James off. “I don’t think you do know. Because you’re sitting here laughing like it’s nothing!” 

“Because it is nothing, dovey. Look, I know you’re upset but I think all you needed was to come and see that he was fine, yeah?” Remus tried placatingly, holding his hands up at you as if he were trying to quell a feral cat. 

That just made you feel even more angry.

“No, what I need is for him to quit the team.” 

James choked on air as Sirius started laughing incredulously. 

“Okay, doll; clearly you’re not feeling very well right now. James ‘Quidditch’ Potter, Gryffindor team captain, is not quitting the team.” 

“I don’t understand how you can so calmly climb atop a wooden stick and ascend 30-50 feet into the air just to fall like that.” You argued.

“Well, you see, I actually wasn’t supposed to fall. That was sort of the problem.” James started, causing Remus to snicker. 

“Stop laughing.” You shouted; horrified when your voice cracked and your sinuses filled painfully. 

Unfortunately for you, all three boys caught it.

“Dove…”

“Don’t dove me, Remus. I’m serious - don’t you fucking dare.” You cut yourself off as Sirius opened his mouth.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You pleaded with James.

James very rarely got angry or frustrated with you; he was one of the most easy going people you had ever met in your life and he was always the first to have considered every person’s feelings and sides before participating in discourse. 

But you seemed to have found something he was not willing to negotiate about. 

“What exactly is it that am I doing to you, Y/N? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one who’s hurt.”

“James…” Remus started, but much like you had, James cut him off.

“No! I don’t see her getting all worked up about Sirius playing quidditch!”

“Because people in his position are the one’s trying to knock you out of the fucking air!” You argued.

“That is the point of quidditch!” He bellowed back at you.

“Okay, enough.” Sirius barked. “James, relax, it’s alright. She’s just upset.”

You laughed humourlessly as you looked to the sky for patience.

It didn’t come.

“I’m not just ‘upset’. I have spent countless holidays waiting,” You started severely, still looking towards the ceiling as you tried to ward off your tears. “Wondering what kind of state you might be in, how you were being treated. Wondering if-” You choked on a sob and shut your eyes harshly as the first wave of tears fell. “If you’d even come back at all, Sirius.” You finally finished with a laugh that turned into a sob as you finally made eye contact with him.

“Every winter.” You continued. “Every Easter break. And every summer, which were always the hardest because they were the longest and there was no way for me to know. 

“And every month I sit and wait and watch and worry and wonder and hope and fear.” You continued, turning your gaze to Remus. “And I will never stop waiting and watching and worrying and wondering and hoping and fearing but-”

Finally, you turned your gaze back towards James. “But to do this willingly, to… I don’t know, to put yourself in harm's way for what? For sport, for fun, for a goof? I…I don’t understand.” 

James let out a sad and tired sigh as he looked at you pleadingly. “Look, Y/N, I’m sorry I upset you; I really am.”

“No, no - don’t apologise just because I’m crying.” You argued as you wiped angrily at your face. 

“I think it makes sense to be upset, dove. You’re worried; that’s more than fair.” Remus offered; ever the voice of reason.

But the more he discussed your feelings and concerns and not the actual problem - which in your opinion was currently your third boyfriend holed up in a hospital bed - you could feel your temper rising again. 

“I can’t do this. I need to go.” You announced before turning on your heel.

“Y/N, wait.” You could hear Sirius start, but you carried on and let the door to the hospital wing shut behind you.

You felt silly.

You were still upset, but you felt silly all the same. 

You aren’t sure where you got off demanding James quit the team, but you do wish he would take his health and safety a little more seriously, at least for your sake.

But you hadn’t said that to him.

And you shouldn’t have brought up Sirius’ trauma to push your point across when you had been the one walking into their conversation with an air of hostility about you.

And Remus, poor Remus.

You had no right to bring up his affliction like that; you knew he struggled letting people in for that very reason.

Gods, you were awful. 

But you were still upset.

You were awful and upset, which was why you were currently sitting behind the curtains of your four poster bed simply tossing and turning without any hope of ever falling asleep. 

Not whilst angry, and not alone. 

Before you had much time to think about it, you felt a familiar…scurrying on the side of your bed.

“What in Godric’s fucking name?” You hissed as you pulled your blankets back in a panic to expose a yellow rat looking rather guilty (or, as guilty as a rat could manage to look) with a folded piece of paper in its mouth. 

You stared at the rat disbelievingly as it slowly dropped the note beside you before sitting down and looking at you expectantly. 

“What?” You asked expressionlessly. 

The rat - being a rat - simply looked back down at the note before returning its gaze to you.

“You need me to read that?”

The rat seemed to nod yes.

“Now?” You deadpanned.

Yes.

“Did they pay you for your efforts?”

Yes. 

“Tell them to pay you double.” You sighed as you unfolded the note. 

I’m sorry, sweet girl.

I shouldn’t have snapped at you, especially when all you were trying to do was care for me.

Please come see me? 

I’m sorry. 

You could almost hear the desperation in James’ words as you traced your fingers over the xx’s he had signed on the bottom. 

You looked down to see the rat was still sitting there.

“For fucks- you’re job is done, Peter. Tell them to pay up.” You muttered in faux contempt as you felt any residual ire melt from your body. 

The rat seemed to give you a little pat on the knee with his tiny hand before he scurried off back down the stairs of the girls dormitory. 

After washing your face to try to hide any remaining evidence of tears being shed, you stalked towards the boys’ dormitory with your own metaphorical tail between your legs before you paused in front of their door to knock.

Your fist had hardly made contact with the wood before the door was flying open to expose a rather bedraggled looking James.

“Angel.” He breathed out, seemingly simultaneously relieved that you were here and worried about what the next words coming from your mouth would be. 

“Jamie.” You sighed, hating the fact that you had just spent time and effort to hide any evidence of previous emotions only for your voice to crack and your eyes to fill with tears immediately.

Thankfully, it seemed James was prepared.

“I’m so sorry.” He breathed out; words muffled from where his lips were pressed into the crown of your head as he pulled you tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry; I should never have shouted at you.”

“I was being unreasonable.” You argued, causing James to make a pleading sound in the back of his throat.

“You weren’t being unreasonable. You were upset and I brushed you off.”

“Can we both be sorry?” You asked as he rubbed his hands up and down your back.

“Only if you can tell me what you did that was so wrong.”

“I should never have asked you to quit.” You whispered; embarrassment flooding you at the mere memory of your demand. 

James let out a sigh as he backed up enough to see your face, but not far enough to let you out of his hold. 

“I…I think I can understand why, though. I don’t think you would have jumped to that if I had taken my injuries more seriously.”

You let out a noncommittal sound as you pushed your face back into his chest. “I’m still sorry.”

“I would, you know.” He said suddenly.

“Would what?”

“Quit.”

You pulled your head back rather suddenly at that causing a momentary bout of dizziness that even James seemed to notice as he helped you right yourself. 

“James ‘Quidditch’ Potter would quit quidditch?” You asked disbelievingly. 

“Try saying that five times fast.” Remus chuckled quietly, causing you to turn to find him sitting on the edge of Sirius’ bed with his hand resting atop a rather pitiful looking Padfoot. 

“Pads…” You whispered, causing Sirius’ dog form to step off the bed and make his way over to you, nudging your hand with his wet nose. “I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you; you didn’t deserve that.” 

Seemingly appeased that you weren’t about to lash out at him again, your (arguably most) sensitive boyfriend spun back into his human form and stood rather bashfully in front of you. “I completely brushed you off; I would have told me to fuck off too.” He offered as he took one of your hands in his and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry I took all of my anxieties and concerns out on you. None of you deserved it and it’s not your responsibility.” You declared, pointedly looking towards your last boyfriend who you felt arguably most guilty for having accosted earlier. 

“I appreciate your apology, dove, but I disagree with part of it.” Remus said as he stood and made his way over to your three. “Your anxieties and concerns are our responsibility; they became our responsibility the second we started dating.”

“And we right fumbled that.” James let out with a breath, causing Sirius to smirk and pinch his good arm. 

“I got upset when I didn’t think any of you were taking it seriously, and then got defensive when it felt like you were being flippant with me. I wish I had handled it differently.” You explained, leaning into Remus’ side as he pulled you under his arm. 

“I’d say we all could have handled it differently.” Remus decided as the rest of you nodded. 

“Next time?” Sirius asked then.

Remus scoffed. “Haven’t you heard, Pads? There won’t be a next time; James is quitting the team.”

James seemed to baulk at that fact before he turned to look at you, face falling forcefully neutral as he took a deep breath.

“Right… yes. If…if that’s what you want.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at your sweetest boy before jostling his shoulder that had been in a sling. 

“Where’d your bandages go?”

He turned slightly bashful before looking towards Remus. 

“Erm, well, I had wanted to come find you immediately afterwards, but we thought it might be better to wait until I didn’t look so…hospitalised.” 

“What Prongs is trying to say,” Sirius teased as he looked at James with no shortage of love. “Is that the pain potion and skele-gro did their jobs and he’s back in tip top shape for his girl.” 

You let out a sigh of faux exhaustion and rolled your eyes. “Well then I suppose I could allow you to continue playing if you promise to be extra careful going forward, and also to cuddle me the whole night after every game?” 

“Deal.” He agreed quickly before enveloping you in a hug so big that it picked you up off your feet.

“Oh yeah.” Remus laughed. “He’s right back in tip top shape indeed.”

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) - A Maze Runner Story

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 12,051 Warnings: death, bloody wounds, fighting, mental and physical torture, guns, suicidal thoughts and actions Spoilers: no spoilers because the books and films came out ages ago

After helping Newt recover from his ankle injury, Y/N and Newt formed an unbreakable bond that always had them looking out for each other. When they escaped the Maze, then navigated the Scorch, they always had each other’s back. It isn’t until Y/N is captured alongside Minho by WCKD and Newt contracts the Flare that he realises how he truly feels about Y/N.

Problem is, will he rescue her in time to tell her?

Note: I'm back in my dystopian future era thanks to the new Hunger Games film so of course I had to write for my original YA crush. This piece is based on the movie series mainly. Don't get mad at me, I love the books more, but I can appreciate the storylines that came out of the path they took with the films. And if there is one thing the TMR fandom can agree on, it is that the film cast was the best cast ever for the series. So enjoy - not sorry that it's horrendously long, Newt deserves it xx

‘Medjack! Medjack, now!’

Y/N recognised it was Minho was calling for help. Clint and Jeff ran out of the med hut to see what all the commotion was. It wasn’t long before they were hurrying back inside, carrying Newt of all people between them, Minho and Alby in tow.

‘Clear the table,’ Clint ordered, and Y/N quickly followed through, practically throwing off containers, bowls and medical instruments to get Newt on there as quick as possible. Once Newt was up, Y/N finally noticed the unnatural twist in his ankle and it almost sent Frypan’s sloppy sweet potato soup right back up. 

She was still pretty new to her job as a Medjack, being the greenie and all. She was the only girl in the Glade of the current twelve residents, so she was intimidated at first as to what role she could play in the place. Medjack seemed the most suitable, and she seemed to have a knack for it, having stitched up some eyebrows and cleaned up knee scrapes with ease and precision. 

But even though she’d seen blood, dealt with displaced bones and joints, she still got queasy doing her job. It didn’t help that Newt was hissing through clenched teeth from the intense pain, an occasional sob passing through.

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Minho said. ‘We split up for only five minutes. I thought we could cover more ground that way. And we’ve run that part of the Maze like a hundred times already. I thought we’d be fine…’

Clint held Newt down as Jeff and Y/N took a look at Newt’s ankle. Jeff only pressed gently with his fingers around the bone, but Newt’s responding howls confirmed the severity of the injury.

‘The bone is completely shattered,’ Jeff said grimly. ‘We’re going to need to reset his foot first though. Y/N?’

‘On it.’ She rushed to a shelf that held bandages, then to a cupboard with flat boards about shin length. She grabbed two of those before heading back to the table.

‘You’re going to have to hold him down,’ Y/N directed at Alby and Minho, gesturing to follow Clint’s efforts. Then she turned to Newt, whose face was slicked with tears and sweat as he continued to writhe in pain. ‘Newt. Newt, can you open your eyes for me? I need you to focus on me.’

To his credit, Newt opened his eyes and he didn’t look away from her. 

‘Good. Good, Newt,’ she said. ‘Now, we have to realign your foot. It’s going to hurt a lot. We’ll go on three, okay?’

In the short time Y/N had known Newt – which arguably was no time at all, as he ran every day and she was in the Medjack hut all day. They didn’t interact unless he or another runner got hurt, or at dinner if only to say hello. Even so, she had come to know he liked it plain and straight, no bullshit. So, despite his pain, he took two deep, calming breaths and gave her a nod to say he was ready for what they had to do.

Y/N nodded back, then looked to the others, who had their hands braced on all Newt’s limbs. ‘Ready?’ she asked, to which they nodded in reply. Y/N gently held Newt’s ankle, eliciting a quiet whimper from the boy. ‘Okay, on three. One, two…’ She cut herself off as she slammed her hands either side the ankle bone, causing a loud cracking sound as the ankle snapped back into place. 

Newt’s wail of pain must’ve been heard from across the whole Glade it was so loud. He writhed and pulled to sit up, but the boys held him down as Y/N and Jeff bandaged the two splints either side of Newt’s ankle. Jeff then dabbed a small dose of chloroform in a cloth and pressed it to Newt’s nose. Soon enough, the boy was unconscious, finally pain-free.

‘You guys go have dinner,’ Y/N said to Clint and Jeff a little while later as they were cleaning up the hut. Alby and Minho had left soon after Newt fell asleep, but it was almost dinner time now. ‘I’ll stay with Newt tonight.’

‘You sure?’ Clint asked. ‘We can do shifts if you’d prefer.’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I insist. You guys rest up. I can do this. Consider this my final test to becoming a fully-fledged Medjack.’

Jeff chuckled. ‘You have much more to learn, Greenie, but suit yourself.’

‘We’ll bring you back some food, Y/N,’ Clint said as he and Jeff left the hut, leaving Y/N to idly clean up.

Newt woke up from a dull throbbing in his ankle, which turned into a harsh pain, causing him to sit up in alarm. 

‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ a voice gently said as equally gentle hands pushed him back down.

‘My ankle,’ he said, voice hoarse and dry. ‘It hurts…’

The face of the voice finally came into view: it was the Greenie. Y/N offered him a small smile as he finally recognised her. In one hand, she held a needle with clear serum. Her other she offered to his leg. ‘May I? It’ll help, I promise.’

He hesitated for a moment, but the intense pain in his ankle broke his composure as he eagerly nodded. The painkiller worked immediately, and Newt sighed with relief as the throbbing eased significantly.

’There,’ Y/N said, wiping the needle. ’That should help for a bit. Sadly, we don’t have much left for me to give you more than once a day, but I’m hoping you won’t need it beyond the end of the month.’

Confusion clouded Newt’s mind as he tried to process her words. ‘What… What happened?’ But he answered his own question as images of the Maze flashed through his mind, and he remembered it all. How he bid farewell to Minho. How he climbed as high as he could along the Maze walls. How easy it was to let go. 

Then the pain fully encompassed him, and then it was just a blur. How Minho found him. How Clint and Jeff laid him on the table he realised he was still on. How angry and embarrassed he felt having his friends see him broken and miserable. 

Newt managed to pull himself into a sitting position, propping a pillow behind him to cushion the hut wall. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked glumly, eyes unable to lift from his injury.

He couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries. He was too tired, and, frankly, saw no point in keeping up appearances anymore. 

To her credit, Y/N seemed to pick up on his mood, saying, ‘It will heal to a point you’ll be able to walk again. But it won’t ever heal properly.’

‘You mean I’ll have a limp?’

‘Potentially.’

’So I can’t be a Runner anymore?’ Y/N didn’t reply, finally drawing Newt’s attention away from the source of his pain and to her. 

Newt had only interacted with Y/N on a few occasions. Mainly at mealtimes or the odd occasion he passed her by on the way back from a run, only talking as much as greeting and farewelling one another. As the only girl so far, of course he found her intriguing, but he never had time nor a reason to get to know her.

And while he’d come to think of her as the quiet and gentle Medjack in comparison to Clint and Jeff, he didn’t see an ounce of pity on her face as she looked at him. Only quiet contemplation, as if there could be any other answer but no to his question.

‘I guess that’s up to you and Alby,’ she finally said. ‘I mean, I know what I should say is no. I’m sure Clint and Jeff will say no. But it’ll more so come down to if you want to go back in or not.’ Her eyes flickered to his ankle, sadness glazing her eyes briefly before returning to him. ‘But I think I can take a guess as to what your answer will be.’

Newt’s gut twisted with guilt and shame that she’d figured it out, and his face flushed with embarrassment and anger. ‘So, you going to tell everyone?’ he asked, words thick  with hopelessness. ‘I mean, that’s your job, right? Diagnose me, then tell Alby, then the whole glade how pathetic I am?’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I think you give me too much credit. I’m not an actual doctor, you know,’ she said, coming to stand beside him. She inspected his ankle for a moment, then turned her gaze to him, and it shocked him to see such intensity in her eyes. It was as if suddenly he was the most interesting person in the world.

‘I can say it was a running accident,’ she finally concluded. ‘You can tell your truth when you’re ready. It’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it right now. That includes me.’

He stared, stunned, as she packed up the last of her things by a spare medical cot at the other end of the hut. It wasn’t until she let out a loud yawn that Newt noticed it was dark outside. The silence of the Glade told him everyone else had gone to bed so it was late. Or early, he couldn’t really tell.

Y/N fluffed a sad excuse of a pillow and put it on the cot. ‘Now that I know you’re alive, are you going to be okay if I get a few minutes shut eye? I can stay up if you’d like.’

Now that the initial shock and embarrassment of the day’s events had subsided, Newt realised how exhausted he was still. ‘No, that’s okay,’ he said. ‘I think I should rest a bit more anyway.’

Y/N nodded and swung her legs up to lie down fully. Newt went to slide himself and his pillow back down to do the same when Y/N spoke again.

‘And Newt?’ she said, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

‘Yeah?’ he called back.

She was silent for so long Newt thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she spoke. ‘For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic. For wanting it all to end, that is. I actually think what you did was really brave. You might be scared and maybe out of hope, but at least you did something about it. The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

Newt’s breath caught in his chest as it swelled with a mix of emotions. Brave? What he did was the act of a coward. Tears streamed silently down his face, both from a deep shame, but also a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Newt had lost all hope after a year of searching for a way out and finding nothing. But she didn’t know that, and neither will the next Greenie, or the Greenie after that. Even some of the boys already in the Glade didn’t know that. That’s why they waited every day for the runners – for him – to come back with news, with a shred of hope that they’d get out of there soon. 

Newt twisted himself so he could see Y/N, who was rolled away from him, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Even if he thought it would all be hopeless in the end, some truly believed they would get out of here.

And maybe that was something worth fighting for.

~

Two years on and Newt and Y/N had managed to forge something akin to a friendship. 

Y/N had kept her word and said Newt had had a running accident, and he’d agreed with her for the sake of his worried friends. Y/N had also been right about his ankle; it healed to point where he could walk and do a decent jog with a limp. But he would never run again. 

He was transferred to work as a Track-Hoe in the gardens with Zart. But it wasn’t all bad. As more boys arrived – never any girls much to their confusion – Newt developed a knack for leading others, for diffusing hard situations, and for wrangling the boys into line. Because of that, he was promoted to Alby’s second-in-command, which gave him more meaningful work to do than just the gardens – stuff that might actually get him and the other Gladers out of the bloody Maze. 

It also meant he had more time to talk to Y/N. He would make sure to drop by once a day (and not just at mealtimes) to check in on her. For a time, he convinced himself he did that because it was his job as second-in-command to keep up group morale, and he would visit everyone in the Glade. Eventually, however, he realised it was because he genuinely enjoyed her company.

Since that night, Y/N had come out of her shell more. Still a little shy and apprehensive at times, but she would openly joke and play along with the boys’ antics. She was more confident in her work as a Medjack too, not afraid to boss Clint and Jeff around if she needed something from them.

Newt’s visits became longer, as they talked about any and all things. Aside from Alby and Minho, Newt considered Y/N one of his closest friends. And she must’ve felt the same – or at least in a similar fashion – as she entertained his thoughts about life beyond the Maze, and the rants he would go on thanks to whichever stupid shank put the fertiliser in the wrong place.

It was a friendship built on mutual respect and genuine care for one another, something that helped Newt convince Y/N to come with him and the others when they finally decided to leave the Maze. But he couldn’t help but feel a deep dread and guilt as he waited behind Thomas, knowing that Grievers were right around the corner.

While the others caught up, Newt turned to Y/N – who’d been helping him through the Maze with his limp – and offered her a spare spear he’d been carrying.

Her eyes widened at his offering. ‘I can’t take that. I can’t fight.’

‘Well, you can’t just go in there without something to protect yourself,’ he said, this time forcibly handing the spear over. Y/N clutched the spear awkwardly, and Newt saw the uncertainty in her eyes, in her trembling hands.

