#and i couldn't sleep until i heeded

[angel-mira]

yeehaw hawyee, other such variations

[satorusugurugurl]

If this request makes you uncomfortable or isn’t something you want to write, I apologize and please ignore my request!

Heyy! I was wondering if I could request a satoru x reader x Suguru smut? With like, some bdsm mixed in yk. Tying reader up, satoru is a tease, and likes to make her squirm and ask questions he know she can’t answer because Suguru is fucking her throat. But Suguru is mean. Mean and tougher than satoru. He tells satoru to stop being so gentle with you, that not only do you deserve rough treatment but you like it. And satoru listens to him, of course. I just want them to run through me like a train😞

Also same mean geto anon (again lol) I’m gonna just sign off w an emoji now :3 -🍭

Hi Anon!

This isn't my cup of tea, it's my FUCKING jam!!

Summary: Gojo and Geto had been on a two-week-long mission, which hadn't gone as smoothly as Suguru wanted. He was pent-up and frustrated. So, of course, Gojo called you to warn you it might not be a good idea to come over. You, of course, did not heed his warning. The second you get home, you realize that you were screwed.

Word Count: 3,706

Warnings: BDSM, rough sex, oral sex, so much sex, degradation, teasing, the smuttiest of smut

A/N: Good God, Satoru x Reader x Suguru is my weakness!! I put my whole heart into this. Geto Suguru, teacher AU, is my kryptonite!

Part Two

She Likes it Like That

“Y/N babe,” Gojo said in a hushed whisper, “you probably shouldn't come home tonight.”

You cocked an eyebrow, looking away from the first year's training. “I'm sorry, did you just tell me not to come home. . .to our apartment?” The world ‘our’ came out like acid.

Gojo sighed overdramatically. “Don't say it like that. I'm trying to save you! Suguru is in such a bad mood.” You listened to him walking around. “I sighed out loud when I noticed the last of my mochi was gone. Fuck you for that, by the way, and do you know what he said to me?” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, waiting for the rant to continue. “He told me to shut the fuck up! For sighing!”

“What did you do to piss him off? Oh, and just an FYI, I bought you more mochi, asshole.”

“Oh—” silence, “thank you-I’m sorry, please don't return it.”

“Satoru! Forget about the mochi. What happened to Sugu?”

The mission your partners were sent on did not go as planned. Their hotel had flooded; it was not like they had time to consider sleeping. The higher-ups sent them to an abandoned mountainside village full of cursed spirits. Poor Suguru had to swallow dozens for nearly two weeks. Gojo had enough; he couldn't stand the pained expression on his face as he gagged the last spirit down. So he decided to Hollow-Purpled the entire village.

The second they got back, the higher-ups scolded the hell out of them. Chastising them, complaining that they didn't do a good enough job. After all their hard work, the time they spent away from home, from you. Those bastards dared to complain about their hard work. It sent Suguru into a terrible mood, one that was bound to end with either a fight or someone getting fucked into the mattress.

One thing about Suguru was that when he was pissy, things felt out of his control. He needed to take control back. Which meant he wanted to have sex. He would be rough, really rough, tying either you or Satoru up, not letting you go until he had calmed down. Or if one of you was fucked too stupid to continue, his eyes focused on the other that wasn't tied up.

“So please, just stay with Ieiri tonight. I'm going to lock myself in my room. Last time he was this pissed off, the both of us were so sore we couldn't move.”

“Ugh, fuckin’ whatever.” This whole situation wasn't fair. You hated how your boyfriends were mistreated.

“Yeah, just stay the—oh, hi Suguru.” There was a shuffling in the background. “No, I wasn't talking shit.” Satoru nervously laughed. “Look, Sugu—no, put down the rope—”

“Toru?” Panic for your boyfriend sank into your stomach.

“Hey! Wait a second—Sugu—”

Before any other indication of what was happening came through the receiver, the other line cut off. So you quickly yelled to the students you had to leave and took off. By the time you made it, you were breathless from running and realized that in your panic, you left your keys at work.

You picked up the spare key hidden under the doormat. Just as you were about to unlock the door, it flew open. You slowly blinked, looking up at a very irritated Suguru. The man radiated gloom and tension. He was in his sweatpants, and his hair was tied in a messy bun, and, dear God, he looked pent up.

“Why the fuck are you using the spare key?”

“I-I uh—”

“Ooooh~ there she is~!” a hand gently rested against Suguru’s shoulder as Satoru peered down at you from behind your dark-haired boyfriend. “There's our girl!”

It only took a moment to see that Satoru mirrored Suguru’s frustration and anger. Oh fuck. The key fell from your hand as you took a step back. Suguru was demanding and rough when he was pent up. Satoru, on the other hand, was a tease. He liked pushing you, making you cry. Both of them being in a pissy mood simultaneously, this was a nightmare for you.

“Y-You, I thought you were in trouble!”

“Oh yeah, no.” Suguru’s soured face slowly twisted into a smirk as Satoru licked his lip. “But you~?” Suguru’s hand darted out, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, preventing you from moving further back. “You're royally fucked.” Before you even had a chance to respond, Suguru and Satoru grabbed you, yanking you inside.

“Awe~” Satoru hummed as he trailed his kiss up the bare thighs he lay between. “Look at you~ trying to clamp your thighs shut.” Gojo’s fingers were buried deep inside of you. Finger fucking you to the edge of yet another orgasm he would deny. “But you can't, can you~? Suguru’s got you all tied to the bed, spread out for us to use you.” A muffled moan escaped you. “Huh? What was that princess? You gotta use your big girl words.” Satoru tilted his head, cupping his free hand around the back of his ear. “Oooh! That's right, you can't talk when getting your throat fucked.”

You gagged as Suguru's cock hit the back of your throat. He was quiet, his eyes shut in concentration. He looked so fucking hot, so focused on the feeling of your mouth. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he pulled in and out of your mouth, grunting softly as you hollowed your cheeks. But the more Satoru spoke, the more Suguru knitted his eyebrows.

“I bet you want me to stuff your pussy, too, don't you~? You want to be spit-roasted between your two boyfriends?” Your pussy twitched at his words. “Oooh~!! Your cunt just twitched. Is that what our sweet girl wants—”

“Satoru,” Suguru snarled, “shut the fuck up.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me. Y/N likes it when I tease her.”

Suguru tsked, pulling his thick cock out of your mouth. You gasped and coughed, spit and precum coating your chin. Between your pants and the gasps for air, Suguru went to what you thought would be a head pat. Instead, his fingers tangled in your air with a hard yank, pulling you up to look down at Satoru. His face was flushed, cerulean eyes wide as he looked between his two partners.

“Look at the fucking slutty face she's making.” The grip on your hair tightened. “You think she looks like this because of your pitiful teasing?” A shaky moan escaped you as he tightened his grip harder. “No, she looks like this because this little slut likes it rough.”

Fuck, you wanted more, to run your hands over Suguru’s arms, to grip his cock, urging him to keep fucking your throat. You were desperate to trap Satoru's head firmly between your thighs, forcing him to kiss and lick your clit. Instead, you weakly tugged at the purple restraints tied to both your wrists and ankles. Suguru had set up the rigging underneath the mattress, making it impossible for you to move. Meaning if you wanted his cock back in your mouth or Satoru’s tongue inside of you, you had to wait for them.

What made it more frustrating was the fact that you were completely bare. Not allowing you to hide the way your body reacted to Suguru’s dirty words. He was telling the truth. And the truth was behind your body's reactions. Gojo could see it in the way your tight entrance clenched around his fingers. He could feel your pussy drip around him, your wetness running down his knuckles. Suguru was right; you did like it; no, like wasn't the right word.