Newt felt bad for making her hold such a violent weapon. All her hands had ever done were help people, save them at times. Now he was asking her to kill. It was for the greater good they both knew, but to kill, nonetheless.

Newt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and locked eyes with her. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘you stay with me the whole time, do you understand? I promise you won’t have to use that unless absolute necessary.’

Y/N bit her lip to stop it trembling too, but she nodded, steeling herself in preparation for the fight ahead. Newt reciprocated the action and gave her shoulder a final squeeze before turning to face Thomas as he explained the plan.

They fought the Grievers, taking down a few while some of them took down Gladers. The Gladers were backed against the door that Teresa and Chuck were trying to open with a code. Minho shouted numbers at them as he, Newt, and the others fended off one last Griever.

Before he could finish, Minho was caught by a Griever, and Clint ran out to save him. But the Griever’s tail caught him, sending him over the edge of the walkway they fought on with one flick.

‘Clint!’

Before Newt could stop her, Y/N rushed out from behind him, spear drawn back and flying at the Griever in seconds. Not being a fighter to begin with, let alone a good one, the spear bounced off its metal leg without much effect. It did, however, alert the Griever to her presence, turning all its attention to her. Minho leapt to his feet, finally free, and ran back to the group. ‘Y/N!’ he cried as he ran. ‘Run!’

Y/N seemed to finally realise her situation, looking up at the Griever frozen with fear. The horrible creature raised its claw to end her, but Newt moved faster. 

He ran as fast as he could, limp be damned, past Y/N and threw his spear at the Griever’s head. It landed true, puncturing one of the creature’s bulbous eyes, drawing a painful screech from it. Newt didn’t wait to see what it would do next, as he grabbed one of Y/N’s arms and Minho grabbed the other and ran back to the group, practically throwing her behind the front line and against the door. 

Teresa finally got the door open and the Gladers tumbled in, Thomas throwing one last spear down the Griever’s throat as the doors closed. 

Lights flickered on to show they were in some empty room with a door on the wall behind them leading to a corridor.

Thomas looked at the group, taking heavy breaths. ‘Everyone okay?’

‘What’s left of us, that is,’ Winston said, his tone sad and regretful. 

As Newt eyed the group, he noted how many they’d lost, how little their group seemed all of a sudden. 

Minho stepped ahead with Thomas, pointing towards the door. ‘Well? It’s not going to open itself.’

As Minho and Thomas led the group to the exit, Newt turned to Y/N, whose eyes had a distant look glazed over them. ‘What were you thinking?’ he asked, bringing her attention to him. ‘I told you to stay behind me. You could’ve been killed.’

‘I-I know. I’m sorry,’ she stuttered out, tears teetering in her E/C eyes. ‘I just… Clint… It all happened so fast, and I was just kind of moving before I knew what I was doing.’ She looked down at her hands then, and Newt noticed a slight tremble to them. ‘I thought I could help, but I was too slow. And I put you guys in danger too. I’m just… I’m sorry.’

Newt’s guilt came back full force then. He placed a gentle hand over her trembling one, grasping her fingers to stop their shaking. When she looked up at him confused, he just said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into thinking you had to fight. You won’t ever hold a weapon like that again. I promise.’

Y/N opened her mouth to object no doubt, but Newt cut her off. ‘But you have to promise me something back. Promise me that you’ll let us protect you. You can help by keeping us alive, just like you always have. But you’ve got to listen to me, you got it?’

He used his authoritative voice this time, and it seemed to work as Y/N calmed down, her unshed tears now gone.

‘Okay,’ she said, quiet but strong. ‘I promise.’

Newt nodded. ‘Good that.’ He turned to see the others leaving through the door then turned back to Y/N. ’Do you think we’d be lucky enough not to face anything else beyond those doors.’

‘I think we should consider ourselves lucky for getting this far.’ To her credit, Y/N managed a small smile as she looked up at him. ‘But why should our luck run out now?’

There it was again; the glimmer of hope Newt had felt from her since the night he injured his ankle. Newt couldn’t deny that they’d made it this far – by design or by luck, they’d made it. 

And who was he to deny that things might be on the look up for them now?

Together, Y/N and Newt followed the rest of the Gladers to meet their makers.

~

‘I never thought I’d say this… but I miss the Glade.’

The group around the fire grew silent at the implication Frypan’s words had, the memories they conjured up. Y/N couldn’t help but agree as she looked into the dark sky above her, peaking from behind the crumbling pillars they took refuge under. 

The sky was always so clear back in the Glade, she recalled silently. But, just like their current situation, the sky was now obscured. 

The people who rescued them from the Maze were actually WCKD – the people who’d put them in the Maze in the first place. The past twelve hours had seen herself, Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Winston, and a boy named Aris find Teresa, break out of the facility, and enter the deadly Scorch. In their search for supplies, they’d been attacked by crazed, infected people, driving the group to hide where they were.

The Maze was dangerous, but it was familiar and the only home Y/N recalled ever having. Out in the Scorch, safety wasn’t guaranteed. 

She looked to Winston, who laid back, his shirt pulled up to expose the bloody bandage she’d wrapped his torso in. Y/N tried not to think about the infected scratch marks underneath, and more specifically what gave them to him. The Grievers were one thing, but the things that attacked them? They used to be people.

Not wanting to sit in her thoughts anymore, Y/N stood up, brushed off her pants, and grabbed knife from their pile of weapons they’d found in the abandoned mall. ‘I’ll take first watch.’ 

She didn’t wait to hear if anyone objected, already walking around the stone that covered them so she was on top. To her relief, the others let her go without argument, putting out the fire and quickly settling down to sleep.

After half an hour, Y/N decided to get up and patrol around the area, knife tightly gripped in her hand and her footsteps quiet despite the sand. 

There was so much of it,  the sand. The lady in white – Doctor Ava Paige – had said in her video that the whole world was just desert now. The thought made Y/N yearn for the Glade even more. For the grass, and the woods, and the bonfires they used to have, and the games they played. The boys – Clint, Jeff, Alby, Gally, Chuck. 

Y/N wasn’t a hateful person, but she clutched the knife tighter at the thought of all the loss they’d all suffered at the hands of WCKD. 

It’s why she didn’t hesitate to follow Newt when he’d found her in her room – for some reason, she hadn’t been allowed to stay with the other girls from the other mazes just yet. It’s why they were now braving the Scorch searching for people that Thomas didn’t know even existed. They wanted a better life out from under WCKD’s thumb.

The crunch of sand had her whirling around, awkwardly poising the knife as if to attack, but she relaxed at the familiar person standing there.

Newt raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whoa there,’ he said, the quirk of a smile on his lips telling her he was just joking. ‘You could do some real damage if you’re not careful.’

Y/N blew out in relief, the knife dropping to her side again. ‘Thanks, but we both know that’s not the case, Newt.’

Newt shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he did. ‘I don’t know, I’ve seen you with a scalpel. Absolutely terrifyingly precise with that thing.’

Y/N chuckled softly, appreciative of the distraction. But her smile dropped as she looked out into the dark cityscape. The moon hid behind clouds so Y/N couldn’t make out anything. ‘Is it pathetic that I’m scared to see what the world has become?’ she asked, not daring to raise her voice above a soft mumble.

Newt stepped up beside her, his body radiating the last remnants of heat from the fire and it warmed her slightly. ’Someone once told me that I was brave for facing my fear,’ he said after some quiet contemplation. 

Y/N looked up at him confused, but he looked down at her with a knowing, smug smile. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head at him. ‘I don’t recall saying that specifically. But if that’s how you saw it, who am I to tell you that wasn’t what I meant?’

Newt hummed in agreement looking back out at the dark expanse, contemplation scrunching his brows together. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I’m scared too.’

That surprised Y/N. Newt, second-in-command, casual, leader Newt was scared? ‘You are?’

Newt nodded. ‘I’m scared that we’ve made a mistake. That Thomas is wrong and there aren’t any mountain people.’ He turned back to Y/N, the most serious she’d ever seen him. ‘I’m scared we’re going to lose more of us, and then what was our escape for? But… it’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it. Including myself.’ Finally, Newt’s smile returned, and it warmed that cold pit of despair Y/N had been falling into ever since they left the WCKD facility. ‘Or, at least, I think that’s what someone very wise once told me.’

Y/N stared at him, awestruck. Hopeful. Newt was hopeful again. And she didn’t want to read into it, but she thought the knowing smile he was giving her told her that she had something to do with it. The thought alone strengthened her resolve, and she looked down at the knife in her hands, less afraid of it all of a sudden.

Y/N held it out to Newt. ’Teach me.’

He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. ‘What?’

’Teach me. How to fight,’ Y/N explained, eyes unwavering from his. 

Concern flashed across Newt’s face for a brief moment. ‘Y/N, I told you, you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to.’

‘If there is one thing I’ve come to know about WCKD is that it doesn’t actually matter what I want anymore. What any of us want,’ Y/N said, feeling the most certain she’s felt in a long time. ‘The one thing we have on WCKD is that we are defiant. We escaped, and are taking away the one thing they want most of all: a chance to find a cure. So, if we’re going to have any hopes of making it to the mountains alive, I’m going to have to know how to fight. So please – teach me.’

Newt contemplated her for a moment, and Y/N just prayed he wouldn’t say no. Or even worse, laugh. Instead of doing either, he took the knife from Y/N’s hand, his fingers brushing across her palm as he did. 

‘All right,’ he said, moving his feet apart to get into a fighting stance. ‘First of all, you’ve got to have a wide-ish stance, and stay light on your toes so you can control when you back away from your opponent.’ 

He demonstrated the movement by quickly shuffling away, always keeping his feet a certain distance apart and the knife gripped tight by his hip. ‘…and when you go into attack.’ He moved so fast Y/N didn’t see his footwork, her eyes locked on his as they bored into hers, knife poised at her neck as if he’d strike.

He stepped away and gave her the knife back. ‘You think you can do that?’

Y/N nodded and took the knife, and for the next hour Newt taught Y/N basic blocks and manoeuvres that he’d picked up from Thomas and Minho and just from basic instinct. Just like she’d been with her Medjack skills, Y/N was a quick study, performing move after move when Newt asked her to. 

She impressed herself. For a natural pacifist, she wielded the knife quite fluently.

They decided to finish the session on a quick sparring match. Newt took a swipe at Y/N, and she stepped back just like Newt had taught her. She then rushed in for an attack, to which Newt threw up his own knife in time to block. Y/N anticipated the pushback and twisted out of Newt’s way as he stumbled slightly forward. While he was disorientated, Y/N gripped his wrist that controlled his knife and pointed her own into his back. 

‘Looks like I win,’ she said, breathless but proud.

Y/N didn’t like the carefree scoff he gave her, followed by, ‘Are you sure?’

She doubted herself for a moment, loosening her grip enough for him to twist out of her reach, knock her knife away and bend to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Y/N landed hard, groaning at the pain in her butt as Newt looked down at her and laughed. 

‘I’m glad you find my pain amusing, Newt,’ she grumbled, rubbing her sore behind.

Newt laughed for a moment longer then calmed down. But his radiant smile remained on his face, brightening the darkness surrounding them. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said between remaining chuckles. To his credit, he held out his hand in an offer to help her up. ’But the surprise on your face was priceless.’

Y/N contemplated his hand for a moment, whether she should just push it away or take it. Instead, an idea came to mind, and she gripped his hand tightly then pulled him to the ground with her. He landed on his stomach beside her, getting a face full of sand.

Y/N let out a loud laugh before quickly covering her mouth to stifle the relentless laughter that wished to burst from her. 

Newt spat and coughed out sand as he made to sit up. ‘Well,’ he started, spitting out more sand as he looked up at Y/N, ‘I should’ve seen that coming.’

That just made Y/N laugh even harder, using now both hands to quieten the giggles. Goodness, when was the last time she’d laughed this freely? When was the last time she’d felt such joy? After everything they’d been through, Y/N was worried she’d forgotten what was like to laugh.

When she’d calmed down, she looked down to see Newt propped up on his arms looking up at her with an odd expression on his face. Like he was in awe, maybe. Whatever it was, it made Y/N acknowledge how handsome Newt had become. His baby features had faded since she’d first met him, being replaced by a lean figure and a toned jawline from working in the gardens every day for two years. And with his big brown eyes, tousled blond hair and funny accent, Y/N wondered how he had changed so much without her realising it. How she hadn’t realised he’d grown up.

The intensity with which he looked at her brought a heated blush to her face, and so she turned away into the cool night breeze, willing the blush to cool down. Newt shuffled to sit up next to her. They didn’t speak for a minute, until Newt suddenly stood up. 

‘Well, um,’ he started, and for the first time since Y/N had known him, he sounded uncertain about what to say. ‘I better let you continue with your shift. At least you know how to defend yourself now.’

Y/N hastily stood up as well, making sure there was at least a step between them. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Thank you for that. I’ll be sure to practice.’

‘Good that.’ 

They looked at each other for a moment, and even though Newt said he was leaving, he made no move to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to, she thought, and the mere possibility of that being true warmed her heart.

But he took a step away, gave her a shy smile and a small wave farewell. ‘Goodnight, Y/N.’

‘Goodnight Newt,’ she said, those two words hanging in the air long after he’d left.

As she finally woke Frypan up for his shift, she clung to the knife and went through all the manoeuvres Newt had taught her until she fell asleep. 

Newt was unable to sleep until Y/N woke Frypan up to take the next watch shift, and laid down to sleep herself. Newt opened his eyes to see Y/N laying across the pit they’d dug out for the fire. She faced him on her side, and Newt noticed with curiosity that she held the knife she’d practiced with close to her chest. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, and paired with her heavy breathing, Newt figured she was completely asleep. 

An odd sensation fluttered in his chest and stomach as Newt considered Y/N’s sleeping face. It was the same feeling that had fizzled in his chest when he’d looked up at her as she laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had laughed as freely as she had. 

And he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked doing so – hiding her bright smile behind trembling hands, eyes narrowed but sparkling with joy. 

All because of him.

He rolled onto his back then, not wanting to give the thought anymore weight. There’s no point getting your hopes up, he reminded himself. But like a moth drawn to flame, Newt couldn’t help but tilt his head to gaze upon her peacefully sleeping. An ache carved itself deep in his heart. How had he not realised her growing up, changing? Being the only girl for a long time, of course he and the others found her pretty. But now that he looked at her – really looked at her, and wasn’t concerned with his life for just a split second – he realised just how beautiful she was. 

It was in her features, but also in her determination to be better for the group. It both hurt and impressed him when she asked for his help. He promised her she would never have to fight again, but things have changed drastically since the Maze.

It was in her ability to still find the joy in things, to still be able to laugh despite their situation.

It was how she believed in Thomas, in Aris, in the mountain people, even if she was scared. 

‘The rest of us can only wish to be as brave as you,’ he whispered into the night, a silent promise that he’d tell her that sometime. 

And with the fluttering in his chest finally easing into a calm warmth, he finally fell asleep.

~

Everything exploded with chaos as Y/N, Newt, Thomas, and Minho navigated their way through the Right Arm camp as guns fired and explosions went off. 

Teresa had betrayed them. Y/N couldn’t believe it when it was revealed in front of everyone, and she still couldn’t believe it as Minho pushed her head down, sheltering her from another explosion. Teresa truly believed WCKD could find a cure, but still at the expanse of Y/N and her friends’ pain. And just when Thomas was going to blow them all sky high, Jorge and Brenda had come in like a saving grace, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

‘This way!’ Thomas yelled over the din, beckoning them behind a weapons container.

However, Minho stopped suddenly and picked up a launcher. Keep going!’ Minho called over his shoulder as he shot at WCKD soldiers around him. ‘I’m right behind you!’

Thomas and Newt reached the container, but Y/N stopped and turned at the sound of a painful cry. ‘Minho!’ she cried as her friend fell, his body convulsing from a launcher shot. 

‘Y/N, no!’ Newt called after her, but she was already running back to Minho, grabbing at his jacket to drag him to safety. 

But Y/N was not strong like the boys, and certainly not strong enough to move Minho in any hurry. She looked up just in time to see a launcher fire at her, then her body felt like it was on fire. 

She was sure she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear anything as the electricity struck every nerve with a vicious bite. After what felt like an eternity of pain, she was granted a moment of peace as her vision went white, then in a flash was swamped by darkness.

Newt’s heart stopped when he saw Y/N shot. She convulsed as Minho had, then collapsed beside their friend unconscious. The second Y/N hit the ground, Newt found his voice again, feelings of anger and desperation clawing their way through every vein in him.

‘Y/N, no!’ His cry came out broken as he made to run to her, but a strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back. 

‘No, boys,’ Vince shouted over the din, holding both Newt and Thomas back. 

‘Let me go!’ Newt protested, struggling against Vince, eyes darting between him and Y/N. ‘I need to help her! Y/N!’

But WCKD soldiers were already picking up Y/N and Minho’s unconscious bodies, dragging their feet through the red dirt and into a berg.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ Vince said, and Newt thought he sounded genuine. But that didn’t stop icy terror gripping tight on his heart as the doors began to close on Y/N, Minho, and other immunes from the Right Arm.

Thomas called for Minho, and Newt called for Y/N, but neither could do anything to help their friends as they were flown away. Back in WCKD’s clutches once again.

When the sun rose, the remaining survivors came out of hiding and began scrounging up supplies. They were moving on, Vince claiming there was nothing they could do but keep going with who and what they had left.

Newt couldn’t accept that, and neither could Thomas apparently, as he claimed he was going after Minho, Y/N and the others. Without hesitation or any further explanation, Newt was the first to sign up and join him.

And so, they went on a quest to rescuing Minho, Y/N, and as many immunes as possible. The train hijack was a huge success with immune numbers, but no Minho and no Y/N. Even so, Newt refused to accept that he’d never see either of them again. Even when they almost got killed by cranks. Even when he, Thomas, Brenda, Frypan, and Jorge were almost blown up by turret guns.

Even when he found out he was infected with the Flare.

He could feel it, his mind slowly slipping away as the Flare ate away at his sanity. He was usually level-headed and rational – it’s part of the reason he became second-in-command in the first place. Guilt and shame ate away at him as he sat on the rooftop of their hideout in the outskirts of the Last City, explaining to Thomas why he just bit his head off about being in love with Teresa.

Not that I’m one to talk, he thought as he rolled down as his sleeve, silence wrapping around him and Thomas comfortably. Newt could feel Thomas didn’t know what to say, and Newt didn’t like long silences so he broke it.

‘The crazy thing, though is…’ Newt started, a soft but sad scoff escaping him, ‘I’m not scared of dying. I used to be, back in the Maze. Because it felt like my friends were dying for no reason, without purpose. But…’ Newt looked over his shoulder, past Thomas, and to the peaking spires of the Last City. To where Y/N was being held somewhere.

‘I have something to die for now,’ Newt said, eyes never wavering from the spires.

Thomas came to sit beside Newt, a sad realisation drawing his brows and lips down. ‘You’re not just talking about Minho, are you?’ he asked.

It was how gentle and matter-of-fact Thomas spoke that had Newt’s chest tightening with fear and an immense pressure he’d been scared, until now, to acknowledge. His throat threatened to close on him as he spoke, rendering his words tight and uncontrolled. ‘I failed to protect her, Tommy,’ he managed to get out. ‘I promised I’d always protect her, and I didn’t.’ 

It surprised Newt how simultaneously hard and easy it was to speak about his feelings, and now that he had started, the words just flowed. 

’She’s just always been there, so I never saw it coming,’ Newt continued, a melancholic smile adorning his lips as he recalls the day he met you, how you helped him with his ankle. How, since then, you’ve always been by his side, growing with him, changing with him, supporting him and everyone else around you. 

’Saw what?’ Thomas asked.

‘I never saw that I could have a future after the Maze, after all of this,’ Newt explained. ‘That I would want a future… with Y/N.’ And with that, his tears finally spilled over, the pressure in his chest bursting into sobs that wracked his whole body. Newt was vaguely aware that Thomas was now holding him, and so he wrapped his arms tight around his friend, around his brother.

‘I love her, Tommy,’ Newt whispered over Thomas’ shoulder, his words obscured somewhat by his tears and holding back sobs. ‘And I’m scared I’ll never be able to tell her before I go.’

‘Hey,’ Thomas said, pushing Newt to arm’s length. He kept one hand on Newt’s shoulder and used his other to grip Newt’s neck, forcing their eyes to lock. ‘We’re going to find her – and Minho, and the other immunes. We’re going to get you that serum that helps with the Flare – as much of it as possible – and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. No one is dying. You hear me?’

No one could replace Alby, but the way Thomas was taking control of the situation reminded Newt of his old friend. How kind yet stern he could be. How hopeful yet pragmatic he was. It was something familiar that Newt was thankful for. He quickly calmed down, wiped away his tears and nodded at Thomas.

‘Good that,’ Thomas said, a small proud smile gracing his lips at his use of Newt’s common phrase. 

Newt couldn’t help a chuckle as well. ‘Good that, indeed,’ he agreed, and followed Thomas back inside the hideout to finalise their plan to get into the WCKD facility.

…and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. 

There was a nagging voice in the back of Newt’s head that was telling him not to believe Thomas. That Newt was going to die, or worse, turn into a crank and hurt his loved ones. That voice had followed him from the Maze, to the Scorch, and now the Last City. It was the voice that had driven him over the edge of the Maze walls all those years ago. But not anymore.

Newt had to keep hope, just as Y/N had taught him. He just had to be brave.

~

Y/N sat in the corner of her white-walled cell, hugging her knees to her chest as she rested her head on top. She’d sat there for hours, perhaps days. Y/N lost track of time after her first month in WCKD’s facility. 

There were no windows, and the lights never dimmed. She pressed her eyes into her knees in the hopes of downing out the incessant white light. Her eyes ached with sleep deprivation, but she refused to sleep. The nightmares were much worse to deal with, and they always came whenever she closed her eyes.

Images of her friends dying in the Maze and the Scorch, of Grievers chasing her, of her friends turning into cranks and attacking her. Images fed to her by WCKD. 

She knew they weren’t real, but she could never wake herself up in time to escape them. So, she stayed awake, knowing that she’ll have no choice but to face her nightmares when the doctors and scientists come to test on her again.

Y/N shivered at the thought of seeing another needle, of seeing her blood drained from her while WCKD turned her mind against her. When will it be enough? She might’ve lost track of time, but Y/N knew she’d been in the facility for a while now. If they hadn’t found anything by now, something told Y/N that nothing she gave would ever be enough. That included her life.

She knew Thomas and Newt would be dumb enough to come after her and Minho – that’s just the kind of people they were. Her heart ached at the thought that their efforts would be in vain. 

Y/N hadn’t seen Minho since they arrived, having been separated from each other and the other immunes. Something about how they were the most promising subjects, she overheard from a scientist one time. Y/N didn’t know if Minho was alive, and if he was, what condition he was in. 

But Minho was strong, the strongest of all the Gladers in Y/N’s opinion. If he was being tortured like her, he would be able to hold on. Y/N highly doubted she would last much longer.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Y/N wasn’t sure if Newt knew she was actually awake that first night in the Scorch, but she’d heard him, his words so soft she thought she’d dreamt it at first. But it had been real; Newt thought she was brave.

She was too dehydrated to produce tears, but an ugly sob desperately tried to escape her aching chest. She bit her lips instead, hard enough to draw a little blood, and the sob died out, leaving her body quiet except for her mind.

I’m sorry Newt, but I am not brave.

Even so, Y/N refused to crumble to WCKD anymore. They’d taken everything from her. Her life, her memories, her loved ones, her friends. Even her hope – something she so naively believed no one could take from her. They would not take her dignity.

She raised her head at the sound of her cell door unlocking, blinking a few times as bright light flooded her vision once more. Two WCKD soldiers and two scientists stood by the door, and Y/N spied a gurney just behind them. 

One of the scientists – young male, maybe in his early twenties – stepped forward. ‘Time for more testing, Y/N,’ he said in a cold tone. But he had the sense to look sympathetic as his eyes roamed over Y/N as she stood up, showing how pale her S/C skin had become, how dark the circles beneath her eyes were, how the cargo pants and grey t-shirt hung off her in areas where she used to fill.

Y/N knew it was useless, but still she ran for the door, pushing past the scientists with ease despite her weakened state. However, she hit the soldiers like a brick wall, unable to fight against them as they restrained her arms and pressed her against the wall. The male scientist recovered quickly and injected her with a serum that made her drowsy enough that she wasn’t in control of her body. She was conscious as the soldiers strapped her to the gurney and the four of them wheeled her down corridor after corridor, and all she could do was watch fluorescent lights pass her by as she stared at the ceiling. 

Soon enough, she was in a familiar room: the test lab. 

‘It hasn’t been that long since we last tested her,’ the other scientist – a female, about the same age as her co-worker – said, her words laced with worry. ‘We put her under again, we risk losing her for good this time.’

‘I didn’t make the call,’ the male said as he continued to set up equipment around Y/N. ‘When Janson says he wants a cure, I don’t question him. Do you?’

The female didn’t answer, switching her focus to helping her co-worker. Y/N could slowly feel the serum wearing off – it was obviously only a light dose, the scientists knowing they’d put her under when they began testing. 

But just as they unstrapped her to move her to the nightmare simulator, the room shook, sending Y/N rolling to the ground as glass and steel broke around her. 

Sounds were muffled briefly and her vision blurred in and out of focus. She couldn’t hear what exactly the soldiers were shouting, but she saw them run out of the room alongside other soldiers. That just left her and the scientists. 

Y/N flexed her fingers, the serum completely wearing off. Before she could stand though, two hands roughly grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Y/N,’ the male scientist said, pushing her towards the machine. ‘Just one more trip under…’

Fear electrified Y/N’s every nerve. No, not again. With a desperate cry, she shoved the male into the utensils table, sending him and the tools scattering across the ground. Before he could get up, Y/N straddled his upper body and slammed his arms into the ground.

‘Get off me!’ he yelled, struggling violently beneath Y/N. He managed to twist them both around until she was the one pinned to the ground. Y/N struggled but to no avail. She was significantly weaker than she was when she was first captured and he knew that.

‘You little brat,’ he spat in her face. ‘Ungrateful, selfish immunes. Your duty is to save us all! You–’

He was cut off when he suddenly went slack, falling unconscious on top of Y/N. She scrambled out from underneath him, then looked up from the floor to find the female scientist with a syringe in her hand. She looked between her unconscious co-worker then Y/N, a scared and disbelieving expression morphing her delicate features. 

‘Go,’ the scientist finally said, her voice shaky, but the resolve in her eyes told Y/N that she wouldn’t chase after her. The room – no, the whole building – shook again, and when Y/N looked out the window, she realised why.

The city outside was on fire. Buildings crumbled, and Y/n could hear the screams and cries of civilians through the broken windows. The scientist wouldn’t chase her because there was no point. 

This was the end.

‘Go!’ The scientist insisted, and Y/N didn’t think twice. She picked herself up, ignoring the cuts and scraps of glass it caused her, and ran out of the room.

She ran into the corridor, ignoring the cries of soldiers and other scientists who recognised her as a subject. She didn’t know where she was going, but this was the most freedom she’d had in forever.

Then a thought came to her – Minho. She had to find him, he surely had to be alive. She would run through every floor if she had to to find him. So she ran, looking into every test lab, every storage closest, every break room on the floor. 

‘Minho!’ she cried, uncaring at this point if someone heard her. She just wanted to find him. She didn’t want to die without a familiar face with her. ‘Minho, where are you?’

She rounded a corner, right into the chest of a WCKD soldier. He was caught by surprise, giving Y/N an opportunity to slam him into the wall. It was like her fear was giving her a boost of strength, as she kneed him in the groin, sending him to the ground. He dropped the pistol he was holding, and she quickly picked it up and smacked the butt over the back of his head. He fell to the floor in one last scuffle and laid unmoving as Y/N sucked in deep breaths.

‘Y/N?’

She whirled around at the familiar call of her name, only to find three other people had entered the corridor. Thomas, Minho, and Newt. Her eyes scanned over them all, heart aching with an intense relief it threatened to crush her chest. ‘Guys?’ Her voice was hoarse with disuse and exhaustion. She was surprised she even had a voice after all her screaming.

Newt stepped forward, a relieved smile gracing his lips. ‘Yeah, love,’ he said, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘It’s us.’

Y/N’s first instinct was to run into his arms, the only place she’d felt since leaving the Maze. But she took a closer look at him. He was paler than when she last saw him, almost sickly with how dark the circles under his eyes were. Crank.

She pointed the pistol at her friends, causing them to raise their hands in shock. ‘Whoa, Y/N, it’s us!’ Thomas exclaimed.

‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘How do I know I’m not in that simulator again? How do I know this isn’t just another test, another trial?’

‘What are you talking about, Y/N?’ Newt asked, worry crinkling his brow. 

’She doesn’t trust her mind,’ Minho said, as if in explanation. ‘Boy, they really did a number on her…’

‘Shut up!’ Y/N unlocked the safety and pointed the gun at Minho. ‘You’re just trying to trick me. Make me think everything is all right. But it’s just a lie. You’re not here. You’re not here…’

Newt stepped into the firing line. ‘We are here, love. I promise, we’re really here.’

‘Newt…’ Thomas warned, but Newt remained, eyes locked on Y/N’s.

Y/N couldn’t look away from Newt. He sounded so genuine, so much more real than previous simulations. But WCKD couldn’t be trusted, and they were wearing soldier uniforms…

Her hands shook but her voice was strong. ‘Prove it,’ she said. ’Tell me something only the real Newt would know.’

Newt swallowed thickly. ‘Okay, um… You cut yourself when you tried out being a Slicer and had to have Clint and Jeff fix you up. That’s when you thought being a Medjack would be a good idea.’

‘WCKD was watching us the whole time. They would’ve seen that,’ she countered, using both hands to grip the gun. 

‘Okay, okay,’ Newt said, looking away a moment to think of something else. When he finally looked back at her, he was calm once more, eyes genuine and sincere. ‘How about how I jumped off the walls of the Maze in an attempt to kill myself?’

The world around the four of them seemed to freeze, as if the world wasn’t collapsing outside. To Y/N’s knowledge, Newt had never told anyone the truth of what happened that day. It was the shocked and tragic expressions on both Minho and Thomas’ faces respectively that had Y/N loosening her grip on the gun slightly.

Newt took a small step closer, eyes never straying from her. ‘I had lost all hope of getting out of that bloody maze. So I did the one thing I could do to control the situation. But I failed.’ He stepped closer again. ‘I was embarrassed, ashamed. I was just a coward. But you healed me and told me something I will never forget. I have held onto it like a lifeline through the Maze, through the Scorch, and all the time I was looking for you.’

He took one final step towards her, unfazed at how the gun pressed hard against his chest. Now that he was so close, Y/N saw just how sick he was. He looked like the early stage victims of the Flare they’d seen in the decrepit city they’d lost Brenda and Thomas in temporarily. And while Y/N refused to believe Newt – her beloved, sweet Newt – was infected, his eyes were the same as always. Open, honest, and truthful.

‘The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

It wasn’t the fact that he knew the exact words – again, WCKD had cameras everywhere in that Maze, they would’ve heard it. It was instead the emotion tied to the words. She felt them, felt the lifeline they’d created for him in his darkest moment. He wasn’t lying, and that meant he was real.

Finally, she allowed the sob to break free as she dropped the gun and threw her arms around Newt’s neck. He breathed out in relief, bringing her closer to his chest, face pressed into her H/C hair.

‘It’s really you,’ she whimpered, grasping tighter to the person she’s always been able to rely on. The person who has always protected her and brought out the best in her. Her closest friend, her safety net, her home. 

‘It is, love,’ he said into her hair, breathing her in deeply. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you before.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, pulling away to look up at him then to the other two. ‘I can’t believe you came after us.’

‘I know right,’ Minho said, punching Thomas’ arm lightly. ‘Dumb shanks.’

‘You can berate us later,’ Thomas said, rubbing his arm. ‘Right now, we’ve got to get out of here before Lawrence brings down the whole city.’

Y/N went to ask what he meant but gripped onto Newt instead as the building shook again.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Newt said, grabbing Y/N’s hand with one hand, and holding a launcher in the other. Together, the four of them ran to escape WCKD once and for all.

~

‘Brenda!’

Y/N didn’t care about the rain of bullets and walls of fire around her as she ran for the berg. After hearing Teresa’s broadcast, she needed to get the cure back to Newt fast. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she has had to do. He wasn’t in great condition, but Thomas insisted that he’d take care of Newt. But the medicine Thomas had given Brenda all those months ago didn’t just buy her time, it had cured her completely. It could do the same for Newt.

If she could make it in time.

‘Brenda!’ Y/N cried as she spotted her friend. ‘The cure! I need the cure!’

Brenda understood, immediately retrieving one of the extra capsules Mary had made from Thomas’ blood before WCKD raided the camp. ‘Here,’ she said, passing over the injector. 

‘Thanks!’ Y/N said, already sprinting back into the war zone before anyone could stop her. 

She could feel it, the exhaustion, the strain she was putting her body under. Underfed and under trained, she was struggling. But she refused to stop. Newt had come all this way to find her, risked his life to get her out of WCKD’s clutches when he could’ve been administered the temporary cure and been safe on the berg already. No, Y/N refused to let him die without trying.

Minho, Brenda, Frypan, and Gally – Y/N was still shocked about that revelation, but that was for another time to discuss - followed around her, covering her with guns and other weapons as they ran through the war zone.

After an eternity of running, the group rounded a corner to find a sight that made Y/N feel like she was back in the nightmare simulator. Newt was leaning over Thomas with a knife aimed at his chest.

‘Newt, no!’ Y/N cried, running towards the two boys without thought. 

Newt faced her at the call of his name, and she froze as she saw his black eyes. Dark veins branched over his skin and black blood dribbled from his chin. He was a full-blown crank now. 

He raced at her, snarling as he swung the knife at her throat. She ducked just in time and rolled away as he slammed the knife down where her neck was. She quickly jumped to her feet, and despite her fatigue, muscle memory took over her legs, then her hands. That first night in the Scorch came to mind, how her and Newt sparred. The injector was her knife, and Newt her proper opponent.

‘Newt, it’s me,’ she said, slipping into her Medjack demeanour – calm and steady. ‘It’s Y/N. Please, snap out of it for a moment so I can help you.’

She thought he would run at her again, but his brows crinkled with concern and he looked at the knife in his shaky hands. He looked back at her, and the voice he spoke with broke her heart. It was a mixture of his sweet accent and a gargled croak where blood clogged his throat. 

‘Y/N…’ he started. ‘Run away… Before… Before I kill you.’

The scene reminded her of the time he came in with his injured ankle. How desperate he was to fade into nothing because he was scared and ashamed of what he’d done. But just like then, she refused to be scared of him. 

Y/N shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you, Newt,’ she said. ‘None of us will.’

Newt seemed to realise there were more people than just her and Thomas, turning around to see the others. The sight of them seemed to distress him, though, as he snarled angrily and charged at her. She shuffled back as he swung at her again and again, but as she stepped back again, she tripped on something. She fell onto her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. Before she could gather herself up, Newt was on her, straddling her similar to how he had Thomas pinned before. Newt raised the knife to bring down on her but was tackled by Thomas.

They rolled for a little, then scrambled to their feet as they fought once more. This was Y/N’s only chance. She pushed herself up and ran for the boys, injector at the ready. Newt was bringing the knife forward in a wide arc that would gut Thomas when Y/N threw herself in between them, slamming the injector into Newt’s arm.

Right as his drove the knife into her stomach.

‘Y/N!’ 

She wasn’t sure who called her name, because all she could focus on was Newt as some of the blackness in his eyes cleared and she saw some of his gorgeous brown eyes. She also felt her body finally giving up. As if it knew that this was the end. After all the torture and pain, she had stayed alive so long for one reason. To save Newt – the boy who had been there from the start. So much so she hadn’t realised until he wasn’t there how much he meant to her. How he’d wormed his way into her heart and consumed it without her even knowing. 

She gripped his hand that held the knife in her stomach, unfurled his fingers from the handle, and brought them to her chest where her heart was slowly slowing down. Her weak legs gave out, and she brought Newt down to his knees with her. She could’ve been imagining things, but she swore she saw recognition in his half-black eyes which made her smile as tears finally fell from her eyes.

‘It’s okay, Newt,’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay because… I love you.’

Her vision blurred and she finally let go of Newt as the both of them collapsed to the ground. Her breaths were short and sharp as the pain made itself known. A rush of feet thumped around her, and she had the slightest awareness that someone was moving her, but she didn’t care. She was finally at peace as darkness, at last, consumed her.

~

Y/N woke to the sound of waves rolling over on sand. The first thing she saw was grey canvas, then rolled her head around to see she was lying on a cot in a small tent with tables and medical supplies similar to how her Medjack hut looked. But she wasn’t alone.

‘Oh my God.’ Brenda’s face came into focus as the girl crouched by Y/N’s cot, disbelief and relief morphing her gentle features. ‘You’re awake! You’re finally awake!’

‘Ow,’ Y/N clasped at her head at the sudden loudness. ‘Could you lower your voice please?’

‘Yes, right, sorry,’ Brenda said, but her lips split in a bright smile as she helped Y/N sit up. ‘I’m just so happy you’re okay.’

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked, all she remembered was being stabbed then falling unconscious. She pulled up her fresh linen shirt to see her wound bandaged. ‘I thought I was done for.’

‘So did all of us,’ Brenda admitted, her tone sombre as she pulled up a seat beside the cot. ‘We got you to the berg as quickly as possible and Vince got you stable, but you just weren’t waking up. It’s been a week.’

‘A week?’ Y/N made to get up but sat back down as her wound pulled in an unpleasant way.

‘Whoa, where do you think you’re going?’ Brenda asked stabilising Y/N back in her bed. ‘You’ve just come out of a coma induced by physical and mental torture. Not to mention you were stabbed.’

‘I’m fine. Trust me, I’m trained… somewhat,’ Y/N said, this time able to swing her legs over the side of her cot. Brenda didn’t try and stop her, but she did have to help Y/N when she stood. ‘Now, where is Newt?’ Brenda didn’t answer right away, and tears threatened to pool in Y/N’s eyes at what her silence could mean. ‘Brenda… Is he… Is he alive?’

Brenda, again, didn’t answer, and her face didn’t give anything away either. Instead, she just held back the flap of the tent and motioned for Y/N to exit. Y/N took cautious steps forward as she followed Brenda into a completely new place that had her staring in awe.

It was a bustling camp where sleeping quarters and other spaces were mapped out by canvas strung up on carved wood pillars and posts. Y/N spied a kitchen area where she swore she heard Frypan laughing with some others. 

There was a gathering area where a giant stone stood in front of the seats. There were names carved into it, like what they used to do in the Glade. Y/N tried to make out if a certain blonde’s name was on it. She caught familiar names like Alby and Chuck, Clint and Jeff. 

‘Y/N?’ 

She swung around to find Brenda smiling as she was joined by Thomas, Minho, and Jorge. The three of them ran at her, arms wide open to capture her in a hug.

‘You crazy shank, Minho said, laughter on his lips. ‘Look who finally decided to join the living again.’

‘And here I thought I was the lazy slinthead for sleeping for so long,’ Thomas said jokingly, pulling Y/N in for another hug. ’I’m so relieved.’

‘Welcome back, hermana,’ Jorge said, a warm smile gracing his lips as he gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

‘Good to be back,’ Y/N replied, smiling at the three males. ‘What happened after I thought I’d died?’

Thomas went to reply, but Minho cut in. ‘We’ll explain later. Right now, I think you should go say hi to someone else.’

Confused, Y/N followed Minho’s gaze to Brenda, who stood atop a hill and was staring over the other side of it. Y/N quickly reached Brenda’s position and followed her gaze to a large garden that people were working on. But her breath caught at the sight of a familiar blond at the edge of the gardens talking and pointing in all directions to people.

‘Hey, Newt!’ Brenda called out, causing the blond to turn around and look up. At first, he saw Brenda, but his gaze soon fell on Y/N and his whole face changed into disbelief.

With the other gardeners forgotten, he started climbing up the hill, and Y/N couldn’t wait another moment so she started walking down the hill. 

They met in the middle, with Y/N standing at Newt’s height on the uphill. Neither said anything to begin with, both in disbelief and awe at who stood in front of them. Y/N looked over Newt, noting he still looked pale and somewhat sickly. But the dark veins were gone, as was the black blood and his black eyes. And the sun shone so brightly that his hair looked golden. It was as if he was never infected to begin with.

With a shaky hand, she reached out to rest her hand over his beating heart. ‘You’re alive,’ she whispered, too scared to voice it too loudly in case this was also another nightmare. 

But he proved her doubts wrong as he rested his own hand on top of hers. ‘I am,’ he said, and the usual warmth of his voice truly convinced her he was real. 

His face pinched suddenly with concern and guilt. ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N,’ he said, his hand tightening slightly over hers. ‘I hurt you. I almost…’

‘It’s okay,’ she interrupted, using her free hand to cradle is cheek and keep his eyes on her. ‘You didn’t. I am here, too. Looks like we both saved each other.’

To her relief Newt smiled. It was a genuine, happy smile, something she hadn’t seen on him in a long time. He nuzzled into her hand briefly, before bringing it down with his free hand so he held her hands between them. 

‘Before I passed out,’ he started, ‘I remember you saying something.’

‘Oh.’ A blush heated upon her cheeks, but she refused to look away from him. ‘Right. I did say something.’

She was trying to play it cool, but as soon as his deep brown eyes fixed on her, she knew he could see right through her. But he didn’t smile smugly, he didn’t tease. He actually looked scared as his jaw clenched, fighting to find the next words to speak. 

‘You said you love me,’ he finally said, words tight but hopeful. ‘Is that true?’

Y/N’s mouth dried up suddenly, constricted by all the things she wished to say but couldn’t say all at once. It’s not like she was scared, she just never thought she would live long enough to have a future, let alone one with love. One with Newt.

But she had – she had survived WCKD’s cruelty, she had survived the terrors of the old world, she had survived when so many of her friends hadn’t. And it was her duty to live her gift of a life to the fullest.