You fucking loved it.

Suguru could see the wheels turning in Satoru’s head as his eyes glittered with lust and excitement. “Satoru~ do you finally see it?~” The way Suguru purred his name had Satoru’s cock throbbing. “You see why she came home, even though she knew she’d get fucked?”

“Yeah, yeah, she's a fucking slut.”

“Yeah, she is.” A sharp tug on your head made you yelp. Suguru grinned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “You want it rough? Want me to fuck your throat so hard you cry, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes, please.”

Gripping his cock at the base, Suguru slapped his thick meat against your cheek. “That's a good girl. Now open up.” slowly, you opened your mouth to him. Watching your tongue slip out had his tip angry, throbbing red. “Now,” he smeared the beading precum over your bottom lip, “say ah~.”

“Ahh~” The second that sound left your pretty mouth Suguru shoved his cock in your mouth. Your eyes stung as tears filled your eyes.

Satoru’s fingers had stopped their slow movements inside of you. His mouth was dry as he gulped. Suguru had been rough before, but this was a whole new level. His thick fingers wrapped around your Y/H/C hair, holding your head in place. His hips pull back before slamming forward, his ass clenching with the force of each thrust. Blue eyes slowly trailed over to your face. Your eyes were red, big tears slowly down your cheeks, and your throat was fucked. Satoru swore he could see Suguru’s tip bulging in your slender neck.

This was fucking hot. Suguru’s bare back glittered in the low light of the bedroom, a sheen of sweat beaded over his toned muscles. It was like watching a god fuck a mortal Suguru radiated a dominating power as he watched their girlfriend choke and gag on his cock. Satoru’s cock was so hard it fucking hurt. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his throbbing shaft, jerking it slowly as he leaned down, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs.

The gentle kisses had you sighing contently around Suguru’s cock. Looking over his shoulder, Suguru sighed as he watched Satoru. His pink tongue was stuck out, gently teasing your damp folds. The sensation had you sighing around his dick, and that was not what he needed right this fucking second. Suguru wanted more; he needed it to relieve the tension in his shoulder. But that relief, the release he needed, wouldn’t happen, with Satoru teasing you like he loved to do.

“Satoru,” Suguru's voice was rough, “I just told you Y/N likes it rough.”

“Uh-huh~” Satoru’s voice was muffled as his face buried in your pussy, making you whine around the cock buried in your mouth.

“You’re not being rough enough.” Satoru pulled back, making you whine in protest. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want to come down here and eat Y/N’s pussy while I get my dick sucked?”

“No.” The cocky smile that was beginning to form on Satoru’s face was suddenly gone as Suguru reached his free hand down, wrapping his fingers in soft white hair. “I want you to fucking eat her cunt out like you fucking hate her.” Your eyes rolled back as Satoru was slammed back down into your pussy. The moan that left his mouth vibrated just right against our clit, making you cry out. “Ah~ fuck yes.” Your cries vibrated around Suguru’s cock, just the way he wanted. “That’s it, Satoru, keep it up.”

“Mmmmph.” Finally, having a picture of how Suguru wanted him to act, Satoru found himself motivated. Again, it might be because his boyfriend was tugging and pulling at his sensitive hairline. Yeah, that was motivating him. Fuck you like he hated you, he could do that. He was just as pent-up as Suguru was.

Fingers slammed inside your pussy, fucking in and out of your tight hole with a force and speed that had you crying out in pleasure. Your moans felt so fucking good, and the more you opened your mouth to cry, the deeper Suguru fucked your throat. He hit the back over and over again, his hand pressing firmly against Satoru’s head, pushing him harder against your clit. The two of you moaned while your mouths were being used; the sounds of whimpers, squelches, and gagging were like a symphony to Suguru’s ears.

Out of all the ways for him to relieve his stress, this was by far his favorite.

“Hah—fuck keep that up, Satoru, bring her right to the edge, then stop. I want her cumming with both of us inside of her. Fucking her so rough she has to call out of work tomorrow and Friday.” The thought of that had you pulling on your restraints. “Oooh oh, you like that? You like knowing the two of us will make sure you can’t walk or talk tomorrow?” Your muffled moans were quickly molded into gags as Suguru roughly fucked your face. “Yeah, you fucking do, you nasty little slut.”

Your mind was spinning as you felt yourself climbing closer and closer to your orgasm. The room was so hot and reeked of sex. It was all you could do not to allow yourself to cum right then and there. Satoru could feel it, the way your little swollen clit throbbed against his tongue, how your walls clamped down on his fingers. He wanted to send you over the edge. He was close to following you as he fucked his hips helplessly into the mattress, wishing it was your wet pussy instead.

One orgasm wouldn’t hurt, would it? You had been so good to them, allowing the duo to drag you into the house, strip you in the entryway, and tie you to the bed. Plus, on top of all that, they had left you alone for two weeks. You had to rely on that stupid vibrator Suguru insisted on allowing you to keep. That stupid toy was nothing compared to his tongue. Which was probably why he was bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm in under three minutes.

Yeah, he was going to let you cum.

Curling his fingers up into your g-spot, Satoru fucked you as fast as his wrist would allow. Suguru instantly knew what was happening. From the way your eyes shut to how loud you were moaning around him, you were seconds away from cumming. If he was in a better mood, he might have allowed it to happen. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Stop.” Suguru scolded, pulling Satoru away from your dripping sex.

Both you and Satoru made disapproving groans as your orgasm slowly faded out of sight. “Doesn’t she deserve a treat? She’s been so good!” Satoru whined, licking your juices off his lips.

“I agree. Y/N does deserve a reward. But you need to give it to her in the roughest way that you can.” Suguru pulled his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath. “Look at it this way. We get to blow off the steam while we make up for making her play with herself for two weeks.”

“Huh?” Those words struck a different chord in Satoru, and his cock twitched.

“Y/N, sweetheart, how often would you say you played with yourself when we were gone.”

You swallowed at the air greedily. “I don’t know, seven, maybe eight times.” Both your boyfriends shuddered, hearing the hoarseness of your voice.

“And out of all of those times, did you cum as hard as you do with us.”

“Not at all. They were all baby orgasms.”

Suguru shut his eyes, nodding his head. “See, Satoru, not only does our little slut like us rough and demanding, but we have to make up for those eight little orgasms.” When the dark-haired man looked back at Satoru, he saw a flash of white before your scream of shock and please bounced off the walls.

Suguru’s eyes were slightly wide as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes had just witnessed. What he saw was Satoru balls deep inside of you. His thrusts were sloppy and needy, and fuck you looked as stunned as Suguru. One second you had been empty, pussy craving a cock deep inside of it from the denied orgasm. In the blink of an eye, Satoru was fucking into you more brutal than he’d ever fucked you before.

“I fucking told you, that toy was nothing compared to us.” Satoru snarled against the crook of your neck, digging his teeth into the sensitive skin. “Fucking stupid toy, not pleasing my girl.”

“Oh my—fuck, holy fuck!” You cried out, mouth wide open. Giving Suguru the perfect opportunity to get back to fucking your throat. The bittersweet taste of pre-cum had your mouth watering. He returned to the brutal pace he was in several minutes again.

“She needs that Satoru. What if we get sent on another long mission? She’s just supposed to suffer?” The thought of that had Suguru tilting his head, bangs falling in front of his eye. “You know what, I think you might be on to something. If we take her toy away, then we’d have to fuck her even harder the next time we get home.”