‘Yes,’ she finally said, and it was like breathing in fresh air after being underground for so long. ‘I love you, Newt. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I do. I love you.’ 

There was a second of hesitation, but then Newt broke out into a wide smile, and Y/N swore she saw tears brim in his eyes. He suddenly reached one hand up to cradle her neck as he pulled Y/N in for a sweet kiss that simultaneously knocked the air out of her and breathed new life into her. He held her neck and hip, and she pressed her hands against his chest, satisfied to feel his heart thundering beneath her hands. The heart that almost never beat again, the heart that had saved her over and over again. 

The kiss was short but was no less breath-taking, and when they pulled apart neither could stop the smiles on their faces. 

‘I love you, too,’ Newt said. ‘If that wasn’t already obvious.’

Y/N threw her head back in a hearty laugh. She slung her arms around Newt’s neck, a cheeky grin dancing across her lips. ‘I’m not so sure. Maybe we could try that again to make sure?’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers again. Y/N sighed into the kiss, grasping the baby hairs at the base of his head. 

They pulled apart at the sound of their friends whooping and clapping atop the hill. Y/N felt her face erupt with embarrassed heat, to which Newt laughed as she ducked her head into his chest. 

‘All right, come on lovebirds!’ Minho called out. ‘Dinner’s almost ready.’

As they walked down out of sight, Y/N went to follow but was stopped by a loose grip on her wrist.

‘What is it?’ she asked as she turned back to Newt.

‘I just…’ Newt turned to the gardens below, then to the water, then to the sunset that bathed the whole camp in beautiful hues of orange, pink and purple. When he finally turned back to Y/N, she thought he couldn’t look any more handsome with that pure sunshine smile and sparkle in his eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ she asked.

‘For teaching me how to be brave,’ he answered.

Y/N gave his hand a squeeze. ‘You were always brave, Newt,’ she said. ‘It’s how I learned how to be brave in the first place.’

Newt squeezed her hand in return, then they walked hand in hand back up the hill and down to dinner to where their friend awaited them. 

Where the lives they never imagined they’d get a chance to live awaited them.

[mitsuristoleme]

I LOVE THIS AHAFDHSHSHAJAJJAJA

Keeping Warm

having now recovered from writing smut back in september, i am back with more demon slayer smut! partially joking but writing smut really does take more out of me which is why this one took so long to come out. this is my promised second entry for my autumn leaves anniversary event, which is still open if you would like to contribute something! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy 💜 also big thanks to @awkwardchick87 for beta reading this for me!

event masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~2.6k | cw: obamitsu x gn/afab reader (female anatomy but gender neutral pronouns), undefined but implied established relationship, cockwarming, orgasm delay/denial, oral (reader receiving), making out, cowgirl position, slight sub iggy/dom mitsuri (not too heavy tho), creampie

Obanai had never been fond of cold weather. Much like his scaly companion, he preferred the warmth of spring and summer, and spent as much of his time as possible indoors during the fall and winter. If there was a chill in the air, it would cut straight through to his bones, no matter how many layers he wore. He never mentioned it to anyone else, knowing there was little that could be done about his difficulty regulating his own body temperature, but as soon as both you and Mitsuri had wormed your way past his defenses, the two of you has picked up on it, and did everything you could to keep him warm.

Which, he supposes, is how you all wound up the way you were now.

The temperature had dropped before the sun had set, and he had barely finished lighting his fireplace when he heard Mitsuri calling out for him.

“Obanai!” she’d chirped, grinning brightly when he came to the door to greet her. She’d held a thick blanket in one arm, her other hand holding yours. You’d offered the serpent hashira a pleased smile as well, just as happy to see that he was, in fact, home. 

“Hello, Mitsuri,” he’d replied, smiling behind his bandages. He’d greeted you, too, then tilted his head slightly. “Not that I’m not happy to see the two of you, of course, but can I ask what brings you to see me this time?”

“We know you don’t like the cold,” you’d explained. “We wanted to make sure you stayed warm tonight.”

He hadn’t thought much of the way Mitsuri’s eyes glinted when he’d invited the two of you in, assuming she was just excited about having a sleepover with you and him, since those didn’t happen exceedingly often, given your positions in the corps.

Now he was wondering if he should’ve read into that glint a bit more, since she was straddling him as he laid on his back on his futon, you sitting by his head. Clothes had been discarded quickly, so you and Mitsuri were entirely bare, and the only thing Obanai still wore was his bandages.

“We’ll keep you warm, ‘nai,” the love hashira cooed, rolling her hips against his, and he let out a shuddering breath, his hands gripping lightly at her thighs. She paused at the touch, tilting her head slightly. “Wait until you’re given permission, love.”

“Apologies,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her, instead digging his fingers into the futon beneath him.

“All is forgiven,” Mitsuri assured him, slowly beginning to roll her hips again.

Your fingers glided across his forehead, gently brushing his hair from his eyes, and you smiled at him when he looked up at you. “Can I take these off?” you asked quietly, fingers ghosting down his cheek until they reached the edge of his bandages.

There was the tiniest moment of hesitation – less than a second, really – before he nodded. “Yes,” he breathed, remembering that Mitsuri liked when he said the words aloud. “Yes, you can take them off.” 

With nimble fingers, you delicately unwound the bandages from the lower half of his face, setting them off to the side. As always, you were careful not to touch his scars; he was comfortable enough to allow you and Mitsuri to see them in private, but he still didn’t like them to be touched. “Stunning as always, ‘nai,” you said, giggling softly when his face darkened with a blush at your words.

The sound of your laughter sent his heart fluttering, and he smiled slightly back up at you. He still found himself flustered whenever you complimented him, but he never argued, even if he disagreed with your words; how could he, when your eyes always shone with genuine, eager affection?

Mitsuri shifted her weight slightly from her position atop the serpent hashira, and he gasped, his hips bucking the tiniest bit with surprise. Knowing the movement was unintentional, the love hashira chose not to chastise, instead grinning down at him. “Someone’s eager,” she teased, a small laugh tumbling from her lips at the way the older man’s blush spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

“Looks like you’re warming up,” you said, a teasing lilt to your words as well. As you spoke, you carded your fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Just as you knew would happen, the touch sent a shiver through the serpent hashira. “Or maybe not.” 

With an exaggerated pout, you looked back up at Mitsuri. “Looks like he’s still cold, ‘Tsuri.”

She fake pouted right back at you. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?” Her gaze dropped to Obanai’s, and she tilted her head slightly. “Do you need more to stay warm?”

“Please,” he answered, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please, Mitsuri.”

Her peridot eyes flashed. “Well, when you ask so nicely…”

When she stopped the slow rolling of her hips, Obanai almost whined, staring up at her pleadingly; you knew from experience he was mere moments away from openly begging, if the love hashira decided to push him even just a tiny bit more. He was in luck this time, though, and she had mercy on him. She raised herself off of him slightly, just enough to wrap her fingers around his hard cock.

He barely stifled a gasp at her touch, and when she began to sink down onto him, his eyes rolled back in his head. The feeling of being inside of either of you was something he knew he would never take for granted; the warmth and intimacy of it was too precious to him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath once Mitsuri was fully seated on him, the heat of her almost unbearable, while somehow also being exactly what he needed. 

The love hashira sat perfectly still atop the serpent hashira, watching as he fought to compose himself once again. She could be patient, and she knew you could, too; besides that, this was far from the first time the three of you had done anything like this, and Obanai had proven each time that he was more than capable of being obedient and taking direction. There was no doubt in her mind that he would manage it again this time. When she saw his two-toned eyes flutter open once again, she smiled down at him.

“‘Nai,” she cooed, slowly trailing her fingers up his stomach and chest, delighting in every minor jump and twitch of his muscles beneath her touch. “You’re doing so well… Can you do something else for me?”

“Anything,” Obanai replied, almost before Mitsuri finished speaking. He was willing to do anything she asked of him, even if all it earned him was a smile. The same went for how he felt about you; maybe holding the two of you so close to his heart would only cause him pain one day, but for now it only brought him peace, so he would make no effort to change how he felt.

Mitsuri’s smile inched closer to a smirk. “I want you to make them feel good.” Her eyes darted up to your face for a moment, though his stayed locked on her.

“How?”

“With your mouth.”

Finally, he tipped his head back slightly to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide. “I would be honored to pleasure you that way,” he told you, almost reverently.

His words had heat pooling in your gut, and you swallowed thickly. Even if you hadn’t already known how skilled he was with his tongue, you wouldn’t have been able to deny him when he looked so beautiful when he asked. You nodded in response, not quite able to find your voice in the moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes never once left your face, and the feeling of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Mitsuri told you, a faint edge to her voice – not sharp, but motivating nonetheless.

Never one to disagree or deny yourself pleasure from either of your lovers, you carefully pulled yourself away from Obanai, shifting so you were hovering over his face, facing the love hashira. You didn’t lower yourself to be within his reach, though; Mitsuri was still calling the shots, after all.

Obanai felt his mouth begin to water as he looked up at your pussy, so close yet still so far away. He flexed his hands against the futon, eager to devour you but doing his best to be patient.

Apparently getting a thrill from the control she had over the two of you, Mitsuri sat in silence for a moment, simply looking you over, before she said, “You can touch them now, ‘nai.”

The serpent hashira barely remembered to thank her before he locked his arms around your thighs and dragged you down to sit on his face, his mouth already open and eager to please. The first taste of you on his tongue had him moaning against you, and you gasped at the vibration against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathed, one hand going to Obanai’s abdomen to steady yourself, the other landing on Mitsuri’s shoulder. You met her gaze, and the heat that had risen to your cheeks spread a bit further when you saw the glint in her eyes.

“He’s quite good at that, isn’t he?” she asked, somewhat teasingly. As she spoke, one of her hands pushed your hair away from your face before coming to cradle your burning cheek. “Feels like he’s keeping you nice and warm, too, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, lashes fluttering a bit as you felt Obanai trace a pattern across your clit. You couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but if you’d asked, he would have admitted it was his name; an invisible mark stating that you were his as much he was yours and Mitsuri’s.

“Good,” she murmured, smirking slightly as she pressed her thumb to your bottom lip for a moment. When your lips parted slightly at the touch, she pulled you into a kiss. 

Her lips were soft and plush against your own, and in mere seconds you found yourself being devoured from both ends, completely at the mercy of your two ravenous lovers. Your grip on her shoulder tightened as you moaned against her, reciprocating the kiss as best as you were able.

It wasn’t long – an embarrassingly short amount of time, in fact – before your legs were shaking around Obanai’s head. “‘Tsuri,” you whimpered, breaking the heated kiss in an attempt to catch your breath. “I— ah! —I’m close.”

“Already?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. When you nodded, she tilted your chin up slightly to meet her eyes again. “I know you’ve earned it,” she added, glancing down at the man beneath you for a moment. “But do you think he has?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered immediately. “He’s— fuck — making me feel s-so good.” With practically every breath, small moans and whimpers slipped from your lips, and if the serpent hashira’s hold on you had been any less secure, you’d have been grinding down on his tongue, eagerly chasing your release.

Mitsuri seemed to brighten a bit at that. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve to feel good, love.” She grinned when the pet name had you practically melting for her, and she pressed another quick kiss to your lips before turning her attention to her other partner. 

“‘Nai,” she said, tracing a fingertip lightly down his torso. “Once you make them cum, I’ll let you cum, too.” She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, promising so much more once he did as he was told.

The action drew a loud, wanton moan from the man, which in turn had you gasping and dropping your hand from Mitsuri’s shoulder, leaving both hands now braced against his stomach. He tightened his grip around your thighs, pressing you as close to him as he could as he increased his efforts. 

When he shifted his head slightly and pressed his tongue into you, not giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling before he was fucking you relentlessly with it, you cried out. The sheer amount of pleasure coursing through your body at that moment had you trembling from head to toe, but it wasn’t quite enough to tip you over the edge. You squirmed the tiny amount you were able in his hold, trying to get some sort of stimulation to your clit.

Thankfully, Obanai seemed to get the message, and he loosened his hold on you with one arm. It allowed you to shift a bit more, but the movement wasn’t really necessary once his fingers found your clit. He rubbed quick, almost aggressive circles on it, matching the insistent pace of his tongue inside you. 

“Oh fuck!” you wailed as your orgasm crashed over you, your head dropped forward to rest against your pink haired lover’s chest. Despite having brought you to your peak, your raven haired lover showed no signs of letting up, still devouring you as if his life depended on it.

“Looks like you’ve earned your reward,” Mitsuri mused, beginning to rock her hips, giving Obanai the pleasure she’d promised him. 

It quickly became apparent to you that she was eager for release, too, because within just a few minutes she was fully lifting herself up and down on his cock, little sounds of pleasure slipping from her every time their hips made contact. Managing to come back to yourself a bit, you lifted your head from her chest, dipping in and taking one of her pretty pink nipples into your mouth and sucking hard, the way that always made her whine and plead for more. 

“Oh, yes, keep doing that,” she gasped, beginning to pinch and tug the other nipple herself. The more stimulation she got there, the louder she moaned and whined; she’d always been sensitive there, and you loved the reactions it would pull from her.

When she grew closer to her orgasm, she went back to simply rolling her hips and grinding down on Obanai’s cock, chasing the pleasure she knew awaited her. You decided to take advantage of the change in her movements, reaching between her legs to play with her clit. You were drawing close to another orgasm yourself, and you wanted desperately for all three of you to cum together.

She gasped, crying out your name as she fell apart, riding Obanai even harder to bring him to the heights of pleasure, too. It didn’t take long for him to get there, if the moan he let out against your pussy and the gasp Mitsuri gave were any indication. The vibration of his moan was enough to send you toppling over the edge again, a shuddering, breathless moan escaping you as you released Misturi’s nipple from your lips.

The three of you took a moment to catch your breath, not bothering to move from your positions at first. Eventually, though, both you and Mitsuri crawled off of the serpent hashira, one of you lying on either side of him and curling up as close to him as you could. After a moment, Mitsuri reached behind her, fumbling a bit until she found the blankets, including the extra thick one she’d brought with her. She pulled them over the three of you, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. Obanai wrapped his arms a bit tighter around the two of you, and you eagerly pressed further into his space – you were there to keep him warm, after all.

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @pixelcafe-network @peachsukii 

@lemonloaves @stuckinthewrongworld @hayatoseyepatch @gojowithapinkbow

@entirelysein-e @sugurei @whatthefucksatan @roselleviennesstuff @awkwardchick87

[pupgawa]

Hybrid - girls ! ! ♡︎

୨❤︎︎୧ contents: what kind of animal girl the bsd men like ( fem ! Reader my darlings ) ❤︎︎

୨❤︎︎୧ pairings: dazai/reader , chuuya/reader, akutagawa/reader, and atsushi/reader

୨❤︎︎୧ tags / warnings: smut of course, praise, brat taming, mating press, cream pie, vibrators

Dazai Osamu

★ … Dazai likes : lamb girls ! ❤︎︎

he loves all women as he says ! But the, soft , sweet , love-able are all traits of the lamb girl experience that Dazai absolutely adores. he loves to put his head on your lap and take a small snooze after a long day of work. Your gentle demeanor makes you absolutely irresistible, he’s like a big bad wolf taking a soft sweet little lamb all for himself ❤︎︎

he loves to take you from behind, preferably in front of a mirror, he loves to watch your cute little tail wag and wiggle as he makes you cum for the 3rd time that night !

-❤︎︎-

Dazai takes a hold of your hips, dragging you back onto his cock, you already came twice already but he whispers a faux ‘ one more time ‘ into your ear and you’re already practically weak for him.

Large bandaged hand grips your hips tightly, leaving bruising indents on your soft flesh. He bucks his hips at a quick pace. Lewd , wet sounds fill up your shared apartment ( neither of you bothering to close the door properly ).

One hand leaves your hips, coming around to your front and tilting your head up, forcing you to look at the mirror at the foot of your bed. “ look at that, little lamb .. ” he hums in your ear. “ so pretty when you’re all fucked out like this ” he coos sweetly in your ear, placing a kiss to the side of your neck, which was already painted with purple and blue hickies that he oh so kindly decided to leave.

“ samu’ .. ” you babble out, unable to form a coherent sentence at this point, you were close, your walls clamp down around him. “ oh ? You’re gonna cum ? ” he asks, you nod your head in response, earning a chuckle from the brunette.

“ cum f’ me, pretty ” you didn’t need to be told twice, you let out a small squeak, it’s all you could muster out for now, cumming around his cock. Dazai slows his thrusts down, but not coming to a complete stop.

“ shit .. oh belladonna, I’m gonna cum- will you let me do it inside ? ” he whispers into your ear, you merely nod your head, not being able to speak. Dazai gives a couple more sloppy thrusts before stilling himself inside your cunt, spilling himself inside of you.

There’s a moment of silence, minus the soft panting of both you and Dazai. Dazai withdraws from your battered cunt with a lazy, satisfied smile on his face

“ see? I told you you could do it ”

Chuuya Nakahara

★ … chuuya likes : fox girls !

as opposed to Dazai, chuuya takes a liking to your brash, assertive behavior, not many men do, but chuuya enjoys the extra challenge. Though you weren’t really a challenge outside of the bedroom, it’s the healthiest relationship either of you have ever been in, you guys treat each other like loyalty, and honestly, good for you guys !

Chuuya likes having you ride him, it’s fun seeing you get desperate for his cock when you were just bratting off to him earlier.

- ❤︎︎ -

“ come on, baby, you can do it ” chuuya’s words are nothing but a mock as he watches you bounce on his lap, leaning against the headboard, You see you would have gotten help if you weren’t such a damn brat earlier.

Your long fox ears flick in annoyance, you place your hands on his thighs and continue to bounce on his stiff dick. You decided to wave your tail right in front of his face, you know he hated when you did this, it made him sneeze every time, and he’ll be damned if he sneezes in the middle of fucking you. He grabs your tail at the base, making you arch your back with a loud moan, walls clamping down around his cock.

“ you little minx ” he snarls under his breath, “ you did that on purpose didn’t you ? ” damn you foxes and your clever brains. You look back at him and stick out your tongue. “ fine, you asked for it ”

Before you could respond, his hands are stationed behind his back, completely stilling his hips. “ since you think you’re sooo smart, find away to get yourself off, then ” okay that was not how you planning that to go. There’s a whine from the back of your throat, but either way, you started moving your hips again.

It didn’t take long before you set a nice and steady rhythm, desperately fucking yourself on his cock, slowly dragging his shaft out of yourself before inserting it back in, his cockhead kissing your cervix with a loud moan. Chuuya watches from beneath you, your cunt stretching around his cock as you connect your hips with his.

“ p .. please ” you plead, desperately bucking your hips

“ I dunno, you’ve been pretty bratty, bad girls don’t get help ” chuuya teases.

“ please ! M’ sorry ! Just help me- ” you sobbed, hips faltering as you desperately bounced on him, itching to cum.

Chuuya thinks for a minute before letting out a small chuckle. “ alright, c’mere ”

Chuuya purrs, grabbing a hold of your hips and thrusting upwards, pulling you back down on to his cock, you arched your back and let out a loud moan.

Chuuya groans loudly, hands tightening on your hips so hard they might bruise, thrusting up once or twice before he slips out and shoots ropes of cum directly onto your tummy.

You whine softly “ I didn’t get to cum.. ”

“ shouldn’t have been a brat, then ” he snips back with a small huff.

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa

★ … Akutagawa likes: puppy girls !

akutagawa likes the loyalty and the eagerness to please that comes with puppy girls it’s the little things like going out to retrieve things for him, remind him of meetings and important dates that he has, taking his coat after work, things like that make his normally cold heart flutter.

- ❤︎︎ -

The soft sound of a vibrator fills the living room, you whimper softly as you grind up against his leg, pussy gushing all over his pants, he tuts softly, Rashomon getting tighter around your body making you moan softly

“ you’re getting my pants all wet, bad girl ”

“ sorry, ryuu, I’m sorry, just feel so good ”

You whimper pathetically, sucking in air through your teeth, you tail wagging furiously, trying to buck your hips again, but Akutagawa’s ability was holding you still, not allowing to move. You whine loudly, but you know better than to disobey.

Akutagawa smirks seeing your obedience, he presses down on the button of the vibrator, turning the intensity of the vibrator up, making you toss your head back with a loud moan. Your tail stands up on edge, ears twitching, your eyes become dewy with tears soon enough, you came twice already on the vibrator.

“ r … ryuu- ”

You start whining, attempting to buck your hips, but roshomon is holding you tightly, preventing you from doing so.

“ stay still, if you want any chance of cumming tonight you’ll do so on the vibrator, understood? ”

You still your hips, following his orders, you couldn’t hear what he said next by the sound of your own moans and the intense vibrating sounds, you’ve been at this for hours, and your orgasm was so close, you tremble in the old of your boyfriend’s ability, voice getting higher in pitch.

And finally, you finally reached your climax after hours or endless torture, you let out a loud moan of pleasure, cumming around the vibrator, Akutagawa turns it off, another black tendril coming from his coat and taking the vibrator of you.

“ good girl ”

Atsushi Nakajima

★… atsushi likes: bunny girls !

he can’t help it, it’s his tiger instinct that draws him to be more attracted so the gentle, soft, and cleverness of the bunny girl experience. It also makes for some great sex, after a particularly hard day of work, he comes home and rails you into the bed

- ❤︎︎ -

Atsushi has you pinned aghast the bed, legs lifted up, pressed against your chest, locking you into a tight mating press, unable to move, let alone escape, but it’s not like you want to when he’s drilling into you this good.

“ f … fuck- ” he moans out, his hips slamming into yours, pounding you till kingdom come, the sounds of your moans only spurs him on, he’s come inside of you twice already and he’s far from done. He just can’t get enough of the way your gummy walls feel around him, sucking him in, it’s like you don’t want him to stop.

“ one more … one more, sweetheart, I promise, just one more ” he said that an hour ago, but he sounds so desperate you don’t bother to say no, you can’t say no to that cute face of his.

“ a .. alright, ‘jima, one more ” you manage to get out, Atsushi moans happily and continues to fuck you, his thrusts get sloppy, signaling that he was close to orgasm again. He bites down onto your already marked up neck, splotches of purple painted your skin, he leaves another dark hickey on your neck, kissing it after he was done.

“ c .. cumming- shit, cumming! I’m gonna- ooohh !! ♡︎ ”

He moans out, stilling himself deep inside of you, cockhead kissing your cervix, he spills himself balls deep inside of you, he moans out in satisfaction and pulls out his still erected member, watching his cum spill out of you.

“ one more round ? ” he asks, you chuckle softly in exhaustion

“ sure, one more around ”

[thewitchblue]

"What are you doing?"

Damian asked you as you bandaged his wounds from patrol. You were knelt in between his legs with all the various medical supplies needed on a nearby table. You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tending to your wounds? Giving Alfred a break from fretting over you?"

He pursed his lips at your sarcastic questions before clarifying,

"Why are you kissing the bandages?"

You looked confused for a moment before remembering nobody ever kissed his wounds or really even bandaged him. He was required to learn his own first-aid.

"My family kissed the bandages to 'seal the wound.' It's a stupid way to wish for you to get better soon."

Damian seemed hilariously sceptical about the tradition, but you continued to kiss each wound despite his confusion. He wouldn't say it, but he secretly savoured each kiss. The location didn't matter. Every injury location got a kiss and a loving smile. He said after a few more kisses,

"You don't have to kiss my wounds."

You gave an acknowledgement hum, before you said,

"Well, I want to. You are going to be dealing with this for as long as I'm yours. You deserve the love, my heart."

You gave his hands kisses. He tsked to hide his embarrassment. He had never experienced this before. This was the first time you offered first-aid after a mission. You figured it would be simple after watching Alfred do it for months.

Damian frowned but allowed you to continue. He was still not used to your overwhelming unconditional love and all the warm fuzzy feelings that come with you around even after a year of dating. You were the first one to make the move and the first one who continues to guide him through the world of love.

"I suppose I'll allow it."

He grumbled. You both could tell he wasn't disgruntled in the slightest. He was just acting grumpy in front of his family as a defence mechanism. He had no family to fight with before he was brought to his father's and still struggles with making ties. He struggles to trust his family, which you both are working through together. He struggles at times to feel familial love after going so long without it. Jason, his most common enemy, is in the area, cursing at every stitch Alfred put along his ribs.

Damian snickered slightly. It was a completely avoidable wound. Todd was sloppy in his defence, and Damian was too far away to deflect the blade. Jason asked gruffly,

"What are you laughing at, demon?"

You gave Damian a look that told him to play nice, but he didn't want to. You tightened your grip on his thighs to prevent him from moving towards Jason. Realistically, there was no way you'd be able to hold him back, but it was a reminder to stay still. Damian relaxed back under your hands, but he still wanted to bicker, so he replied coldly,

"If you weren't such a reckless oaf, you wouldn't be in this situation."

You gently wrapped your arms around him, which made Damian tense momentarily. He felt bad for not letting it go for your sake, but he wanted to defend his actions. Jason snickered now. He mocked,

"Are you on a leash now?"

Damian debated for a long moment to cut off his hands for daring to insinuate you are holding him back. You've been nothing but supportive and loving.

His hands twitch at his side, nearing his sheathed sword, but you took his hands in yours to prevent him from drawing his sword.

"He's not worth it, my heart."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he relented. He didn't want you to see bloodshed over a sibling fight. He said,

"He's not worthy of my blade anyway."

You kissed him quickly and squeezed his hands lightly to show your gratitude for him dropping the metaphorical and literal sword. You always were good at calming him down while still making him feel like he wasn't broken for falling apart or exploding in anger.

He tried to fight off his smile, but he couldn't when he looked at you. He loved you with his entire heart. He's not one for PDA, but he was content with quick kisses and holding hands.

"You really are on a leash."

Jason snorted an amused laugh at his own words. Damian didn't particularly care that others knew how much he loved you. It was obvious to everyone. Damian scoffed and said,

"It's not a leash. It's called being loved, something you don't experience."

Jason looked ready to argue further, but Alfred gave them a disapproving glare that made them both shut up and drop the topic. You wrapped your arms around him.

"I love you."

You whispered it like a secret between you two with a growing smile on your face. Damian rolled his eyes at your antics. You are no secret. You are his, and he is yours. He grumbled as he pulled you to his chest,

"I love you, too."

[konigsblog]

nurse!reader and patient!könig

tw: noncon, intoxication, misuse of medication

könig tried to be patient with you. he tried not to force himself onto you, but the more you flaunted your body to him, the more agitated he became. you'd give him medication, ones that made him dizzy and at ease, fucked-out stupid and giggly. he took everything you said either as a joke, or you flirting with him!

it was humilating when he'd grope you unexpectedly, breathing deeply into your ear through stuttered pleas, the tightness in his boxers only growing as he throbbed and ached.

könig eventually took matters into his own hands. he found your water bottle, taking the medication you usually gave him to make him all loopy and fuzzy, and poured it into your drink. you'd sat beside him, with laboured breathing, becoming a giggly mess!

in your vulnerable state, and through könig's pain in his arm, he pushed you down onto his medical bed, tearing your panties off and rolling up your uniform. he fucked his thick fingers into you; pumping them as they quickly got covered in sweet slick. all you could do was shake and sob quietly, feeling scared and weak against him. although, the way he rubbed your clit was driving you insane, moaning sweetly into his mouth between sloppy, drugged kisses.

you didn't even realise his intents at first, ‘til your patient was fucking his hard, big cock into your slicken, wet pussy! his tight balls smacking against your ass with each hard thrust. you gripped his shoulders, your legs pulled and forced over them, giving him a better advantage at fucking deeper into your swollen folds. you felt used; raw and sensitive. he chuckled, seeing you all drugged up on his medication was just driving him closer to the edge. his sensitive, pink tip began leaking more; pearly droplets of white cum oozing out the head of his twitching shaft.

he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop; he could only get faster, to release deep into you. tearstained cheeks and dizzy eyes looking into his silver ones, bucking and rutting into his little nurse until he was spurting thick ropes of seed into you, and you were clutching your gummy walls down around his girthy dick and squirting all down his bandaged abdomen.

you only realised what was happening when you woke up, panties soaken with cum and slick. :(((

[radiance1]

Danny hates John Constantine.

Well, he doesn't him, but he does hate whenever Constantine needs him.

Each and every summon was just... not ideal, for him at least.

He was summoned while he was about to go sleep.

Summoned when he was asleep.

Summoned when he was going to the bathroom.

Summoned when he was using the bathroom.

Summoned while he was getting ready to take a bath.

Summoned when he was in a bath.

Summoned while in the middle of undressing/redressing.

Summoned while getting attacked by living food.

Summoned when he was about to fall flat on his face.

You know, very embarrassing things.

The most recent time he was summoned was the most embarrassing he's ever been seen though.

He was currently hiding in one of his 'safehouses' from a run in with both his parents and the GIW, now normally, that wouldn't be a problem. Because both his healing factor, durability, and wit would usually get him off home free.

Not this time.

The GIW apparently had some new technology that, while experimental, was made specifically against ghost, and while that's basically most of their tech this one was... different.

Safe to say, he got hit more than one, and then for the first time since, well, forever he's had to run for his life. He managed to get away from them, trying to hold his wounds together with his hands and into an alleyway, that he planned to phase through to get to the nearest 'safe house' (that was really just an abandoned building with some medical supplies that he never needed to use) when his father found him.

He got shot, again, and fell to the floor. He looked at his father with an expression he doesn't even know, but he knew he was scared.

Whatever Jack Fenton saw that stalled him from shooting, and instead a pained look on his face, Danny would probably never know. But he took that time to phase through the wall and book it to the safe house.

Safe to say, he uh, wasn't having the greatest time.

He tried sewing up his wounds, and that wasn't the greatest thing, because his hands were shaky both from pain and feeling like he would faint, using alcohol was even worse, really. The black spots trying to cover his eyes made it harder to see where exactly he was sewing, but he would take that over nothing.

Plus, also, how he didn't know how to sew.

He managed to bandage up most of the major wounds, though it was sloppy as shit. He was just getting to the last one, which was a pretty massive one over his chest that he poured alcohol on.

His shaky hands made him spill far more than he intended, and he had to bite down on something to stop him from screaming. Maybe he shouldn't have done that.

His hands were shaking, but he just had to apply this last bandage, sloppy as it would be, and then he could somehow try and find his way home and then go out like a light.

Which made it unfortunate, that Constantine decided this would be the best time to summon him.

He hates being the ghost prince sometimes, this is one of those times.

He expected only Constantine, so imagine his surprise when he was standing (Oh shit he think he'll either puke, fall down, or both.) in front of way more than just Constantine.

He thinks Constantine said they were the Justice League or something? He doesn't really remember, both with the pain and taking in details from another dimension wasn't really his thing.

The room was extremely quite, so, so very quiet. Said quiet made Danny feel extremely uncomfortable, and fidgety under all of their combined gazes.

So he cracked a joke.

Not his best one, he would admit, but it was funny at least!

So why was he the only one laughing?

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 15

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 10.9 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, dark and mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, moral ambiguity, borderline insane behavior by all involved, heavy angst, panic attacks, (family) trauma, anger issues, fire incident, mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood, graphic injuries and medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey people, a new chapter yay !! i dont have much to say this time, other than enjoy and thank you for your support and patience. & turn up the music for the second half of the chapter :)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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Satoru's hands skimmed over your thighs.

His touch was feather-light as he made his way up to your hips. He gripped them gently, his fingers tracing the faint outlines of the red marks on your skin, making you shiver.

His hands continued their lazy exploration, wandering upwards, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach, before ghosting over the bandages around your waist. Each touch was a whisper against the burns beneath his fingertips.

He pulled you closer, your back arching into him as he wrapped a hand around your throat. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb tracing the line of your carotid artery as he tilted your head back against his shoulder. 

The early morning was quiet, the only sounds were the rustle of the sheets beneath you and the soft, shared breaths that filled the room as Satoru thrust into you. Slowly, lazily. As if he had all the time in the world to savor the feeling of your body against his.

Your hands were still tangled in the sheets, but you managed to free one, reaching up to wrap it around Satoru's neck. You pulled him closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your throat as he moaned against your skin.

You could feel his body straining, his muscles tense as he fought to maintain the slow, lazy pace. His grip on your throat tightened as he pulled you closer still. His moans grew louder, his body stiffening behind you. 

Then, he suddenly rolled over, pulling you with him. It took your sleepy mind a second to catch up, but your body adjusted quickly, your legs wrapping around his hips as you settled on top of him.

Satoru's eyes were still half-lidded, the drowsy haze clinging to his gaze as it met yours. His hands found your hips and guided you into a slow rhythm. He couldn't seem to look away, his eyes locked with yours as he let out a soft, weary moan.

"God, you look so beautiful like this," he breathed.

His hands slid up your body to cradle your face. You leaned down, your hair falling around his face like a curtain. Satoru's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. It was sloppy and messy, your lips sliding against each other in a lazy, wet tangle. 

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a more insistent rhythm, chasing the high that was building between you.

Satoru's eyes drew together, a moan escaping his lips as he broke the kiss for a second. You pulled back from his lips, a thread of saliva stretching between you before breaking. His head tilted back, his neck arching as he let out a throaty moan.

His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he tried to pull you closer. "Ah, fuck," he whispered. "You're so... ah, god." His words were lost in a moan as you picked up speed. 

Satoru's hands slid up to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs beneath the soft cloth as he arched into you, his hips meeting yours. His half-lidded eyes never left yours, his gaze smoldering as he watched you move above him.

He then shifted, one hand behind his head, elbow bent as he looked up at you with a languid, sleepy gaze. His pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly parted as his moans filled the air, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

You could feel his body begin to tense, his muscles tightening as he thrust into you, his hips meeting yours. His moans grew louder, more urgent, his head falling back again, his neck straining as he surrendered to the pleasure. 

You felt yourself getting closer, too. 

You leaned back, dragging his cock along your inner wall, your head falling back as you let out a soft moan, your body moving in perfect harmony with his. Your hair cascaded down your back like a waterfall, and Satoru's eyes lazily opened, his gaze locking onto yours as he watched you.

"Fuck, I need you to come on me, love," Satoru breathed, his hand drifting down, fingers brushing against his mouth. He wet them with a quick flick of his tongue before bringing them to your body, finding that sensitive spot. "I need to feel you come on me."

His fingers circled your clit, the touch sending shivers through you. He teased the spot just above where your bodies were joined.

A rush of heat hit you as his fingers worked their magic. "Fuck, Satoru," you moaned, head thrown back, as he continued to circle and tease. His touch was gentle, but it was more than enough to send you spiraling.

You rode him harder, your body moving faster as Satoru's fingers drove you closer to the edge. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze burning as he watched you. His mouth was slightly open, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

"Ah, god," he whispered, his voice barely there. "You're so close. I can feel it. Come for me, love. Come all over me."

His words sent you flying over the edge. 

Heat crashed over you, your body tensing as you came. Your breath caught, a low, keening sound escaping you, echoing through the room. Satoru's fingers kept circling, slower now, his thumb moving just slightly when you twitched, prolonging your high.

As the final waves of your orgasm faded, your head fell forward, your hair cascading around your face. Your hands came to rest on Satoru's chest, fingers splayed out as you tried to catch your breath. You sat like that for a moment, your body trembling.

Satoru slowly sat up, his body shifting beneath you as he pulled you into his lap. You felt him twitch inside you. "You did so good for me," he whispered, his voice husky. "So good and so fucking beautiful when you come."

He leaned in to kiss you, his lips warm and gentle as they brushed against yours. But as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slid into your mouth, hot and wet, sending shivers down your spine as he explored your mouth.

A rush of need hit you once more as Satoru's tongue tangled with yours, his kiss growing deeper and more intense. His hands cradled your face, his fingers gentle as he held you in place. You felt like you were melting into him, your body yielding to his as he kissed you.

Suddenly, he moved. He brought you down to lay on your back, and you let yourself be guided, like water in his hands as he gently lay you down against the sheets.

As you settled into the mattress, Satoru's body followed, his chest pressing against yours as he continued to kiss you. You felt his hands move, his fingers tracing the curve of your body. His touch was gentle, soothing, before he gripped your thighs tightly to push them wide.

And then, he pushed inside you again, his hips pressing against yours as he filled you once more. His one hand was on your thigh, the other coming up near your head to steady himself.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "I could fuck you like this all day."

He started to move, his moans growing louder once more, husky and needy, seeming to vibrate through every cell in your body. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he focused on the feeling of being inside you.

His body was tense, muscles flexed as he moved, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that seemed to build with every passing second.

He leaned back on his knees, his body shifting as he draped one of your legs over his shoulder. The other leg was spread wide, your body open and exposed to him.

He looked down at you, his eyes glued to where your bodies were connected. You could see the heat in his gaze, the pleasure of watching himself disappear inside you as he slowly pushed himself deeper and deeper, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock disappearing inside your body. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

He reached out with one hand and pressed onto your lower stomach, his fingers splayed out as he felt the low bulge of his cock inside you. He savored the sensation, his eyes fluttering shut as he thrust into you.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he came. His body tensed, muscles straining as he came. But instead of the usual quick, intense release, Satoru's orgasm seemed to be slow and drawn out.

He seemed to savor the sensation, drawing it out as he slowly thrust into you again and again. Satoru's head fell back, eyes closed, brows drawn together, his Adam's apple bobbing as his mouth hung open. 

A bit of sweat ran down his neck and chest, glistening in the dim light of the room as he seemed to milk his high for all it was worth, broken moans spilling from his lips.

You could feel his body trembling, his muscles twitching as he released his load inside you. You moaned, your voice barely audible as you felt his hot cum fill you.

As Satoru slowly came back down from his high, he caught his breath and pushed back his damp hair from his forehead. He looked at you with a lazy, satisfied grin. "Good morning, first-year."

You smiled back at him. "Good morning, professor."

Satoru chuckled, the sound husky. "Mm, I could get used to waking up like this." He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Next to you, getting to fuck you like this."

His smile grew wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached down and grasped his dick, fingers wrapping around his shaft as he slowly pulled out of you. His cum dripped out of you and onto the sheets as he pulled back.

Satoru watched for a second before his hand reached down and lazily let his fingers slide up and down your core, gathering his cum before pushing his fingers inside you. You moaned, the feeling on your still sensitive core almost too much.

He leaned down between your parted legs, his mouth lowering to your sex. His tongue flickered out, tasting you. Your thighs immediately clamped around his head, holding him in place as his tongue danced across your sensitive flesh. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as you pulled him closer.

Satoru moaned, his breath hot against you as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers pumping lazily into you. You felt yourself getting wet all over again, your body responding to Satoru's touch like it was made for him.

You felt your body begin to tense again. You were going to come, and you knew it. Satoru's tongue was too skilled, too insistent, and you were too sensitive.

You tried to hold back, but it was no use. Your body betrayed you, releasing a flood of heat as you came again. Satoru's mouth was still on you, drinking in your juices as you rode out the waves of your orgasm.

As you came down from your high, Satoru slowly pulled back, his mouth leaving your sex with a soft pop. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as he licked his lips and smiled.

Just then the alarm clock went off. 

Satoru's eyes snapped towards the clock, his face contorting in annoyance and frustration. "Ah, damn it." He quickly reached over to silence the alarm. "No round two then." He groaned, his body flopping back onto the bed as he covered his face with his hands. 

"I don't want to get up," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still trying to catch your breath. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you gently ran your hand up and down his still heavily rising chest. "Come on, professor. You have a class to teach, remember?"

"Don't remind me." Satoru's hands dropped away from his face, revealing a pair of bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. "And you have a class to attend, by the way." He looked at you. "And it's not gonna be easy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Let's just say I'm planning a little surprise exam in neurology today."

"You can't scare me with neurology," you retorted, a playful challenge in your voice. "There's nothing I don't know."

Satoru's grin widened. "Oh really? Then it'll be fun to test your limits."

"Bring it on, professor. I'm not afraid of a little challenge."

"Oh really?" He leaned closer. With a swift movement, he pushed you back onto the bed, his hands reaching for your wrists, pinning them above your head. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Good. Because I plan on pushing you."

"I'm ready."

"Let's see about that. Just so you know, fucking the professor of this course is not going to get you extra credit."

"I wouldn't dream of."

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a final, lingering kiss. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled away. "We should probably get going," he said. "Or we'll both be late."

─── ·✧· ───

You both scrambled to get ready. 

A quick shower, and then you found yourself in the kitchen, the tangy and bitter scent of coffee filling the air. You stood by the counter, your shirt tucked up under your arm, cradling a steaming mug in one hand while scrolling through the news on your phone with the other.

Satoru stood before you, his touch gentle as he carefully began to unwrap the bandage from your waist. You winced slightly, the fabric peeling away to reveal the tender skin beneath.

"Anything good in the news?" he asked, his attention focused on your injury.

You sipped your coffee, the bold flavor waking you up. "Let's see." You glanced at the headlines. "Some new study about gut bacteria and mental health, updates on solar panel rules..." You paused, a grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, and apparently there's a cucumber shortage in Iceland."

Satoru snorted. "A cucumber shortage? Now that's a real crisis."

"Yeah, something about some TikTok guy promoting cucumber salads," you explained, still scrolling. "Seems it got a bit out of hand."

"People sure find ways to keep themselves busy, don't they?" He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours, a softness in his gaze. "Your burns are looking way better, healing faster than I thought."

You smiled. "Well, they were in good hands."

"Wow, a compliment from you? I'm honored." Satoru grinned, snatching your coffee mug and taking a sip before handing it back. You rolled your eyes playfully as he continued tending to your burns. "So, how's the stock market looking today?" he asked casually.

"Wait." Switching to a financial news app, you scanned the headlines and charts. "Hmm, looks like the tech sector is taking a hit. Everyone's still nervous about the election and whether the Fed's gonna lower the interest rates. Are you invested in anything?"

"Yeah, a little bit of everything, Nvidia, AMD, Apple," Satoru mused, his fingers gentle on your skin.