Satoru’s teeth sank harder into your neck as the tip of his cock slammed almost too hard into your cervix, making you scream around Suguru. “Exactly. Let me use reversal red on it, Y/N, please, baby.” You started to shake your head in a desperate plea to let you keep it. But Suguru’s cock in your throat made it impossible to do so. “What was that? Oh, right, you have your mouth full.” His lips moved against your pulse as his fingers dug into your hips. “Guess we’ll just have to say the way your clamping down on my cock is a yes in our book.” Your eyes darted up to Suguru, who had bought you the toy, for help.

“Mhmm fuck, yeah, I’m pretty sure she just hummed an ‘uh-huh’ around my cock.”

You wanted to argue, to fight against this rash decision, but you felt so good it was almost impossible to care. You were screaming around Suguru’s cock. Tears streaming down your face, leaving behind trails of mascara. They were both being so mean and rough. God, it was so fucking good. Who cared about a clit sucker when your throat and pussy were being fucked into next week.

“She’s close.” Satoru cried out, his balls slapping against your ass. “Oh fuck she’s hugging my cock so tight I’m going to explode Suguru.”

With blurry eyes, you glanced up at Suguru. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes shut tight. “I know, oh fuck I know, I’m so close, Satoru, don’t fuckin’ stop, make her cum, make her cum so hard.” Both his hands grabbed your face fucking your throat roughly as Satoru cried out, his hand pressing roughly on your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

That was all that you needed. You cried out, squirting all over Satoru’s crotch, abdomen, and the mattress. Your orgasm set a domino effect between your boyfriends. Suguru followed behind you, his body hunched over you, his hands gently squeezing your head as he filled your mouth full of his thick cum. You weakly tried swallowing all of it, but that was somewhat difficult as Satoru extended your orgasm.

His thumb continues to rub your clit until his face scrunch up, mouth open in a feral growl. Satoru's orgasm hit him like a punch in the gut. He fucked all three of you harder, closer to oblivion. The headboard slamming against the wall as the restraint dug into your wrists was the only thing grounding you to remain on Earth. Satoru didn’t let up on the rough thrusts until he felt his cum dripping around his cock onto the bed.

The throbbing pain in the back of your throat, deep inside of your pussy was all the confirmation you needed that your boyfriends had fulfilled their promise. Never in your life had you been fucked so roughly. But it was a pain that you warmly welcomed.

After coming down, Suguru was the first to move gently. The rough hands that had been holding you in a vice gently held you as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth. “Lay down.” His gruff, gentle voice whispered as he helped rest you against a pillow.

“Oh fuck—“ Satoru lifted his head off your shoulder, “I haven’t cum that hard in a while.” He was so slow, pulling out of you, grimacing as you cried out. “Sorry, fuck I’m sorry, baby.”

You shut your eyes, listening to Satoru getting out of bed. You could hear water running in the bathroom as gentle fingers began undoing your restraints. “You did such a good job, Y/N,” Suguru whispered. “Such a good girl for us.” His praise had you humming happily as he made quick work of the rest of the ropes.

“Suguru, let’s order in, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The next half hour was a blur of warm happiness. Satoru helped wash your body in a bubble bath before Suguru joined you, kneeling next to the tub, lovingly stroking your face and hair. After you were cleaned up, your hair brushed, and pajamas on. You crawled into your bed with fresh sheets and relaxed. Satoru and Suguru fluffed your pillows and brought you a cup of tea for your raw throat. When your dinner arrived, the three of you sat in bed together to eat as a B-grade horror movie played on the television.

After eating, Satoru left to throw out the take-out containers. “Mmm, thank you for letting us do all that,” Suguru said as he crawled into bed after his shower. “That mission, it was rough.”

“I’m always happy to help.” Your voice cracked, making Suguru frown. “Stop frowning,” you flicked his forehead. “I like it rough.”

The bed dipped, and Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist. “Y/N can handle it. She is dating the two strongest, after all.” Both you and Suguru scoffed, relaxing in the growing silence. “Oh, by the way, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You yawned, snuggling into Suguru’s chest as he turned the bedside lamp off.

“Did you bring home my mochi?”

In the dark of the room, you heard a thump and Satoru’s whine before Suguru pulled the three of you closer to him. “Satoru shut the fuck up about the mochi.”

[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Smut (18+), unprotected oral, oral (m receiving), swearing, nudity, foreplay, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, mental illness, dirty talk, mentions of drugs.

The van screeched to a halt outside your house and Eddie jumped out onto the kerb. He double checked the address Robin had scribbled on a torn corner of note paper then slammed the driver's door closed.

Robin had found him holding court in the cafeteria with The Hellfire Club and told Eddie to get to your place quick. There was a rumour spreading fast that your father had gone crazy in the supermarket and the police had arrested both of you.

"She wont answer the phone and I can't get there," Robin said as she wrote your address out for Eddie. "Steve can't leave the video store to drive me."

"I don't think she allows visitors," Eddie protested remembering your firm rule of no tutoring at your house.

"Just bang on the door and see if she's ok," Robin pushed back as the whole table watched her and Eddie. "Yell through the mail slot if you have to."

So Eddie was at your door twenty minutes later knocking in a steady rhythm and calling your name.

A dark blob appeared in the security glass after a few seconds and you yanked the door open.

He'd never seen you so unkept. At school you were a stylish dresser with your hair and make up done with precision. Now you were wearing an oversized t-shirt with a pair of track pants and your hair loose.

There was no colour in your face except for the ugly splotches of purple and and black around your right eye. The lower white of your battered eye had turned red and there were two stitches in your bottom eyelid.

You saw your visitor staring at you open mouthed for a minute then tried to close the door.

"Eddie! You can't be here!" you said shaking your head.

"What the hell!"

Eddie jumped forward and jammed his boot between the doorframe and you. He couldn't pull his eyes off your black eye and felt his skin flush with fury.

"It's fine, leave it. You've got to go!" you struggled to force him out but Eddie now had an arm braced against the door.

A calico cat tried to slip through the opening and you let go to catch the slinky animal. Eddie used the distraction to push his way inside and stumble into your hall.

"I'm serious, you can't be here!" you insisted desperately but Eddie didn't heed and reached for your face.

His rough thumb ran a line under your bruised cheekbone and you jerked back with a wince. The throbbing and pounding headache had stopped last night but the skin was still tender along the cut.

"Who did this?" Eddie demanded. "Was it your Dad?"

"No!" you answered scornfully with a glare. "Mrs Cunningham."

"What?"

"I'll call you later and explain everything but you need to go now," you promised and lowered your voice. "Dad isn't well."

You then looked down the hall anxiously but no one was coming.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what happened," Eddie vowed stubbornly as the cat slithered out your hold and dashed away.

You swore softly as the fluffy tail disappeared into another room and you turned back to Eddie who was watching you with his arms crossed. The expression on his face said he wasn't budging and you were too exhausted to keep arguing.

"All right," you relented, "but keep quiet. He was up all night."

Together you crept past the living room where your dad was sleeping in an armchair beside a stereo softly playing classical music.

Eddie peeped in to see him wrapped in a dressing gown with his arms dangling over the armrests and face turned away. You two had the same colour hair but his was peppered with silver.

You pinched Eddie's arm to stop him staring and he followed you to your bedroom where you closed the door.

There were books everywhere, shelves filled to capacity as well as towers rising up from the floor. The spines had various colours and in different stages of wear with titles Eddie had never heard of. There was a chess board set up mid game on the desk and on the chair another cat, this one black, was curled up asleep.

With nowhere else to sit Eddie lowered onto your unmade bed as you dashed around the room gathering dirty laundry and throwing it in the wardrobe.

"Relax sweetheart," Eddie said soothingly and reached for your hand. "Come sit."