"Looks like Nvidia's down again," you noted, holding up your phone for him to see. "Even after surpassing their quarterly goals."

"Huh." Satoru looked at the screen. "People always want more. The company's already overperforming, but apparently not enough to satisfy the market."

You took another sip from your coffee. "Maybe you should diversify your portfolio more, branch out from tech a bit."

"Ah, it's not really important. It's play money anyway," he shrugged, securing the bandage with a final touch. "It's more for fun."

"You're really the only person who would invest in the stock market just for fun." You eyed him wearily. "Do I even want to know how much money we're talking about?"

Satoru flashed a grin. "Probably best if you don't." He reached for his pill bottle, shaking out a single pill. 

One. 

Not two. 

Stable dose. No sedatives. You talked about it. He popped it into his mouth before leaning in to kiss you, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue as it met yours, letting you taste it.

You gave Dog a quick belly rub and a reassuring pat on the head before grabbing your bag and heading out the door with Satoru.

In the car, you donned a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, hoping to blend in. Satoru raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's not really sunny today."

You glanced at him over your sunglasses. "It's not about the sun, stupid. Wouldn't want to be caught with my professor right before class, would I?

"Fair enough. But maybe ditch the cap with the giant logo of the university I went to, complete with my graduation year on the back. It's a bit of a giveaway." He paused, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Although, I have to admit, you look rather adorable in it."

You rolled your eyes. "Just focus on the road, Professor. Oh, and can we stop by my apartment later today? I need to get my car."

"Sure," he said easily.

A few blocks away from the university, you asked Satoru to pull over. "I'll walk the rest of the way," you said, stepping out of the car. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing us arrive together."

"Alright," he said, leaning over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good luck with the exam, first-year."

You smiled, your hand resting on the car door. "Don't be too hard on me, Professor."

"I remember times you liked me being very hard with—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you closed the car door, leaving him with a final wave before turning and heading towards the university building, the morning sun warm on your face. 

─── ·✧· ───

You were already out of breath, when the familiar brick facade of the university building loomed ahead. You'd underestimated the distance from where Satoru had dropped you off. You looked quickly at your phone. Shit. You were so late.

Bursting through the auditorium doors, you scanned the room, your breath hitching in your throat. Relief washed over you as you spotted Maki, Yuta, and Toge huddled together in their usual spot near the back. Yuta waved you over.

You tiptoed down the aisle, your heart pounding. Just as you were about to slide into the empty seat beside Yuta, a smooth voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

"You're late."

You turned to see Satoru standing at the whiteboard, his back to you as he scribbled something with a pen. His other hand was casually tucked into his pocket, the picture of nonchalance.

"Sorry, Professor Gojo," you said.

You tried to continue your journey to the back row, but he turned around, his gaze pinning you in place. "I hope it was something important."

"Huh?" 

The whole auditorium now looked at you.

"The reason you're late," he fucker said, as if he didn't know exactly why you were late, as if he hadn't just cum in you not 30 minutes ago.

"Really important, yeah."

"Don't make this a habit." He turned back to the whiteboard, leaving you to navigate the gauntlet of curious stares as you finally reached your friends.

That fucker will never get morning sex again.

You slid into the seat next to Yuta, who helpfully pointed to the relevant page in his open textbook. Maki leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. "Someone's a little late for class," she teased, a sly grin on her face.

"I got held up."

"By a certain handsome professor, perhaps?" Yuta chimed in.

You shot him a glare. "No comment."

Maki and Yuta exchanged a knowing look. "Oh, come on," Maki prodded, nudging your arm playfully. "You're living with him now, what did you expect?"

Toge leaned over too. "Hickey."

"Huh?" You blinked, confused, then all three of them suddenly stared at your neck. Your hand flew to your neck, and you quickly pulled out your phone, using the screen as a mirror. Shit. "It's not what you think."

Maki chuckled. "Oh, we know exactly what we think." Just then, a small package of gummy bears landed with a soft thump on her head.

Startled, the three of you snapped towards the front of the lecture hall. There stood Satoru, a wicked gleam in his eyes and more gummy bear packages in his hand.

"Zenin," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall, "perhaps you'd like to enlighten us on the role of the locus coeruleus in the modulation of arousal and attention, and how its dysfunction contributes to the pathophysiology of neuropsychiatric disorders."

All eyes in the auditorium darted to Maki. 

She cleared her throat, a bit flustered but game. "Well, the locus coeruleus is the primary source of norepinephrine in the brain, which is a key neurotransmitter involved in regulating arousal and attention..." She continued to explain, but stumbled slightly when detailing the specific mechanisms of dysfunction.

Another student eagerly raised her hand. "Professor, if I may add..." She proceeded to fill in the gaps Maki had left in her answer.

Satoru nodded, tossing a gummy bear package in her direction. Then he turned back to Maki with a raised eyebrow. "Zenin, it seems your attention might be better focused on the lecture than on extracurricular gossip."

Maki's cheeks flushed a bright pink, and Yuta couldn't help but burst into laughter. She elbowed him in the ribs, but his amusement was short-lived. A split second later, a gummy bear package bounced off his own head.

It seemed Satoru was on a roll, and no one was safe from his gummy bear inquisition. How unfortunate that he was a former basketball player and really good at aiming.

Satoru's voice boomed once again, "Okkotsu, since you seem to find this so entertaining, perhaps you'd care to explain the role of the hippocampus in memory consolidation and retrieval, with a specific focus on the distinction between declarative and procedural memory?"

Yuta's laughter died in his throat as he scrambled to gather his thoughts. 

"The, uh... the hippocampus is crucial for... for memory formation, right?" he began hesitantly. "It helps convert short-term memories into long-term ones..." He stumbled over a few technical terms, but to everyone's surprise, he managed to piece together a coherent, if somewhat rambling, answer.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Not bad, Okkotsu." With a flick of his wrist, another gummy bear package soared through the air, landing perfectly in Yuta's outstretched hand.

Maki, rubbing her head where the sweets had landed, muttered under her breath, "He's conditioning us, like we're Pavlov's dogs or something."

"You're med students," Satoru suddenly announced to the entire class, his voice laced with amusement. "You're all puppies until you can stand on your own two feet. Until then, I'm conditioning you, yes." His grin widened. "Shall we continue?"

And with that, the relentless questioning resumed. 

Satoru fired off complex questions about neuroanatomy, pharmacology, and clinical cases, keeping the entire class on their toes. Each correct answer was rewarded with a tossed gummy bear package.

You couldn't help but notice he'd been going a bit easy on you. Or maybe he was just saving his hardest for later. You had a feeling it was the latter.

Satoru's gaze swept across the room. "Alright, let's kick things up a notch. Who can explain the potential role of biomimetic nanovesicles in the treatment of brain diseases?"

A hush fell over the auditorium as students frantically flipped through their notes. A few hands tentatively rose, then quickly retreated as the complexity of the question sank in.

Satoru's smile faded slightly. "No one knows this? Come on, people, this is basic neurology."

"Basic neurology my ass," Maki muttered under her breath. "Who the hell knows this stuff?"

His eyes landed on you. You knew that look. He knew that you knew the answer. You met his gaze for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, pretending to contemplate the intricate patterns of the light fixtures.

A grin tugged at Satoru's lips as he tossed a gummy bear package your way. It bounced off your head with a soft thump. Of course.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall. "First, you're late, and now you're keeping your wisdom to yourself. Care to share your insights?"

You sighed, straightening up in your chair. "Biomimetic nanovesicles, or BNVs, offer a promising avenue for addressing the challenges of drug delivery and diagnosis in brain diseases."

Yuta groaned beside you, dramatically dropping his forehead onto the desk. "Why do you always know this stuff?"

You half-expected another gummy bear package to come flying your way, but instead, Satoru nodded, perching on the edge of his desk. "Go on."

Of course, you thought with a wry smile. "Well, due to the blood-brain barrier, getting therapeutics into the brain is notoriously difficult. But BNVs, particularly endogenous extracellular vesicles derived from cells, have shown an ability to cross this barrier."

"And how exactly do these BNVs accomplish that?"

"They possess unique surface properties," you explained, "that allow them to interact with and even fuse with the cells of the blood-brain barrier, effectively smuggling their cargo across."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Their cargo? You mean drugs?"

"Not just drugs," you countered. "They can also carry diagnostic agents, allowing for targeted imaging and disease monitoring. Plus, they can even carry genetic material for potential gene therapy applications."

"Impressive," Satoru said. "And what are some of the specific brain diseases that they could potentially target?"

You launched into a detailed explanation, covering everything from brain tumors and neurodegenerative diseases to cerebrovascular diseases and brain injuries. You laid out the complex ways these diseases affect the brain, and how BNVs could be tailored to fight them.

Your classmates were hanging on your every word, eyes wide. Well, most of them. Yuta was lightly banging his head against the desk in mock frustration, Maki had long since tuned out and was scrolling through her phone, and Toge was probably asleep.

And Satoru? He was watching you with an intensity that either was fascination or he wanted to undress you. Perhaps both. 

When you finished, there was a moment of silence. 

Then Satoru laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "I see someone did their homework." He pushed off the desk, reaching for a gummy bear package, but then paused. "One last question. How can we ensure the safety and efficacy of these BNVs in clinical applications?"

"The usual. Preclinical testing in animal models. Understanding their biodistribution, how they're broken down, and any potential toxicity. Careful patient selection and monitoring," you said curtly.

Satoru's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "The usual? You're not considering more specific approaches? You know that BNVs can interact with unintended targets in the brain and cause unforeseen complications?"

"That's a valid concern, Professor. But sometimes, taking risks is necessary. People are dying from these brain diseases every day. Shouldn't we be willing to explore every option, even if it involves some uncertainty?"

Satoru's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "And who gets to decide what level of risk is acceptable? You?"

You flinched back. "No, I mean—"

He stood up straighter, his voice echoing through the lecture hall. "While your passion is admirable, we must never forget the ethical implications of our actions. It is not our place to play with human lives in the pursuit of progress. Every medical intervention carries risks, and we must always weigh those risks against the potential benefits."

His gaze swept across the room, his words carrying a weight that silenced the entire class. Then his eyes landed on you once more. "We are scientists, not gods. Patients die, no matter how hard we try. The sooner you accept that, the better a doctor you will be." 

The silence that followed was heavy.

The bell rang.

No gummy bear package came your way.

You sat back in your seat. Oh he was clearly never getting morning sex ever again.

─── ·✧· ───

After class, you told your friends to go ahead, saying you needed a quick word with Professor Gojo. They waved, promising to save you a seat at your usual spot. You waited until the last student shuffled out, the lecture hall falling quiet.

Turning back, you approached Satoru, who was still behind his desk, shuffling through notes. You stood across from him, arms crossed, your gaze unwavering.

"You were brilliant today," he said, not looking up. "Not that I expected anything less."

"What was that about?" you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The whole 'playing god' lecture."

"It's something I cover every year with my students."

"And you had to use me as an example?"

A hint of a smile played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're the only one who wouldn't burst into tears if the great Dr. Gojo called them out."

"So I was just a teaching tool?"

"Should I have picked on Maki instead?" He rounded the desk, perching on the edge. "You know she takes everything to heart. She'd be agonizing over it for days." He twirled a pen between his fingers, the movement smooth. "Or Yuta? He's got potential, but he's still a bit green. I wouldn't want to shake his confidence. Or Mina? That girl's so eager to please, she'd probably start crying on the spot."

You watched him, the anger slowly fading. It was hard to stay mad when he looked at you with that knowing smirk. He knew you understood his point. He set the pen down, his gaze holding yours.

"Come here," he said softly, extending his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes drew you in. You stepped closer, placing your hand in his. His fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry if I put you on the spot," he said. "But you handled it beautifully, as always."

"You're lucky I'm thick-skinned."

"That you are," he agreed. "How else could you keep up with my antics?" His lips twitched into a smile then. "Besides, someone needs to keep you in check, you know. I think your ego might rival mine by now."

"Oh, please. My ego is nowhere near as inflated as you—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he tugged your wrist, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. His eyes, now serious, searched yours. "What was that?"

"I said my ego is nowhere—"

He cut you off, swiftly turning you around and lifting you onto the edge of his desk. You gasped as he leaned over you, forcing you to lie back, his hands framing your hips, caging you in. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his voice a husky whisper. "That's not how a student should talk to her professor."

"And how should a student talk to her professor?" you challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

His gaze dropped to your neck, lingering on the hickey. A smirk played on his lips. "With respect. And perhaps a bit of...admiration."

"And what if I don't feel particularly respectful or admiring at the moment?"

Satoru leaned closer, his lips brushing yours, his fingers tracing the hickey mark gently. "Then perhaps," he whispered, "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a sigh he pulled away slightly, fishing out his phone. "Hold that thought," he said. He answered the call, his tone shifting to a professional one.

"Hey, Higurama, what is it?"

You remained perched on the desk, beneath his muscular chest, his loosened tie dangling above you. You couldn't resist playing with the fabric, twisting it absently between your fingers.

"Yeah, fine with me... Listen, can I call you back later?" He glanced down at you. "I'm in a bit of a... difficult position right now." You heard a muffled sigh from the other end of the line before Satoru hung up.

"What was that about?" you asked.

"It's about the ethics committee," he said, his voice slightly strained. "The meeting's been moved up to three weeks from now."

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "What did he say?"

"It's fine. Higurama just wants to go over things, make sure we're prepared... in case something goes wrong."

You reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "Nothing will go wrong."

He leaned into your touch, then turned his head to bite playfully into your palm. "With you by my side, of course not." He straightened up, releasing you and adjusting his clothes. "God, I can't wait for this to be over. I miss surgeries." He stepped back and adjusted his pants. "And fuck, I'm hard again, too."

You sat up on the edge of the desk, watching him struggle to rearrange himself. "Are you good?"

He met your gaze, knowing you didn't mean the mess in his pants. "Yeah, I'm good. Just this stupid trial, and then it's over, right?"

"We stick to the plan, right?" you reminded him, your voice firm. "We've been together since the project started, nothing strange happened, we were together before that. And then we split. Nothing's happening anymore."

"Something's definitely happening," he muttered, still fighting with his belt.

"Satoru, I'm serious."

He stopped, his gaze locking with yours. "And so am I."

"We can do this," you said. "And it will be fine. Nothing will happen."

"Just this last fight?"

"Just this last fight," you echoed, even as guilt stabbed at your heart.

His eyes searched your face. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you seem like there's something on your mind."

"No," you lied, "it's nothing."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"What is it?" you asked.

"I can't wait to get hurt by you again," he said. "Best fix I can get."

"You're imagining things."

"And you're lying."

"It's nothing important."

"Like your bruises?" His voice was sharp now, cutting through the pretense.

You paused for a beat. "Trust me on this."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "One last time?"

"One last time," you echoed.

─── ·✧· ───

The afternoon sun, a pale imitation of its summer glory, cast long shadows across the campus courtyard. A crisp autumn breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of colder days to come. 

You lay sprawled on your back atop the familiar half-wall, your head resting on Maki's lap. The worn stone was cool against your skin, contrasting with the warmth of Maki's thighs. She stroked your hair absently, her other hand holding her phone, eyes glued to the screen.

Toge sat beside Maki, his eyes also glued to his phone screen as he played some video game on it. Yuta perched on the wall's edge, his legs swinging idly as he munched on the gummy bears Satoru had bestowed upon him during the lecture.

"Honestly," you groaned, "how many more of those do you have?"

Yuta shrugged, the crinkling of the candy wrapper punctuating his nonchalance. "Plenty. Want one?"

You groaned again. Maybe you were a tad salty about being Satoru's example during the lecture. You didn't even get any gummy bear reward in the end.

Maki chuckled, her fingers threading through your hair. "Someone's a little grumpy today. Didn't you have a great start to your morning?" 

"I'm not grumpy," you protested. "Just... annoyed."

"Same difference," Maki said.

"Gojo was on fire today," Yuta said, offering you a gummy bear. You took it, even though you swore you wouldn't. "Please don't sleep with him anymore if this is what comes out of it."

"Don't worry, not gonna happen again."

"Speaking of Gojo," Maki said, pausing her hair-petting for a second, "what's the plan for Naoya exactly? His party is this weekend, right?"

You slowly sat up, bracing your hands on the wall. "The plan is... we go in, find something, and get out without Naoya noticing."

"That's not a plan at all," Yuta said, deadpan.

"Yeah," Toge mumbled, eyes glued to his video game.

"Well," you sighed, snagging another gummy bear from Yuta's open hands, "the plan is more of a...rough sketch at this point."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "That's reassuring."

"We know Naoya's hiding something," Maki said. "We just need to find it. And something tells me it'll be fun."

"Easier said than done," Yuta pointed out. "His parties are always packed. How are we supposed to snoop around without getting caught?"

Toge finally looked up from his game. "Split up."

"Yeah," you agreed. "Maybe we can create a distraction, or split up and cover more ground."

Maki's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to tell Gojo?"

You hesitated for a second. "No, I can't tell him. It would hurt him too much."

"You know it's not right to lie to him," Maki said softly.

"I know. But I have to."

Yuta sighed, reaching for another gummy bear and shoving it into your mouth. "I'm sure it will turn out alright. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

─── ·✧· ───

Saturday arrived earlier than you expected.

And Satoru, surprisingly, offered little resistance to your movie plans with Maki. He'd raised a curious eyebrow at first, but the sight of the actual movie tickets (for a movie you had no intention of watching) seemed to satisfy him. You mentioned the possibility of hitting up a small bar afterward, adding that he shouldn't wait up.

Before he went for his daily run with Dog (he still doesn't have a name), he pulled you close, his hand settling on the small of your back. He kissed you. Innocently enough, but quickly escalated because, well, it's Satoru.

"Do you have to look so damn good when you're going out without me?"

"You can help me get out of this dress later," you replied.

The day before, you'd retrieved your car from the charred remains of your apartment. Now, you were on your way to pick up Maki and the others. As you pulled up to Naoya's ridiculously pretentious mansion, a wave of nervousness washed over you.

It was time to put your master plan into action. The only problem was that there was no master plan. Not really. More like a vague idea and a whole lot of hope.

The car rolled to a stop a not-so-discreet distance from Naoya's house, which looked like it belonged to a celebrity. You all leaned forward, half your bodies practically draped over the dashboard, staring at the monstrosity.

"Remind me again why this fucker is suing Dr. Handsome for so much cash when he's got a house like this?" Maki asked, her nose practically pressed against the window.

Yuta snorted. "Because he's a rich, whiny kid with too much time on his hands?"

"Probably," Toge and you said in unison.

"Anyway," Maki said, waving off the question. She reached into her bag and produced four tiny, colorful liquor bottles, shoving one into each of your hands. "Bottoms up, bitches. We're about to have a very interesting night."

You eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Maki, this looks like something you'd find in a gas station bathroom."

She grinned. "That's because it probably is. Now shut up and drink. We've got a rich kid to expose."

You unscrewed the cap, bracing yourself, and downed the mystery liquid in one gulp. It burned all the way down, leaving a questionable aftertaste.

Yeah. 

What could possibly go wrong?

─── ·✧· ───

Moments later, you stepped into Naoya's mansion, and it was like walking into a scene from a twisted fever dream. The place was heaving with bodies, packed so tightly you could barely move, and the music was so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones.

It was like a frat party on steroids, no, acid, with a heavy dose of rich kid debauchery thrown in for good measure. The air was thick with the pungent scent of sweat, alcohol, weed, and God knows what else.

Everywhere you looked, there was something wild and depraved going on. Partygoers swarmed every available surface, grinding against each other like they were trying to merge into one sweaty, writhing mass. A couple was making out so intensely, you were pretty sure they were going to need a room soon. 

In one corner, a group of guys were doing keg stands, the crowd chanting and screaming as they chugged beer like their lives depended on it. 

In another, a gaggle of scantily-clad girls were snorting lines of something off a polished marble table you didn’t want to question further. And was that a fucking live band playing on a stage in the living room?

"Holy shit," Yuta said, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "This is insane."

"Insane," Toge agreed.

Maki grinned, already bobbing her head to the music. "This is exactly the kind of chaos we needed. Let's go find Naoya's room and see what dirt we can dig up."

You weaved through the throngs of people, dodging flailing limbs and trying not to slip on the spilled drinks that coated the floor. As you pushed deeper into the house, the chaos only grew more intense and surreal. 

You squeezed through the dance floor between bodies writhing and undulating, the strobe lights casting jagged shadows across their faces.

"Okay, if I were a spoiled rich asshole, where would I hide my deepest, darkest secrets?" Maki mused as you climbed the stairs, stepping over a couple making out on the steps.

Yuta snorted. "Probably in a safe hidden behind a tacky portrait of himself."

You couldn't help but laugh at the mental image. "Let's just start with his bedroom and see what we can find."

But before you could even reach the top of the stairs, a familiar face appeared in front of you, blocking your path. It was Aoi, a classmate from your university who somehow seemed to materialize at every party.

"Yooooo, what's good, fam?" he slurred, his eyes glazed and his grin sloppy. "Where y'all sneaking off to? The party's just getting started!"