You looked around the chaotic room for another minute and decided getting it guest worthy was futile. You ignored Eddie's offered hand but sat beside him on the bed, looking straight ahead at the wall where you had some art prints tacked.

"Robin told me there was a fight at the supermarket," Eddie started when you wouldn't look at him.

"I suppose I better tell you everything before the story gets all twisted up at school," you said with defeat and leant back against the wall.

"We were grocery shopping yesterday and we came across Chrissy Cunningham and her Mum in the dairy section. Mrs Cunningham was going off at Chrissy for putting some cheese in their basket bitching about how it was going to make her fat and didn't she care how she looked and how she should be ashamed of herself and all this shit."

Eddie took in the story silently as you relayed it in a weary monotone.

"So Dad gets upset and starts having a go at Mrs Cunningham saying she should be the one ashamed and how dare she treat her daughter that way and how fat shaming proves how truly vile she was."

"Then she hit you?" Eddie rushed.

"No," you said tersely at being interrupted and made an irritated line with your lips.

"She and Dad started screaming at each other and things escalated. He wound up dumping a family sized tub of yogurt on her head and she took a swing at him."

"You got in the way," Eddie concluded.

"Never be a hero," you grunted and pointed to your stitches. "Cut me open with her engagement ring. When the paramedics got there they had to give Dad a sedative and we all wound up at the police station."

"What did they say?" This was the part Eddie worried about the most.

If you'd spoken the police the way you had to Principal Higgins it would be bad.

"They took statements from all of us and booked in a psych assessment for Dad. We're waiting to see if the Mrs Cunningham will press charges. I'm not sure what kind of assault throwing yogurt is but I'd think it's less severe than punching a minor in the face. If she wants to sue I've got a countersuit right here on my face."

You let your gaze roll upward to the roof and grumbled as you tugged your hair with frustration.

You didn't go on to explain the horror it had been once the sedative had worn off and Dad went into a full manic episode that lasted most the night.

"You're under a lot of strain sweetheart. Tell me how I can help."

Eddie's voice brought you back to the present and you rolled your head to see his beautiful eyes full of sympathy.

"My brain is like a freight train right now," you tried to explain the chaos in you mind. "One that's flown off the tracks and is plowing through a town at breakneck speed. I can't shut off."

"I can get you something to take," Eddie offered. "Something to relax you and help you sleep? Or something to drink? I wont tell anyone."

"No, not with my brain. It'll just make things worse," you said shaking your head.

Your brain was abnormal so you hated to think what a bit of weed would do to it.

"We could go for a drive somewhere?" Eddie suggested. "Get some air and something to eat? You're a little cabin feverish."

A cruise by Lover's Lake would have been divine with fresh air on your face but it wasn't possible.

"I gotta stay here, Dad will go into a tailspin if I'm gone when he wakes up."

"Let me keep you company at least," Eddie wasn't going to be deterred easily. "We can play chess or listen to some music. I have tapes in the van."

"Actually, can you read to me? I like the sound of your voice."

Your request was unusual and Eddie felt the impulse to tease. Say something about being a 1800 kinky caller but he sensed your mood was too low for lewd humour.

"Sure, anything in particular?" he asked pleased you were finally accepting his help.

"Doesn't matter."

Eddie reached for the closest piece of reading material and you closed your eyes allowing your head to fall against the wall.

Yesterday at the station had been hell. Mrs Cunningham was screaming so hysterically the officers had to move her to a room on her own while Chrissy sat outside crying.

You spent over an hour on the phone trying to track down your dad's social worker so he could attest that his client was not a danger and could be released.

The police had asked you a lot of uncomfortable questions about what happened in the home and if you were subjected to anything untoward. You'd been furious but had forced yourself to stay calm to get through the nightmare.

Dad meanwhile gave unclear answers due to the sedation so it wasn't until the supermarket manager came by with the security tape that you were allowed to leave.

Tomorrow the social worker would visit and assess the living situation. That could potentially effect how you would live from then on.

It was too much.

Eddie was reading you something about the Sicilian Defence but his words didn't register, his voice sounding like a hum. You didn't know when he had taken your hand but you were holding his and felt his warmth.

Eddie put the magazine down when you nestled your head on his lap and he swallowed uncertainly. He'd come over with the intension of checking on you but honestly had no idea how to help.

You were always so strong and in control it unnerved him to see you this way. Eddie was a considerate guy but he hadn't been raised in circumstances that required emotional intelligence.

He and Wayne were buds and his dad was a selfish arsehole. His mother was another case but he tried not to think about her.

Sometimes one of his lost sheep would feel the pressure of being a high school pariah and he'd have to step in to affirm their worth but no one had crumbled on him before.

It wasn't until he felt his jeans dampening that he realised you were crying.

"Hey, hey baby," he soothed and tossed the magazine on a nearby book pile. "You're all right."

"No I'm not," you sobbed and gripped a handful of denim. "It's all coming apart. What if they send him back to the psych ward? He wont survive another stay."

"You don't know that yet," Eddie said rationally. "Don't stress over something you can't control."

"I can control it," you sniffled. "I just have to figure out how."

"Come here, come here," Eddie encouraged and pulled gently at your collar to get you sitting up.

You sat up on your knees but Eddie had to turn your face gently to look at him. You were so ashamed of your own weakness you couldn't look him in the eye.

"Life is not a game of chess darlin,'" Eddie said forcing eye contact. "It doesn't have rules and order. It's chaos and we just have to keep our heads above the water. Sometimes it's overwhelming and we feel like we can't cope. That's why I sell so much weed, nobody can keep it together all the time."

You couldn't articulate your appreciation so you headbutted his shoulder lightly like the cats did to express affection. He smelt like weed mixed with something distinctly him and you breathed in a lungful like a fortifying incense.

It was the wrong time but Eddie took his shot. Your intimate proximity overwhelmed his good sense and he kissed you on the lips.

You were stunned and blinked at him with puffy eyes with a dazed expression when he broke away. Your head was such a squall at the moment you weren't entirely sure it was even real.

Maybe you had a concussion after all.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie said suddenly with a face of total remorse. "I shouldn't have done that."

A second later you were in his lap and kissing him fiercely.

Eddie made a startled noise then recovered quickly to cup the globes of your backside with his hands. He opened his mouth and met your tongue, massaging it with his own.

You had your fingers entwined at the back of his neck and were using your thumbs to massage the tight muscles under his skull. The gentle rotations on his neck sent relief through his head and Eddie moaned with euphoria against your lips.

You jerked your mouth away and planted a line of swift kisses along his jaw sweeping his hair back to bite his ear lobe gently.

Eddie responded by pulling the t-shirt down your shoulder and sinking his teeth into your neck. You hadn't showered since yesterday and your skin tased salty as he sucked animalistically.

"Oh Eddie," you groaned as you grabbed handfuls of mane. "Make me feel something."

The numbing misery that plagued you was being burnt away by pleasure. It had been a long time since you'd let anyone touch you ibtimately and Eddie's touch was reviving something within you.

You could never bring yourself to admit your need for physical affection. It would be exposing a weakness.

Eddie rolled his shoulders to make his jacket fall off and you reached down to undo his belt buckle.

"Is this ok?" you puffed between kisses and he nodded.

Eddie ran his hands over the front of your t-shirt but the sensation annoyed you, you wanted to feel those guitar tough fingertips on your skin.

In one swift move you pulled your top off and threw it on the floor. You weren't wearing a bra and Eddie froze for a minute taking in the sight of your breasts.

He'd imaged this moment half a hundred times but fantasy can only prepare someone so much. He was turned to stone by the sight and glanced up at you with an almost pleading look.

You took his wrist lightly with a thumb and forefinger and brought it to your firm breast.

Eddie held the weight and curve in his hand and felt the mass push against his squeeze. Tight and high, they were close to his face and he fought the crude urge to smother himself.

The belt now unbuckled Eddie's jeans practically unbuttoned themselves from the pressure pushing against them. Eddie had his hands on your shoulder blades as he kissed your breasts delicately and you reached under the chain store boxers to run a fingertip lightly along his length.

His gaze met yours and his attention on your breasts halted.

"Ok?" you asked seriously looking deep into the brown eyes you daydreamed about so often.

"Yeah," Eddie affirmed and you could feel his hold on you tighten.

"I'll stop any time," you promised and he kissed you on the lips again.

"I don't want you to stop," he assured you then kissed you deeper.

You kissed for a few minutes with Eddie running his fingers through your hair. It was always so tightly braided he felt a thrill playing with the loose tendrils and bringing a fistful to his face to inhale.

His wild hair was an open 'fuck you' to the establishment but yours struck him as something regal. A crown you'd grown yourself.

You slipped you hand under his boxers again and took ahold of his cock with a firm grip moving it to a slow rhythm as you rubbed your crotch against Eddie's thigh at a matching pace.

"That's good baby, that's good," he whispered and lent back.

His hold had moved back to your arse which he gripped tightly to steady his carnal instinct to throw you on the floor and fuck you senseless.

With your free hand you tenderly rubbed your thumb over his bottom lip and he bit at your fingers playfully making you giggle.

You couldn't believe someone as vivacious and unapologetically himself wanted you this way. You were too guarded, too course and encumbered with complicated responsibilities. The attraction had you confounded.

Eddie had lapsed into a sluggish bliss and desperate for more affection you let go of his throbbing cock and wiggled your behind out of his hold.

"What's wrong baby?" Eddie asked concerned and suddenly felt very aware of his erection poking out his pants like a flagpole.

Your dad could wake up any minute and there'd be no convincing him this was perfectly innocent.

"Nothing," you said and got comfortable kneeling on the floor.

You gave Eddie a wink and slipped your hands around his waist before leaning forward and taking him in your mouth.

Eddie let out a shaky gasp and and clenched the bedsheets either side of him. He instantly forgot his concern of being interrupted and tried not to buck his hips in reaction to your sudden action.

You moved your head up and down slowly, taking him deeply with your tongue sliding against the underside of his cock. Every few strokes you would drag your front teeth along his shaft ever so lightly to make him gasp.

"Jesus shit baby," Eddie groaned and nearly ripped the bed sheets as he yanked them in surprise.

No one had done this for him before. Sex he'd had but nothing this tender. Porn had mislead him to believe blowjobs were frantic and fast not this slow and sensitive.

Somehow the paced pleasure was making it harder to contain himself than if you were going at it like rabbits.

Feeling neglected you reached for one of Eddie's arms blindly and pulled his hand towards you as you kept the pace with your mouth. Receiving the message Eddie pushed his ringed fingers through your hair and held tight, not enough to hurt, just enough to convey his excessive delight.

Taking the encouragement you moved faster and Eddie began a long, low moan.

"Shit baby, that's good, so good, let me -"

Suddenly his voice broke into a shout and your mouth filled with with a warm salty substance you didn't expect.

You pulled off in a hurry and covered your mouth but it was too late, you had already spilled down the leg of Eddie's jeans and the floor.

You coughed as you retched ungracefully and Eddie swore repeatedly as he fumbled with himself.

This had never happened before, there hadn't been any warning. One second he was in the comfortable high of your ministrations and the next an orgasm had ripped through him.

He was beyond embarrassed and horrified of what you must think of him. He knew some guys just used girls as receptacles for their jizz but he'd never do that to you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated over and over and put his hand on your back as you coughed doubled over.

You moved out of reach and pulled some tissues out of your desk holding them to your mouth as you tried to regulate your breathing.

Eddie pushed this still throbbing cock back in his pants and buckled up before standing. Your breathing had slowed and you threw the bunched tissues in a bin.

The cat was now glaring at the two of you scornfully for waking him so rudely and you felt the shame rising in you.

What the fuck were you thinking? You were an emotional mess and you thought sucking off a school friend would help? What was wrong with you?

"I didn't mean that baby," Eddie came up behind you but you stepped away before he could hold you.

"Really I didn't," he insisted but you wouldn't turn around.

"It's not your fault it's mine," you said as the swallowed cum burnt in your throat like a cruel reminder of you mistake. "You should go."

"No baby I want to stay with you," the ecstasy from Eddie's orgasm was wearing off to make way for dread.

Did you hate him now?

"We should -" he began but suddenly someone outside began calling your name.

"Shit," you swore and quickly threw your shirt back on and made for the door.

"Wait a sec," Eddie moved to intervene but you pushed past him aggressively.

"Go home Eddie," you ordered as you opened the door and nearly tripped over the cat as it shot past you.

He said your name but you couldn't take anymore. You'd fucked up phenomenally and hated yourself for it.

"Just go home!" you shouted and slammed the door behind you.

Eddie stood in your room alone with his jeans turning sticky and his his cock drying from your spit. He'd come over to help and instead fucked everything up.

With your guard down he'd had the perfect opportunity to tell you how he was starting to feel about you but had got his dick out instead.

He stood for a second trying to think how he could turn everything around then in an mad outlash knocked the chess pieces across the room.

"Fuck!"

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ UNLIKELY COMPANION — feat. kyojuro event masterlist.

synopsis. you're certain that the creature that keeps visiting you is something completely inhuman, but you don't mind. he seems quite fond of you, and always tries his best to look after you, so who are you to complain? warnings. none? notes. requested by anon. demon!kyojuro. gn!reader. fluff? 1.7k words. i hope this is okay, i wasn't sure about this one but i couldn't keep editing it T-T

The first thing you were taught was fear.

Fear came in the form of caution, learnt through a thousand tales of reckless children and their inevitable demises. Those who ventured out of their home when the sun fell, who dared to stray from the path when walking in the forest, were whispered about like ghost stories. Your elders made sure the horrors were never forgotten, always lurking in the back of your mind like cobwebs.

So you learnt, and learnt well. You heeded their advice, and kept your house locked up before you slept, lighting the lanterns outside, and burning wisteria incense to ward off any stray evils.

It wasn't an infallible defense, but it was better than nothing, they said. Anything less would be like offering yourself up like a piece of meat on a platter.

The cause of the fear, the ones who were waiting to snatch up unsuspecting humans and tear them to shreds, those were less certain in your mind. All that was really known was the trail that they left behind; massacres of entire families, young men and women vanishing without a trace, bloodstains splattered across the forest floor.

'Demons' was what they were called.

They were what kept people barricaded inside their houses, huddled under blankets and fearing the moonlight poking through the cracks in their windows. The bloodthirsty creatures emerged at sundown, feasting on human flesh, and retreating before dawn. They were stronger, faster, and much more deadly than any other danger a human could face.

The village was right to fear them, and so were you.

Once, the idea of walking through the forest in the dead of night would have given you a heart attack. Now, it had become just another part of your day.

It was simply too much of a good opportunity to pass on. Collecting herbs and plants to sell was what kept food on your table, and some of the most sought after greenery bloomed only at night. The risk was high, but in times of desperation as strong as yours, common sense was disregarded. You weren't a kid anymore, and you needed some sort of income to keep yourself afloat.

Most would—and have, for that matter—called you mad for your little 'hobby'. Hunting plants in demon-infested woods at night was equal to plucking the whiskers off a tiger's face as it's sleeping.