You exchanged a panicked look with your friends, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. "We were just looking for the bathroom," you stammered, wincing at how lame it sounded.

Aoi's grin widened. "All of you at the same time?”

Yuta laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off. "Yeah, we're like super close friends.”

You shot him a look, one eyebrow raised.

Aoi laughed. "Forget the bathroom, come get a drink with me first!" He grabbed your arm and Maki's, his grip strong, and started dragging you back down the stairs. Yuta and Toge had no choice but to follow, exchanging helpless looks behind Aoi's back.

Before you knew it, you were in the kitchen, surrounded by even more drunk partygoers. The place looked like a war zone, every surface cluttered with empty bottles, sticky solo cups, and liquids you didn’t want to question.

A group of girls were clustered around the island, doing shots and shrieking with laughter at some unheard joke, their voices shrill and grating.

It was chaos, pure and simple.

Aoi grabbed a half-empty bottle of something dark and potent-looking, sloshing it around with a grin. "What's your poison?" he shouted over the deafening music.

“Anything will do," you said.

"Oh damn, we got a badass over here," he smirked. He uncapped the bottle, which you now saw was rum, and splashed a generous amount into a red solo cup, topping it off with a splash of cola. 

He shoved the cup into your hand, then quickly filled three more for Maki, Toge, and Yuta, the noxious mixture sloshing over the sides. "Drink up!" he said, raising his own cup in a sloppy toast.

You all eyed the hideous mixture, each of you thinking the same thing: this mission was going to be tougher than you thought. But before you could take a sip, a voice cut through the noise of the party. 

"Oh, look who decided to crash my party."

You turned to see Naoya standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a sneer twisting his scarred face.

Maki took a defiant swig of her drink, barely suppressing a gag at the burn of the alcohol. "We weren't crashing. We were invited."

Naoya raised an eyebrow. "Really? By whom, exactly?"

Yuta stepped forward. "Does it matter? We're here now, so deal with it."

Naoya stalked towards you, his eyes locked on yours with predatory intensity. "Oh, it matters," he said. "Because I don't recall inviting a bunch of wannabe doctors to my party."

You met his gaze unflinchingly. "At least I've actually been inside an OR as part of the surgical team, unlike you," you fired back, your eyes raking over his scarred face. "I mean, the only time you've seen the inside of an operating room was when you were lying on the table, getting all that plastic surgery to try and fix that mangled mug of yours. Too bad it didn't take, huh?"

Naoya's eyes flashed with rage, the scars on his face, remnants from Satoru's brutal assault, twisting into an ugly sneer. For a moment, the tension was so thick you could've cut it with a scalpel, and you thought he might actually take a swing at you. 

But then he laughed, the sound harsh and humorless.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, don't you?" he said, his tone dripping with venom. "But you're in way over your head here, little girl. I suggest you and your little playmates finish your drinks and fuck off before you start something you can't finish."

You stepped forward. "What, you're not gonna try to roofie me this time, asshole?” 

Naoya's lip curled in disgust, his scarred face contorting into a mask. "Please, I would never fuck you, not even for money."

"Big talk from a guy who has to drug women just to get laid," you said. "I guess when you look like that, you take what you can get, huh?"

Naoya's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You fucking bitch—"

But before he could finish his sentence, a football came hurtling out of nowhere, spiraling through the air. Naoya's eyes widened in surprise and he instinctively threw up his hands, snatching the ball out of the air just inches from his scarred face.

Then, as if on cue, a rowdy pack of meatheads in letterman jackets came barreling through the crowd, whooping and hollering like a bunch of drunken douchebags.

"Yo, Naoya!" one of them yelled, his words slurred together in a barely intelligible mess. "Nice fuckin' catch, bro!"

Naoya's face split into a cocky grin, his anger momentarily forgotten as he tossed the ball back with a casual flick of his wrist. "You know me. Ain't nothing gets past me."

The jocks guffawed, jostling each other and pounding Naoya on the back with meaty fists. "Yo, we need our boy for the next round of beer pong!" one of them yelled, already dragging Naoya towards the crowded backyard. "Can't have a fuckin' tournament without you!"

Naoya hesitated for a split second, glancing back at you and your friends. For a moment, you thought he might shrug off his pals and continue his interrogation. But then his signature smirk slid back into place, as greasy and insincere as ever.

"Duty calls," he said with an exaggerated wink that made your skin crawl. "But don't think for a second that this shit is over. I'll be keepin' my eye on you little wannabe doctors, so y'all best behave yourselves, feel me?"

With that, he allowed himself to be dragged away by his posse of howling primates, disappearing into the seething mass of sweat-soaked bodies. You let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing.

"Well, that was intense," Yuta said, running a hand through his hair. "I thought for sure he was going to punch you or something."

You shrugged. "Naoya's all talk. He's not going to risk messing up his plastic surgery any more than he already has.”

Maki snorted, downing the rest of her toxic cocktail in one long pull. "Yeah, well, I still wouldn't put anything past that psycho.”

Suddenly, the eardrum-shattering music cut out, replaced by the DJ's over-hyped voice booming through the speakers.

"Alright, alright, alright!" he screamed. "Y'all motherfuckers ready to crank this shit up to the next level or what?"

The crowd roared back in drunken approval, a seething mass of hormones and bad decisions just waiting to be unleashed. The DJ cackled, his gold fronts glinting in the strobing lights. 

"Then let's fuckin' gooooooo!" he howled. "I wanna see every single one of you beautiful people on the dance floor!”

The music kicked back in, the bass thumping so hard you could feel it in your bones like a second heartbeat. The party, already chaotic, descended into pure madness. 

People clambered up onto every available surface, dancing on tables, hanging from chandeliers, even hurling themselves off the balcony into the roiling mosh pit below. Others guzzled booze straight from the bottle, vomiting in corners and grinding against each other.

"We need to get out of here," Maki yelled over the din. "This is getting out of control!"

You nodded, grabbing Yuta and Toge and shoving your way through the sea of flailing limbs and spilled drinks, fighting the current of chaos like salmon swimming upstream. Somehow you managed to break free from the worst of the insanity, stumbling up the stairs on shaky legs.

The second floor was marginally quieter, but that wasn't saying much. 

The dull thud of the bass still pulsed through the floorboards, and the occasional plastered couple would come tumbling out of a room in a mess of tangled limbs and smeared makeup, heedless of your presence.

You started trying doors at random, peeking into darkened rooms, in order to find Naoya’s room. Most were either empty or occupied by people in varying states of undress, too focused on each other to even notice your intrusion. 

But as you reached the end of the hall, you came to a door that refused to budge, the handle rattling uselessly in your grip.

"Check this out," you said, waving the others over with an urgent gesture. "Why would Naoya have a locked door in his own house?"

Maki frowned, crouching down to examine the keyhole. "I don't know, but I bet whatever that scarred freak is hiding in there is something big. Something he doesn't want anyone else to see."

Yuta glanced around nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. "Okay, but how are we supposed to get in there? It's not like any of us have a key to Naoya's secret lair."

Maki's lips curled into a smirk as she fished a bobby pin out of her tousled hair. "Leave it to me.”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you know how to do that?"

“I watched a YouTube tutorial on lock picking once. Figured it might come in handy for situations like this."

"Right, because we frequently find ourselves needing to break into locked rooms,” Yuta said.

Maki bent the pin into a crude shape and started fiddling with the lock, her tongue poking out in concentration. But after several long, tense moments, she let out a frustrated huff and sat back on her heels. "No dice. We're not getting in there with just a bobby pin and a prayer."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Wow, really? I'm shocked that your extensive YouTube education didn't prepare you for this moment."

Maki shot him a glare. "You got a better idea? Because I'm all ears."

Toge, who had been quietly contemplating the door with a pensive expression, suddenly spoke up. "Break it down," he suggested mildly, as if proposing they order a pizza.

"Are you insane? We can't just go around smashing doors in,” Yuta said. “That's destruction of property. We could get arrested."

Maki just shrugged. "I mean, with all the noise from the party, who's gonna hear a little splintered wood? We could probably get away with it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind your eyes. "We are not breaking down the door. We need to be smarter than that."

"Ooh, I know!" Yuta said, snapping his fingers. "We could climb out the window, shimmy along the ledge, and then break in through Naoya's window!"

You stared at him, wondering if he was joking. But from the eager, puppy-dog expression on his face, it was clear he was dead serious.

"Yuta, we're on the second floor of a mansion," you said. "If we tried that, we'd probably fall and break our necks."

"Not if we used bed sheets as a rope. We could tie them together and—"

"No," you cut him off firmly. "No climbing, no breaking and entering, no property damage. We need to think of a plan that won't get us arrested or killed."

Maki sighed dramatically, tucking her mangled bobby pin back into her hair with a huff. "Well, there goes all my ideas."

Defeated and frustrated, you made your way back down to the main floor, the thumping bass growing louder with each heavy step. As you emerged into the chaos of the party once more, you were immediately engulfed in the crush of sweaty bodies, the pulsing heat and deafening noise.

You pushed your way through the throng, scanning the room for any sign of Naoya or his goons. But everywhere you looked, all you saw were drunk people.

In the living room, a group of guys were taking turns leaping off the couch, trying to outdo each other with increasingly reckless flips and stunts. One of them went crashing into a side table, sending a lamp and several picture frames flying. The crowd cheered, seemingly unconcerned about the destruction.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Ahh, there you are!” Aoi crowed, materializing out of the crowd. "I was starting to think you'd gone and ditched me!"

Please. Not him again.

But before you could make a break for it, Aoi had already slung his arm around your shoulders once more. He navigated the madness of the party with infuriating ease, dodging flying elbows and sloshing drinks as he dragged you deeper into the house.

"Where are you taking us?" you yelled over the din of the music, your voice barely audible even to your own ears.

Aoi just flashed you a grin. "To the real party, of course! You haven't seen anything yet!"

He dragged you through the kitchen, where a group of girls were doing body shots off a shirtless guy sprawled across the island. But Aoi didn't even slow down, shouldering his way through the crowd until he reached the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. 

With a dramatic flourish, he flung them open.

The backyard was equally chaotic. In the center of it all was an enormous pool. Everywhere you looked, people were shouting, laughing, splashing. 

A group of girls were engaged in a vicious chicken fight, shrieking as they grappled and shoved atop their boyfriends' shoulders, sending great gouts of water spraying across the deck.

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" Aoi crowed, snagging a half-empty bottle of tequila from a passing tray and chugging deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing obscenely. "So what do you say?"

“I want to go home,” Yuta said, deadpan.

"Thanks for showing us around Aoi, really," you interjected, trying to disentangle yourself from his grip. "But I think we can take it from here—"

But before you could slip free, a loud splash and a chorus of cheers drew your attention back to the pool. Someone had just done a cannonball off the diving board, sending up a tremendous splash that drenched half the deck and the crowd was going wild.

Aoi shook his head with a chuckle, finally releasing you from his clutches. "Duty calls. Can't let these idiots have all the fun. Stick around, yeah? The night's just getting started."

With that, he dove into the pool, disappearing under the churning water. 

You stood there for a moment, trying to massage some feeling back into your bruised shoulder.

“He seriously needs to learn about personal space.” Maki scoffed, picking bits of confetti out of her hair. "What's the plan now? We need to get into that room. And if it's locked, Naoya must have the key, right?"

Yuta nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. "He's got to keep it on him. Maybe in his pocket or something."

"So, one of us needs to get close enough to him to retrieve it," Maki mused, her gaze settling on Toge. "I nominate Toge for the job."

"No," Toge replied firmly.

"Come on, Toge," Maki urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Take one for the team. We're all counting on you."

"We need a distraction,” you said. “Something to draw his attention away so one of us could sneak up and grab the key?"

"Like what?" Maki asked, raising an eyebrow. "A fire? A fight? In this crowd, it would have to be something pretty major to get noticed."

You bit your lip, your mind racing as you searched for a solution. There had to be a way to obtain the key. But what?

Just then, a commotion near the pool caught your attention. A group of guys were chanting, their voices rising above the music. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

You craned your neck to see what was happening and your eyes widened. There, in the center of the group, was Naoya. And he was guzzling from a massive beer bong, the liquid flowing straight down his throat.

The crowd cheered as he finished, slamming the cup down and raising his arms in victory. He was clearly wasted, his eyes glazed and his movements sloppy.

An idea started to form in your mind. A risky, possibly stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless.

You turned to your friends, your expression grave. "I think I know how we can get that key. But you're not going to like it."

Maki, Yuta, and Toge exchanged wary glances, clearly bracing themselves for the worst. "Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna regret asking?" Yuta sighed.

"We're going to challenge Naoya to a drinking contest. And we're going to win."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, your friends stared at you in stunned silence. Maki was the first to break it, "Wait, are you seriously suggesting we try to out-drink Naoya? The same guy who just chugged that beer like it was water?"

"Hear me out," you pressed on. "He's already pretty wasted. If we can keep him drinking, keep him distracted, one of us can grab the key while he's not paying attention."

Yuta shook his head. "I don't know about this. Naoya can really hold his liquor. And even if we do manage to get the key, we'll be too drunk to do anything with it."

"He's not the only one who can handle their alcohol," you countered.

“Why does that sound like a threat,” Yuta said.

"Girl, for someone who's supposed to be the smartest one here, you come up with some really questionable ideas sometimes,” Maki said.

You met her gaze, giving her a long look. After a long moment, Maki sighed, throwing up her hands in resignation. "Fine. Let's give it a shot."

With determined strides, you and your friends pushed through the crowd, your eyes locked on Naoya. He was at the beer pong table, laughing and joking with his buddies as he lined up his shot. This was your chance.

But just as you reached the table, a shout rang out over the music, cutting through the din like a knife. "The professors are here! The professors are here!"

Maki frowned. "Huh? What's going on?"

A guy came rushing up to Naoya, his face ashen and his eyes wide. "Dude, you gotta hide the drugs! One of our professors from university is here and he brought other professors with him!"

Naoya's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. "What? How the hell did they find out about the party?"

The guy shook his head. "I don't know, man. But they're here, and they don't look like they're planning to leave anytime soon."

Naoya swore under his breath, then started barking orders. "Hide everything! The booze, the weed, all of it! And someone turn off the damn music!"

The backyard erupted into chaos. 

People were scrambling in every direction, shoving bottles and bags under couches, into planters, anywhere they could find. The music outside cut off abruptly, but the heavy bass from inside the house continued to throb through the walls.

You turned to your friends, panic written all over your face. "We know who that might be," Yuta said.

You were pushing your way back into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, trying to navigate the sea of dancing bodies. The news of the professors' arrival had spread like wildfire, but most of the partygoers were too drunk or too oblivious to care.

As you weaved your way towards the front entrance, you collided with a girl, sending her drink splashing up her shirt. She gasped, looking down at her drenched top in shock.

"I'm so so sorry," you quickly apologized, your hands hovering uselessly as you tried to figure out how to help. The girl looked up at you, her initial surprise giving way to a faint smile. "It's okay—" she began, but you were already moving past her, your focus solely on getting to the door.

And then you saw him.

Satoru was strolling inside, looking completely at ease as he greeted students with casual handshakes and claps on the back. His smile was genuine, his demeanor relaxed. He looked like he belonged here, like he was just another guest ready to enjoy the party.

Behind him, you spotted Suguru, Nanami, and a handful of other professors from your faculty. They were all dressed casually, blending in with the crowd.

You stood there, frozen, as Satoru's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to strip you bare. 

He was disappointed, you could tell.

As he approached, your mind raced, desperately searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything to justify your presence here. But the words caught in your throat, choked by the lump of guilt and fear in your throat that grew with each step he took towards you. 

His smile was warm, but it did little to mask the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air between you.

"I'm sorry, I must be in the wrong place. I was looking for my wife, but she told me she'd be at the movies tonight. You wouldn't happen to have seen her, would you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Satoru quirked an eyebrow as he leaned in closer, his arm coming up to rest on the wall beside you, trapping you in place. The heat of his body seeped into yours, making your skin prickle. "Isn't this supposed to be a university party?"

You frowned. "For students!"

"Well, I was a student once." Satoru's grin widened. "But I must say, I'm a little hurt you didn't invite me to be your plus one. I thought we were closer than that."

Just then, another student appeared from behind you, giving Satoru a high five and a drunken grin, completely oblivious to the tension between you. "Yo, Prof! What's good? Didn't expect to see you here!"

Satoru returned the high five with an easy smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "You know me, always full of surprises. Just thought I'd drop by and see how my favorite students are spending their weekend."

His tone was light, almost cheerful, but you could hear the underlying current of displeasure, the unspoken accusation in his gaze. The student, however, remained blissfully unaware, laughing and patting Satoru on the back before stumbling off into the crowd.

You watched the exchange, the knot of guilt in your stomach tightening with each passing second, your palms growing clammy as you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

"You should leave.”

His expression sobered, his eyes locking with yours. "And leave you here alone with Naoya? I don't think so."

"Satoru, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't protect myself."

He shook his head, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath on your skin, the heat of his body. "I'm not protecting you because you're a woman," he said, his voice low. "I'm protecting you because you’re my woman. And my woman has a real fucking problem with lying to me and putting herself in stupid, reckless situations."

Your breath caught in your throat at his serious tone. 

Satoru held your gaze for a long, tense moment, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. Then he pulled back. "We'll talk about this later.” 

Then, as quickly as it had come, the intensity was gone. His signature smile was back on his lips, charming and carefree. He straightened up, looking around the room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

With that, he pushed past you, leaving you standing there in the entrance.

Fuck.

This was bad. 

This was so, so bad. 

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: hello again, still don't have much to say, other than don't only invest in tech okay, diversify your portfolio, don't do what dr. handsome does (he's stupid). also, i'm pretty busy these days, so sorry for the sparse updates, but i appreciate all your friendly interactions, they really brighten my day whenever i see them <3

i know that this story is getting quite long and i have noticed a decline in interactions with it, which i totally understand with the spare updates i can provide, so thank you a thousand times to everyone still sticking around and patiently waiting for updates. i try to do my best to somehow crave out the time to continue this story. have a nice day y'all :)

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[wildandsmile]

commission idea🤌 vampire blue lock au characters like rin/sae/kuni/nagi etc and for kinks maybe like pinning/degrading ykwim i have a thing for neck biting hense why i love vampire au so much

Rian,Sae,Kuni,Nagi. Bllk boy when you tell them it’s ok to bite you

Total Wc. 1.1k

Warning. Oral F receiving, fingering, biting, choking, teasing, degrading breeding, riding, jealousy , sweet aftercare

An. This is my first time writing for vampires so...... yeah

Rin

He loses his mind, asking you a hundred times if you're sure about it, over and over again.

But once you reassure him, you're done for; he seizes every chance to take a bite out of you he can.

There's something about the way your blood tastes that sends his undead body boiling.

Oh, and he's a sucker for bloody kisses, the taste of your lips on his while your blood still lingers on the tip of his tongue, it turns him on like nothing else could.

And don’t even get him started on you guys are having sex he loves to feel you ride him while his fang are deep in your neck

You gasped out slowly, "Rin no more, pls I can’t take anyone ." As tears streamed down your eyes, and you couldn't grasp how long you'd been at it or how much blood you'd lost. All you knew was that weren’t leaving this room anytime soon."Come on, princess, be good for me, just one taste, please," he pleaded, not giving you any time to reply before sinking his teeth deep into your skin, watching as the blood rained down your neck."Fuck you taste so delicious and you feel even better," he groans as he rolls his hips, attempting to force yet another sweet orgasm from your already flowing cunt. He eventually lets go of your neck, but not before licking a long hot lap across your neck and pulling you into a deep kiss. It felt good, and the irony only added to your excitement as Rin began to thrust deeply into you. "Come on now princess, let me treat you real good for giving me such a great meal."

Sae

He's nothing like his brother; when you mention he could bite you, he's all in, almost immediately.

You even had to set a limit on how many times a day he could drink from you, fearing he'd drain you dry.

But oh, the teasing—he adores it, especially when he hears that little moan escape your lips. And after how wet you get just for his fangs

He LOVES going down on you and nibbling on your thighs; the taste of your blood and slick combined makes his head spin.

He's a HUGE aftercare guy, coming back with bandages, snacks, the whole shebang.

"Come on, slut, you can do better than that," he says into your already swollen cunt, sliding his tongue across your sloppy folds. You tried to pull away, but he pushed you hard into the mattress, keeping you in place so he could plunge his fingers deep within you and curl them in just the right position. "Fuck look at pet look at you getting our sheets dirty for me" he says as he begins to rub himself through his clothes. "Don't you think I deserve a reward, pet?" he asked as he itch the tip of your sweet spot, forcing you to melt in his hands and moan loudly.That must have been his answer because soon enough he’s licking long hot strips across your thigh before sinking his fang deep into your skin licking up all the blood that trickles down making sure not to waste a drop.“ You’re so addictive pet, but I think it’s time to give you what you want, ” he said as he wiped the blood off his face and licked it off his fingers. “I’m going to have to cancel my schedule cause we’re not leaving this room until you covered in my bite marks.”

Kunigami (Wild Card)

• Right then and there, he takes you up on that offer, no matter where you are.