“Do you have a death wish?” The doctor asked with a shake of his head. He accepted the herbs graciously, offering a generous sum for your effort, but still scolded you for your actions. “What sense do you have, going out at night alone?”

You smiled and waved him off every time, assuring him that you were careful, and you weren't in any danger. You never bothered to correct him that you weren't alone, but you doubted the truth would be any comfort to the man.

-----

As always, you felt him before you saw him.

The first sign was the wind—which was as howling and brutal a late-night breeze could be—suddenly going still. You paused in where you were crouched over a crop of flowers, hand still poised and ready to pluck them from the soil.

The next sign was a sudden warmth behind you, like a forest fire was creeping up at your back. It was a cold night—or it was up until he appeared, leaving a pleasant heat in his wake.

Finally, if you hadn't put the pieces together, his booming voice confirmed any lingering doubts.

“[Name]! I see you are still collecting plants!”

A smile broke over your face, even before you saw him. You grabbed a handful of the flowers and tossed them into your bag, straightening up and turning to face him.

“I am,” You agreed pleasantly. “I see you're back.”

He was grinning back at you, eyes wide and bright. You found yourself studying them, watching his irises shift and swirl in shades of yellow and orange, like there was a bonfire burning behind his eyes.

At a first glance, he wasn't anything out of the ordinary. There were no obvious abnormalities, no inhuman features that would prove he's anything less than a perfectly normal man. It was only when you looked closer that you noticed he never seemed to blink, his teeth were unusually sharp, and his skin was always burning when you touched it.

You would have to be a fool, spending as much time around him as you had and not suspecting him to be something otherworldly, but you didn't let it trouble you. Even if he was the creature that you were warned about, he didn't seem like he had any intention of harming you.

Even after what you were taught, it was difficult to see him as someone to fear, when the very first time you had met him was through him saving your life.

On one of your first visits to the forest, you had stumbled into one of the 'demons' that you were warned about. You had enough wits to drop your bag and bolt towards the town, but you could hear heavy footsteps behind you, getting closer and closer.

In the end, the strain on your lungs slowed you down, until you were collapsed heavily against a tree, with nowhere left to run. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the moment that the demon would tear you to shreds.

It never came.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and glanced around, still wheezing from the exertion. There was no sound or sign of a struggle, it was as if the creature had gotten spooked and run away.

But what could possibly scare away a demon?

That was when you saw him, stepping out of the trees with your bag held loosely in one of his hands. He looked over at you with owlish eyes, unblinking as he held out the item you had lost.

“I believe this is yours.”

Numbly, you took the offered bag, still leaning against the tree trunk. The man stepped back, smiling widely.

“Call me Kyojuro!” He proclaimed, his voice echoing through the quiet clearing.

“I-It's nice to meet you, Kyojuro.” You had stammered out, still reeling from the close call. “My name is [Name].”

“You should not be here!” He continued, as if you hadn't spoken at all. “There are more dangers than losing your belongings, you know!”

You only nodded, still in shock.

After that, he walked you back to your house, making you promise to not to explore the forest at night anymore. You were careful with your response, instead vowing that you wouldn't get into danger like that again. When he waved you goodbye, there was a strange curl of warmth in your chest that you couldn't quite place.

Of course, it wasn't your last visit to the forest, much to Kyojuro's chagrin. He managed to find you every time, chiding you for coming back even after his warning. Every time, he would accompany you as you collected plants, and every time he would walk you home.

There was a hint of fear, for a while, but it wore off easily. While his unwavering gaze and loud voice unnerved you at first, he was a warm, steady presence that you found yourself craving, even during the daytime. He wasn't violent, or unpredictable, as you had been led to believe creatures of his kind were.

If anything, he seemed oddly fond of you.

It showed in strange ways, but the way he always made sure you arrived home safe, and the times he would leave bento boxes on your doorstep to discover in the mornings, and the genuine care in his voice when he inquired about your well-being told you more than words ever could.

“I have returned, yes!” Kyojuro nodded. “I apologise for my absence. It has been a busy few days.”

“I don't mind,” You reassured him. The wind brushed against your face, making you shiver. “I've been busy too, I haven't been foraging much.”

“That is—” He cut himself off abruptly, the smile sliding off his face. In two quick strides, he crossed the clearing and was right in front of you. “You are cold.”

“It's just the wind.” You pulled your haori tighter around yourself.

“You are cold.” Kyojuro's voice was more distressed than you have ever heard it. He reached out his hand, pressing it against your cheek. His skin, as burning hot as it always was, was a welcomed relief on your cold face. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning into the touch.

“It's not that bad, really—”

“No. You are too cold. Have you collected enough for tonight?”

“I guess, but—”

“Good.”

Without another word, he leaned down and scooped you up in his arms as if you were weightless. With a gasp, you clutched onto his sleeve, as he adjusted his position so he was carrying you with one hand under your knees and the other supporting your back.

“Kyojuro!” You hissed, your face growing warm in embarrassment. “I can walk, I don't need to be carried!”

Kyojuro clicked his tongue in disapproval, calmly walking back through the path of the forest towards your house. “I disagree. With how long you've spent out in the cold night air, you might be sick. I wouldn't want you collapsing before you get home.”

You scowled into his chest. As flustered as the sudden gesture made you, you could see the care behind it. It was his way of taking care of you, or at least you assumed it was.

And it was difficult to be annoyed, when he was so warm, and you were still so cold from being out all night. Leaning against him was like curling up by a fire; it was enough to lull you into a gentle slumber.

It was only when you arrived home that you stirred, as he laid you down on your bed to sleep, pulling the sheet up to your chin.

“Goodnight, [Name].” Kyojuro said, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Goodnight...” You mumbled.

If this was what you were supposed to fear, then you didn't mind ignoring the warnings.

🏷️ taglist: @mollzaj, @mitsvriii, @an-angstyteen

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[thinkerer24]

"I'm hungry, please"

From the dark smut prompt list (I'm going to hell, aren't I)

Heed the warnings !

SMUT 18+,CNC, bondage, overstimulation, begging, squirting (or is it pee?), safeword is present but not used.

You don't know how long you've been down here, but you're sure it's been a whole day at the very least. Your voice is sore from screaming; you can almost feel nodules form at the cords due to the friction they've been subjected to. Your lips are chapped and cracking painfully, the drool by the side of your mouth dried up long ago due to a lack of hydration.

You're breathing deeply, chest heaving up and down, up and down, and you're so so loopy from the constant barrage of orgasms. You can only see white at this point. Your wrists and ankles are chafed raw from the thick rope that's been keeping you spread eagle on the wooden table for the better part of the evening. The constant click click click of the machine between your legs had irked you in the beginning but now it's the only sound you can hear aside from the shlick of your overworked pussy. The thick rubber phallus attached to the fuck machine breached your walls in a constant, steady rhythm; no amount of begging was stopping it. Its stamina was unlike any human and maybe that's the lesson Simon was trying to teach you. You almost regret teasing him about his refractory period now.

Almost.

You know you fucked up, like, as soon as the words had left your mouth, in all honesty. You knew he was tired, you knew he couldn't help himself when he was snuggled up inside your tight heat. You knew he'd make it up to you later, as he always did. But you'd been pent up for the better part of the week, and Simon hadn't given you much attention for the better part of the whole month because some fucking politician somewhere made some stupid decision that had his whole team riled up, whatever, you don't know, really. He'd wrapped up the entire wahoo and reached your shared house dead in the middle of night, embracing your sleepy body so tight you thought you'd break. He slipped inside you without much prep and under normal circumstances you'd have pushed him away but the burning stretch felt welcome after this celibate interval. You were so grateful for his rapid pace; already imagining all the positions you'd put him in, when his hips stuttered as his orgasm washed over him.

If this was any other time, as you'd repeatedly said before, you'd have kissed him to sleep and taken care of yourself. You would have, really, pinky swear. But you don't know what came over you when you rolled your eyes and made a scathing remark at his...less than satisfactory performance.

"Is this all I get from you, old man? Maybe I should buy myself a few more vibrators. At least they won't disappoint me like you do."

You promise you hadn't meant it.

The fuck machine was a gag gift, something you'd bought in the spur of the moment to spice up your sex life (not that it needed any more spicing up, your poor heart) after you'd seen it in some porno. You were intrigued, the idea of Simon fucking into your cunt while the dildo plowed into your ass at the same time was intoxicating. You'd shown it to Simon as soon as you'd bought it and he...wasn't too pleased.

"Am I not enough, love?"

"What? No, Simon, come on, it's just a toy, I-"

"We're not using it, babe. I don't wanna share you. Especially not with a fucking... Machine"

It was simple. Final. You pouted a bit but you got over it pretty quickly when he ate you out over the kitchen counter, right beside the half opened package, mostly forgotten.

Until now.

Simon decided the best way to punish you for making fun of him was to tie you to the kitchen table, spread eagle and have that very same machine plow at your poor, weeping pussy for hours, not until you waved your white flag. The prospect was so exciting to you at first, you were basically vibrating with anticipation as he tied you down. You winked at him when he asked you if you were ready, and he had just chuckled.

Oh you naive girl.

Simon was always present throughout the entire ordeal, not speaking a word as you begged and cried and sobbed through your orgasms. He got up from his seat occasionally to pinch your nipples roughly, smacking it once, twice, just to see your big, pleading eyes cry up at him. You'd squirted innumerable times and Simon's greedy eyes swallowed it all, but never once did he turn off the machine.

"Please. Please, please Simon I'm so so sorry I'm never gonna do it again, I'll do anything I'll suck your cock, I'm Si-"

Your words tapered into a shriek as you come, again. You're sure you're all dry by now, all your squirt pooled up beneath your ass and making you all sticky but Simon grabs you by the throat and pulls you up to show you the obscene sight in front of you. Your legs were shaking in the bindings and a huge trickle of what you were sure was pee was trickling out of you and onto the bright purple dildo.

"You see that, baby?" Simon's rough voice flooded your neurons, his first sentence of the night, "You're all fucked out but you're still squirting for your old man. Is this what you wanted, huh? Wanted to be fucked allll night long? Yeah?"

You're crying by now, hot tears slipping down your cheeks and gathering by his fist that was wrapped around your neck. The pressure made you lightheaded and your eyes roll back again as his other hand reaches between your legs to strum at your puffy clit.

You think you black out due to the unexpected orgasm but oh, no, Simon's not gonna let you go so easy. He releases the pressure on your throat and you gasp, the roaring of blood in your ears bringing you back to reality. He's so close to you you can smell his sweat.

"I'm hungry, Simon. Please"

You don't know where that came from. You weren't hungry, not really, but you don't think you could've taken any more of this torture.

The words seem to break him out of the trance he's in, his eyes softening instantly.

"What's the safeword, baby?"

You shake your head, not wanting to cop out of the punishment (I'm a big girl! you're repeating in your head) but Simon understands you're being stubborn. As usual.

He sighs and finally, finally, turns off the machine. The jarring silence that follows makes your ears ring. He pulls the dildo out of your cunt slowly and you whimper but he shushes you through it. He lifts the toy in the harsh light and you can see it drenched in your juices, a thick ring of your cream coating the base. You blush, and Simon just grins as he throws it on the floor.

He'll clean it later.

Slowly, he unties you and rubs your chafed limbs until you stop crying. His big arms wrap around you as he lifts you and carries you to the shower. You're clinging to him like a post-it, and it makes him just slightly guilty about what he's done.

"Pizza?"

You just nod and bury into his chest. A slight smile works itself into your face.

Worth it, you think.

[solaiced]

CASE 8: THE STRONGEST OF THIS GENERATION IN BED.

!content!: dubcon since ur drunk, nervous gojo, set after the sorcerers' graduation, drinking, poisoning? and gojo has a crush on you.

wc: 651

solace: not posting day 6 and 7 yet 💔

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Stop it, Gojo" was your motto.

Everyday, without fail, Satoru "insufferable" Gojo was there to annoy you. He loved your reactions.

The way your eye twitched each time he spoke, and your mouth contorted in an inevitable pout.

But this? This had gone too far. As you throw the bottle of "water" at Gojo, hitting a head shot you wouldve celebrated had you been sober, your vision blurs, stumbling.

And Gojo? He laughs.

Fucking laughs at your misery. He had replaced your water with absolute vodka, knowing you’d get drunk immediately.

But he still gets closer, still helps you get more stable, so that he can face your anger, fury, rage, everything.

"Stop it, Gojo..." You mumble as he puts you on the couch. He chuckles, closing your eyes.

”Sleep,” he says, "I'll wake you up, in the morning." He assures, kissing your cheek as he lays you down. You grumble but don't fight him. It’s useless against the Strongest.

"Don't kiss me." You wipe your cheek stubbornly and he frowns, grabbing your face and kissing you again. Gojo aggressively kisses you repeatedly, smothering you.

You shake your head, trying to get out of his grasp, and when you move, his lips fall on yours. A moment of silence blankets you until you both pull away, faces hot.

Gojo sputters a little apology, it's the first time you see him so... flustered? His face is red, pupils blown wide as he braces himself for a yelling session.

"Gojo." He jumps at his own name.

"Again." God, you should never drink again. It'll ruin your life. Seriously.

Gojo swallows nervously. It was embarrassing, the Strongest, nervous because of a simple girl.

He doesn’t move, doesn't heed your words, so, you pull him in and crash your dry lips against his soft ones, pulling a surprised moan out of his throat while he falls on you, trapping you in with his arms. You take that in stride, because you smile against his lips.

He pulls away forcefully, pushing you down.

“Wait, wait!” You groan, getting dizzy from his frantic panicking.

"Are you sure you want to? I mean, you're drunk, and -mmpf!" You cut him off by covering his mouth, eyes lidded low in lust as your hand travels under his pants and he yelps, activating Infinity and jumping off the bed. You narrow your eyes. Gojo fixes his messy hair.

"Answer me, give me your consent!" He begs, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimly lit room.

“I want to fuck you, Gojo Satoru." You place an emphasis on his name. “Turn off Infinity and let me ride you." You get up and prowl towards him with a predatory gaze.

The Strongest trembles in fear and anticipation for the first time ever. You want to fuck him? He's waited years for this moment to happen. Just ... differently. Like a date, or something.

“Satoru," You whisper, hand reaching for him, and he almost cums in his pants, his name on your lips should be the only word that you pronounce, "deactivate it, please." You beg, lips contorted into a pleading pout.

"Sit." He orders, turning his shield off. Gojo's voice is so commanding, you debate disobeying him or not. However, instead of being stubborn like usual, you obey and unbutton your top in advance, and Gojo fees like he ascended to Heaven as you take off your bra and reveal your perky tits, keeping his composure, he stands infront of you, unzipping his pants.