• Throughout the entire encounter, he's a big bully, teasing and touching you, yet not allowing you to reciprocate.

• He revels in seeing you in that vulnerable state when he drinks your blood, something about your clinging to him that ignites him.

• His possessiveness leads him to bite you in places where there's no way to hide the marks.

• Despite his bullying nature and slight transformation, he still retains the same caring demeanor, as evidenced by your favorite food waiting on the table the next day with a note that reads, "Make sure to rest well today, doll."

"Didn't I tell you not to touch doll face?" he says, slapping your ass hard. "Only good girls get what they want," he says, and you whimper an apology before turning your face away so he doesn't see the fire burning your cheeks. But it doesn't last long as Kuni slides his hands up your skirt and rubs tight circles on your clit, feeling how wonderful and puffy you can become with just a few touches."You really are a dirty slut doll face is that why you covered up your bite mark cause you didn't want the world to know what a dirty girl you really were huh” he says as he peels the bandages off your neck, revealing all the bite marks you worked so hard to hide. "I worked so hard to paint this pretty neck like my canvas, and you cover it up," he says as he wraps his hands around your throat, hooking your panties to the side and sliding to figure in rolling them until you buck into him. In that instant, he sinks his fangs deep into your collar bone. "Guess I'll just have to cover all of you in my bite marks so you can't hide them again."

Nagi

Is lazy he just waves it off when you tell him and goes back to his video game

• However, should he catch you talking to another guy, especially another vampire, his demeanor takes a different turn.

• He's typically gentle about things, so don't expect too much until he's angered.

• When he does get upset, he becomes more animalistic, perhaps even draining you completely.

• Yet, he always apologizes the next day, showering you with the princess treatment, whether it's playing his game together or enjoying a nap side by side.

"Who the hell was that love?" Nagi asks, his eyes shining a venomous glow. You don't say anything because you know it will only add fuel to the fire, and that's how you end up locked in a mating press as Nagi buries his cock deep inside you kiss up to your cervix and his fangs even deeper into your skin drain you of what little you have. You couldn't tell if you were seeing stars because he pulled so many orgasms out of you or because of the blood loss."You’re mine, mine, mine," he says as he pushes your leg deeper into your chest and does a long lap across your leg before biting you and watching the blood trail down your leg. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it, even if I have to bite and knock you up to do so."

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “WINTER FEVER SURE SUCKS, DOESN’T IT?”

— #. synopsis. this annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture.

— #. content warning! surprisingly none, dirty thoughts, yearning and pining, sloppy blowjob, fluff in all its worth, blushy male robin, feverish male reader and just boys helping each other out, is all.

— #. word count? 3.8k words.

— #. extra extra! ashes snippets : “blowjobs cure your fevers and keep the illnesses away. trust me, I’m a professional doctor.”

Carefully tending to your every whims and needs has always been a part of Robin’s unnamed responsibilities, whether verbally spoken so or not. Each and every one of the naive, little orphans instinctively knew who to call upon when faced with another of your clumsy accidents, an accidental slip of your feet — you’d bashfully say, a muttered ‘sorry’ wistfully whispered beneath your huffed breaths and flushing cheeks.

Perhaps, as a poorly-expressed means of a genuine apology for your inborn inattentiveness, that odd, natural skill of yours you unfortunately possessed to repeatedly find shady trouble in every narrow corner of this filthy town. To be Immediately roped into the worst of situations and somehow, come out somewhat unscathed every time.

Maybe if it were to be anyone else, Robin’s cheery mask would’ve eventually slipped past to give forth to the gradual frustration of the instilled obligation he’s readily set upon himself. This annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. Yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture. Tirelessly complain? How could he when you’d appear so pitifully before him, the subtlest of pouts adorning your rosy lips whenever you’d tearfully gaze up at him, falsely claiming that it didn’t hurt that much because surely, it really did. God, such a clutz, aren’t you? And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Every slight stumble and fall would simply be accompanied by his awaiting, helping hand to discreetly soften the landing, cheekily embrace you within his arms.

So, you see — this isn’t any different for him either, not when paired by this lucky opportunity set in place which, he hates to truthfully admit the mere fact that merely gazing at your weakened state sometimes, obtains certain.. reactions from him — from his body, precisely. Listen, he doesn’t mean to subconsciously widen his sat stance atop the wooden chair, make some much needed, accommodating room for his twitching cock noticeably stirring beneath his pants. Really, it’s an instinctual urge like any other man, y’know? And well, despite the known moral etiquette that he should be plainly feeling guilty for secretly getting off to your undeserving suffering here, he can’t possibly help himself, can he? Your fault for being so resistant yet, so weak.

Hence the pathetic position you now currently find yourself in, puffed breaths along with a blazing flush across your cheeks, one that Robin finds to suit you very well. Slicked droplets of sweat steadily trickling down the crook of your neck, softened features normally bright as his, now contorted to a blatant show of pain. Strands of hair attentively brushed out of the way so that he may periodically apply a fresh, new cloth onto your sweaty forehead in hopes of cooling your feverish temperature away. Obscene that he’s grown used to the routine of doting upon you every single, chilly winter cuz’— simply put, you get sick pretty easily.

Namely, he’d like to softly reprimand you for your lack of care for your own self, utter out once more that you should’ve properly bundled yourself up in a thickly knitted scarf or some layered jacket to brace for the pristine white snow and shivering breeze.

Though, of course, as per usual, you hadn’t actually listened to his common advice, so evidently, you’ve come down with a heated fever, rightfully reaping the eventual consequences of your thoughtless actions which he hates to say. Forcing him to— no, truthfully, he consciously chose to faithfully stay by your side till you’d get better. A bit of a slow healer though, that’s the thing. As an entire full week has now officially passed by, a week where he has not gone once to school considering your ailed state. Profusely tumbling out a series of muttered apologies, insistently nudging at him that instead of peering so precariously over you like he is right now, that he should be sat in class instead, intently listening to the teacher’s boring lesson or something.

“Really, you don’t have to. I, uh— ah, am just fine on my own, y’know. You don’t have to worry over me, Robin. It’s just a few hours and anyways, I don’t want you failing school cuz’ of me.” Blatantly uttering out falsehoods when in reality, he’s acutely aware of your quickening breaths, glazed over eyes barely focusing on his blurring figure and, ah.. shit, why’re you so pretty when you’re sick? Not that you normally aren’t, just that— maybe, the feverish haze settled upon you accentuated certain part of your features like your pouty lips sinfully glistening with your own spit, little, tentative swipe of your pink tongue poking out whenever you need to moisten the edges of those chapped lips. Wonder what it’d feel like coyly wrapped around his— ah, cut it out, Robin! Holy thoughts, holy thoughts.. Just like Sydney, right. They’d never think such a thing if faced with a sick, heaving boy. Seriously, he should be composing himself.

“School’s not important right now. You are. I’m not leaving till you fully get better and no matter what you tell me, I’m staying here, ‘kay?” Stubborn as a mule, two people set at opposite sides where one will not relent for the other. Typical argument of yours that involves your unconvincing insistence that you’re indeed okay whereas he will point out otherwise.

“Now, stop worrying about me, silly. Class can wait if it means I get to take care of you.” Hastily choking up at the involuntary confession he may or may not have brazenly unveiled his actual feelings for you— ah, did you notice? ..Yeah, no. So oblivious to your surroundings it sometimes frustrates him, but he can’t truly be upset with you for long, perceiving it more as an endearing trait he can poke fun at than an inherent flaw.

“..Fine. I guess if you say you want to stay then you can.. But I seriously owe you a favour for this.” Smiling gleefully at your reluctant act of conceding with a huffed pout, content in his momentary victory to tenderly dote upon you some more. “Mm? You wanna repay me?” That’s a funny thought, you, actually expressing your gratitude for him when he’s been acting more like a coddling mother excessively worrying over her child than anything else — not that he wouldn’t openly accept the idea of you fulfilling a favour for him. Question is, what exactly?

Subtly scanning over the sight of your curled frame underneath the woollen covers, curled fist loosely held onto the material and god, it makes his heart ache to single-handedly witness you being so cute in front of him. Without you even knowing, too. Instinctually trailing over the outline of your lower body below the blankets, skittishly being brought up once more to intently gaze at your bed riddled self.

Well, he’s got an idea maybe, of what to ask.. That’d be too bold though, wouldn’t it? Just friends or more like foster brothers to each other, even if the heat pooling in the core of his tummy is whispering out tell-tale lies. No friend of such should be secretly viewing theirs in a lewd manner, should be shamefully fisting their weeping cock late at night while their shirt is carelessly held back by their clenching teeth bitten between it. Muffling their stifled moans, desperately pumping their cock stupid, collecting the accumulated drool of pre at the tip to pervertedly slide down to the base with a wet squelch! all the while thinking of their supposed ‘friend’. Yeah, a friend is what you’d so cheerfully call him, ever since childhood, you’ve only had each other amongst the mess of an orphanage you’re miserably forced to live in by your cold-hearted caretaker.

However, would it be so bad if he were to consider you as more? Tentatively steer you in the other direction if you were to collectively see him in the same light as he does— “Robin? Can I have some water? ..Please?” Cutting his spiralling calculations abruptly with the timid lilt in your voice, almost shy of solely relying on another to be given something to drink. How you wholly depend on him sometimes for the simplest of tasks, unable to do anything or so, you frantically claim. Hurriedly interrupting his track of thoughts with a meek request and, how could he not obligate to your every whim? You’re only deserving of it, after all.

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Last of things he should be doing is envisioning stuff like sickeningly taking advantage of your bed riddled position, most definitely helpless in stopping him if he were to try.. anything, at all. Hah, no better than those lustful monsters that reside in this town, sneakily hide themselves amongst the shadows. Endless times he’s routinely walked to and back from school with you as per usual, only to encounter another one of those disgusting creeps that’d shamelessly try to land their filthy paws onto your untouched body, disgustingly slobber all over you as though they were deserving of the slightest sliver inch of skin from you. And yes, there is the slight tremor apparent in his voice when he’s actively telling them off in favour of protecting of you, but that’s precisely it. You’re enough of a reason for him to confidently fight back, take a stand even with the apparent wobble in his knees.

Truly, those hands of yours that find themselves clasping at his once the whole ordeal is fortunately over, beaming face filled with admiration is why he does it. Enough with the constant reminiscing however, dutifully reaching for a bottle of water set onto the oaky dresser, hesitating noticeably in his next actions to curiously gaze back at your awaiting mouth. “Want me to hold it for you?” Isn’t he simply enabling your unprompted, lazy behaviour? Bound to turn you spoiled if this readily keeps up, doesn’t mean he still won’t do it.

A subtle nod of your head to his gentle suggestion is all it takes, swiftly uncapping the bottle cap off before directing it towards your parted lips, palm decisively placed along your jaw, carefully titling your head backwards into the cushioned pillow to ease in on your swallowing. Noisy gulps accompanied by the rhythmic bobbing of your fragile throat, sluggishly drinking it all down with a satisfied sigh. Thing is, he shouldn’t be staring so intently at all these intricate details nor particularly zeroing in on the barely noticeable droplet of water that spilled past those moist lips, really— this is going beyond well-intentioned admiration and more like, borderline obsession.

Still, it’s just.. helping, is it not? It’s not like he’s physically harming you in any shape or form when his eyes lovingly peer upon you for a moment longer, stray hand instinctively coming to wipe away at the wet sweat built up there. Lingering contact, just helping in every sense of the word, that’s all it is! Thumb swiping lower to rest upon the gap between your parted lips, right where the wet warmth he so fervently seeks out is, digit dipping shyly with a shaky inhale at the sheer sensation that greets him— A wet and ready mouth, so easily pliable, mouldable for a fat cock that’d happen to be consequentially slipped inside, by chance. Drooling little baby you’d be, looking so very stupid with a mouthful of cock promptly shoved down the rewarding tightness of your throat.. You wouldn’t mind, would you?

At the end of the day, as so often told by many as a shabby excuse for their unforgiving actions — which he, himself, is no better of, at the moment — he’s nothing, but a man. Horny hormones offset from the mere, close proximity he shares with you, his crush, within this narrow space and time. Cock annoyingly straining against the rough fabric of his pants, hopefully palming at the hot, twitching bulge beneath your field of vision — or perhaps, truthfully he wants you to actually see him. Plainly witness the downright degeneracy of his current actions, heated palm clumsily circling over his red, leaking tip frustratingly covered by the material of his jeans, huffing over your bare form as though he’s solely being restrained by the horrifying idea of cold rejection on your part.

Cmon, won’t you rightfully take responsibility for what you’ve done to him? Having him just as equally heated as you over here, dangerously peering at the edge of his chair to unintentionally tower over your confused, oblivious self. See, the weight of those fluttering eyelashes, how you don’t even try to coldly discard his affectionate touch, borderline inappropriate one too — in fact, welcoming it as you subconsciously lean into the cup of his soft palm?? Surely, that’s shamelessly asking for it, a hidden sign of your reciprocation of his sentiments in return. Or so, his self-deluded mind dumbly convinces himself of such.

It’s the meek “Robin?” that stills him, curious eyes peering up at him with a quizzical cock of your head, veiled worry making its way past your strained features in a subtle questioning of if he’s alright. “Something wrong?” Oh, if only you knew that, yeah— something is indeed very wrong, knee now cautiously placed atop the bed, squeaking mattress dipping lower, distinct creak audibly heard throughout the four corners of the walls surrounding you both. Good, think he locked the wooden door nearby and it’s not like.. any younger orphan might upsettingly interrupt you two nor walk in, lest they actually want to be terrifyingly face to face with an angry Robin for once in their lives. A rare occurrence.

“Huh? O-Oh, well— I was just wondering about what you’ve said before. Y’know, owing me a favour for taking care of you and all..” Idly scratching at the back of his neck in a habitual instinct to soothe the spiking nervousness rendering him dizzy, hitched breath faltering in its smooth flow to ponder, briefly hesitate over his next few words. How exactly should he even go about this..? Discreetly hinting is sure not to successfully work if taking into account your naive innocence, albeit adorable to him — sometimes, is unintentionally setting himself up in the inevitable scenario of being direct. Shy as he might be, at times, specially flustered in the presence of you, Robin still determinedly carries on with a drawn out sigh, hovering over your laid frame ever so slightly to satisfyingly catch that split-second, shift of your incredulous expression.

“Is it fine if I use it now? I mean, what I’d really like for you to do right now, is.. take care of this for me. I-If you want to do that.” Swallowing thickly as your inquisitive eyes intently follow his pointed finger, direction openly set onto the growing bulge instinctually twitching in turn from your gaze heavily set upon it, his evident hard-on humiliatingly on display just for you. “Please. I-I just— ah, fuck..” Look at you, how you decidedly waste no time in readily obeying to his flustered request, seamlessly move onto your side where your head is sweetly nestled between the gap in his willingly spread thighs. “..You’re really doing it— hah.” Huffing, nuzzling and nosing along the visible outline of his bulge jutted against your squished cheek, appearing so goddamn pure despite the undeniable fact that you’re— ah, shit.. pervertedly inhaling the musky scent of his fat cock throbbing insistently underneath the layer of clothing, crudely smelling him in such a dirty place before your cute hands come to rest atop the surface of his hips. Slowly unzipping him free to give way to his drooling cock staining a wet patch of pre below the fabric of his boxers, pink, swiping tongue dampening the stain in shade from your little kitten licks.

Suckling attentively on the flushed tip right below his underwear, thin layer of cloth merely separating your skillful tongue from making actual contact with the pulsing flesh of his cock. Where’d you even learn to do such a thing and how did you even— accept so easily to the stumble of his awkward request? Graciously went along with it as if he were simply asking you to fetch some water from the cooling fridge in the kitchen, eyes reflexively shut in a soft hum of appreciation at the responsive twitch you receive from his cock in response to every careful lick. “I guess, it’s only natural to help each other as boys, right? Whatever you want, Robin, I’ll offer you it.” Whispering out so selflessly, fully handing him the ability to maneuver this entire situation to his liking and if that means having you so lewdly strip him down to his bare form, then so be it.

“Y-You really don’t have to.. ah—“ Promptly interrupted by a sharp hiss as his cock is suddenly freed from the annoyingly tight confines of his underwear, crudely smacking against the tender skin of your cheek with a resounding, wet slap! that it further fuels his fluster at the sheer noise. Pearly pre-cum naturally smeared across your face and, fuck— you’re not the least bit bothered by it, being sinfully tainted by his fluids stained upon your body and here you are, teasingly running your rosy tongue flat along the veiny underside of his throbbing shaft before finally, reaching forward to suck up all the salty, oozing pre accumulated at the head.

“But I wanna, Robin.” Stop calling out his name affectionately like that, he’ll really bust a load before you even get to sucking him off! Muttering out so sweetly, absently stroking the base of his cock with your curled fist tight around the girth, a rhythmic up-and-down motion to meanly draw out more beads of sticky fluid, lazily trickling down his quivering length. “You always take care of me and, hah— I think it’s only fair that I return the favour too. I wanna.. thank you for being so nice to me all the time, even if I’m a handful, huh?” Hand coming to rest atop your soft head at the generous gesture you’ve so nicely offered him now, caressing through the stray strands of hair, lovingly brush it out of the way so that he may obtain a better view of your half-lidded eyes, intent on getting him off. “So, let me. Let me take care of you for once, ‘kay?”

Ah, seriously.. Stubborn as always and he can’t help, but to let himself selfishly indulge deeper in this sweet act, widening thighs accommodating you along with his knees firmly planted at each side of your bobbing head, dizzying squelch! of your translucent spit coming to meld with the thick globs of pre. How is it that someone can appear so dutiful, merely carrying out one’s favour when you’re stupidly slobbering all over his balls? Wet, welcoming heat of your mouth— ah, god— pouty lips snugly wrapped around the pulsing girth of his length, obscenely taking him into the base as you automatically repeat the process. Poking tongue playfully alternating between light drags of it across the tip to then coat it once again in the warm depths of your throat.

Though perhaps what comes second to the sheer, slippery heat engulfing the entirety of his cock are the tell-tale signs, lulled whispers of your shared arousal, mindlessly gettin’ yourself off from sloppily sucking him off. Little, cute cock provokingly poking out, smearing a stained mess against the cotton sheets from the pathetic, adorable act of humping yourself stupid along the cushioned mattress. Ah, does having another man’s cock in your mouth, preferably your best friend too — get you off that much? Sucking in a sharp, held breath, gaze observingly fixated on the subtle bounces of your cock with every gentle movement, curve of your arched back laid on its side. “..You’re hard.” He evidently remarks the obvious, normally clear voice coming out all strangled in a stifled groan as your glistening lips instinctively tighten ‘round him to spare him a brief glance of your own.

“..Shut up.”You huff out, not necessarily meaning it cuz’ yeah— you are hard and it’s clear as day as to why. Resuming on with your actions, suckling on one of his taut balls before ultimately letting go with a wet pop! Thin strings of saliva connected to the flesh of your puffy lips, clumsily stroking the rest that your small mouth cannot pitifully reach. Natural reaction is all it is! Same goes for the embarrassing fact that he’s already so fucking close, so close to shooting a straight load down your tight, little throat. Busting his fat seed and surely, you’ll— you’ll swallow it, right??

A stammered hitch in his speech, stuttering hips jolting in tandem with each and every one of your sucks, savouring the feel of his fat cock deep inside your drooling mouth. “A-Ah— wait— I’m, fuck— I’m cummin’—“ Head thrown back, eyes reflexively rolling to the back of his skull which his fingers can’t help to follow on, entangling themselves in the mess of your hair, cruelly sticking you there as he suddenly busts a whole fucking load right down your throat, white ropes of cum spurting past your lips — messily drip over the clean sheets below. Spilling his cum to coat the insides of your mouth all sticky with his seed and truly, he didn’t mean to! Or maybe, he did. As downright, secretly perverted that he is in wanting to bear witness to your eventual ruin. Pretty sight of your chin all tacky and white, dribbling droplets of his fluids all over your shocked face. Ah, he’s gotta be doin’ this again, one way or another.

No time to waste one baseless apologies and such, for having staining you in the filth of his essence— No, those are all past Robin’s mind as he impulsively throws himself onto you like some wild animal, forcibly pins you down below his heaving figure with that familiar, cheeky smile. Plainly chuckling at the stifled whine of protest that draws out of you, settling his position so that he may instead, comfortably rest between the plush of your spread thighs. “Robin! W-What’re you doin’??”

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean you up and make it all up to you later. Promise.” He furtively repeats, not exactly meaning it, but can you blame him when an awaiting cock is being so painfully neglected here? And, he’s consciously certain that you won’t refuse his gesture, not with that drawled out whine as he easily pops your cock between his glossy lips, eyes appreciatively fluttered shut to savour the taste of you. Etch it to memory.

Promise he’ll make it up to you in the way he knows most, tenderly inquiring you with one single question he’s all too keenly aware of the answer to. Bright, doe eyes, ruffled brown hair and that boyish grin you’ve seen him in time and time again. As you know him best. “But.. you haven’t cum yet, have you?”

As you’ve stated before, it’s just boys helping each other out, right?