His cerulean eyes shine as they look down on you, “Open your legs.”

~~~~~

That was hours ago. Maybe two, maybe four. You can't remember. However, Satoru, you couldn't forget. His perfect cock drilled into you for hours on end, which sealed your fate for tomorrow; you shall not walk for a week, at least.

Rough fingers dig in the sides of your hips, “Are you spa-spacing out... hah, on me girl? That won't do." Satoru promises while a hand reaches for your clit, puffy and red from abuse, aka, pinching and his neatly groomed white hair grinding on the sensitive nub.

"Ngh-o! I’m soh-sorry!" You weakly swat his hands away, kicking your legs and mewling when his tips smacks on tor your g-spot, eyes crossing.

His answering laugh is cruel, lips puckering to kiss away at your tears of overstimulation.

“Don’t be, baby, I’m-ah! Having so much fun with you.” His hot breath fanning your hot cheeks.

“Please!” You beg, nails digging into his hard shoulders, why was he so stupidly strong?! “Stop it, Gojo!” You can feel tears flowing down your cheeks once more, which Satoru wipes away with a little smile.

He thinks he’s never gone at it for so long. Six whole hours, and he thinks his dick is about to fall off. But he’s still going. He has to make up for lost time. He’s aiming to make you cum as much as he can until one of you passes out. Preferably you. Because he wants to take care of you.

However, at your cries of “stop” and “no more”, he doesn’t answer. He knows if you truly wanted it to stop, you could either easily push him off, or use the safe word. He’s reminded you multiple times of it, for fear that you forgot, but it’s obvious you don’t want it.

Satoru can feel his voice breaking as he coos little praises to you, how good you are for him, and how long he’s waited for this. Yet he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Hell, he’s got reverse cursed technique. He can go for days on end.

That said, he is careful as he thrusts into you, tip bullying your g-spot over and over again. Satoru loves the way your cunt flutters around him, the way it squeezes when he grinds his hips deep into you, and most importantly, he loves you.

Satoru can’t help but dig his fingers harder into the fat of your hips, mumbling your name under his breath. He’s cum once before you, and you suffered the consequences. This would not be the first time.

“Satoru!” Your mouth falls open as you cum for the… which one was this, again? Fuck, you lost count at the fifth one.

“Fuck, fuck, sweetie, please…” He begs for nothing, can’t stop, couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

As he presses his hips flush to yours for a final time, you scream, “Purple!” And his eyes shoot open, shit, what did he do?

He stops, denying his own orgasm for you. “Did I do something wrong?” He pulls out, making the both of you wince.

“Don’t, don’t cum inside.” You felt guilty, but you didn’t have plan B and he didn’t wear a condom. While you trusted Satoru to not have some sexual disease, you didn’t trust his cum.

“Fuck, I thought I hurt you. Okay, I won’t. I’ll buy you plan B tomorrow, ‘Kay? Just incase.” He pauses, hand around the thick appendage that was just inside of you, somehow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, although you felt very sore. “I’m fine, let me help you.” You swat away his hand and jerk him off with quick movements.

Satoru chokes on his spit, the quick movements too sudden as he grabs your wrist to stop you, the most pathetic whine dragging out his throat.

“N-not too fast.” He requests, nestling his head in your neck and tickling the underside of your jaw.

“No mercy. You didn’t give me any.” You push him down, spitting on his tip to ease your jerking.

“Wait, stttopp–“ His hips stutter, stuck between chasing the pleasure and shying away from you, his hands reaching for you.

“Don’t touch me, and I’ll have a bit of mercy on you.” Satoru groans, hands gripping the sheets instead.

“Good.” You continue, covering his tip with your other hand’s palm, the motions making him quiver.

“W-where did you- oh!” The white haired man’s cock spurts out a rope of cum, hips jerking up.

“Seriously?” You ask, groaning. “Guess I’ll clean you up. As always, hm?” You hum, tongue peeking out to lick him up.

“N-no! Oh my god!” His back arches at the stimulation, hands grabbing your hair to yank you off. He realises his mistake too late, eyes widening slowly.

“Well, I suppose you know your wrongdoing?” He nods shakily.

“No mercy.” You giggle sinisterly, straddling his lap.

~~~~~~

Satoru flops backwards, you in tow. You both breathe heavily, spent by the last hour(s?) of pure debauchery.

“Hah, I’m never underestimating you ever again.” Satoru huffs, arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier against outside threats.

“You used to underestimate me?” You repeat, bewildered.

“Uhhhh…” He whistles, looking away innocently.

“That’s it, we’re going again.”

“NOO!”

[tulipsforyourlips]

✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (3)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 3K+

WARNINGS: none i can think of

PART 3✧˖°.

"What the fuck." Your heart beat thunderously in your ribcage. "Are you stalking me?"

The goth guy paid no heed to your question. "I am Dream."

You just stared at him. "Oh okay and I am a nightmare?"

He only became more stern if that was even possible. He took a step forward.

"Don't. I'll call the police," you threatened.

He continued on without paying any heed to your threat. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"I am King of Dreams-"

"Dude-I told you not working."

"Stop talking.” His voice was low but the words were sharp.

But you weren't going to turn down your sass because of a man? Cmon.

"I am Dream-"

"I think I got that bit.”

An imperceptible flare of his nostrils made you zip your mouth. Wow you really got under his skin.

"I am Dream of the Endless and you mortal, have been chosen for a destiny greater than your cause.”

You gawked at him and broke into a chuckle, "o-okay Dream, Wait." You straightened. "Did you say the Endless? Like Death?"

You didn't know much about the Endless but you for sure knew Death was one. He did not answer your question but he did not deny your claim, so you assumed it an affirmative from him.

"How do I know?"

"Know what?"

"That you are infact one of the Endless and not a serial killer concocting stories to trap his victim."

He stepped closer and this time you let him. "Oh I do concoct stories.” He brought his hand to his mouth and blew...sand particles?

However you had no time to asses that for certain because the next second you were suspended in the cosmos, your body pulling in all directions, vivid images clashed in your mind, touring you through the entire world and all in a blip of a second. You grabbed the rim of your bedstand as your mind spiraled, reeling itself back to reality. 

"Woah," you breathed out.

Had you just disrespected an Endless? And called him a stalker? You cringed.

"We will meet again," Dream said as he swooped his cloak over his head.

"Wait." He halted his actions.

"Why me?"

A flicker of emotion fired in his eyes, so brief you labeled it as your imagination.

"Goodnight mortal.”

You woke up with a start. And clutched your head in your hands, stupid dream. You glanced at your alarm clock and then realized it was broken, that you broke it and instead looked at the digits glowing on your phone screen, 5:00 am. Sleep would not come to you now, you knew that much so you put on your slippers and made your way to the kitchen, padding softly so as to not make any sound. You put on the stove and boiled the milk for some coffee, allowing your thoughts till now kept at bay to flood your mind. Okay so that was a dream, explains some stuff. But then those blurs in your dream, and you were sure you had seen him at the corridor yesterday. Unless you had watched a movie starring him and now you saw the actor everywhere. Nah that wasn’t true. But what about your dream? Ever since you were seventeen, you had dreamed only of that place with the mountains and the river. Or maybe before, it wasn't like you remembered anything before that, before your life here, with Edwin and Charles. Is something burning? Oh no. The milk was overflowing, dripping down the slab onto the floor.

"Fuck," you cursed.

How the heck did this even happen? You were staring right into the pot. You grabbed for a cloth, dabbing the milk away. The vessel was tarred black with the burnt milk inside. You couldn't do one bloody job properly.

"Turn around!"

You did, hands up in the air, heart beating exponentially fast yet again. Edwin was in his pajamas, a quizzical look adorning his face. The ghosts didn’t really need sleep but they still liked to bide the time away by resting when there were no immediate cases in need of solving. 

"Hazel?" he furrowed his brows and then examined the mess you were standing in. "What are you doing? I thought you were a thief or a ghost hunter or something.”

"Ghost hunters exist?" You were genuinely surprised.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "It's 5 in the morning, how are you up?"

"A dream.”

"A nightmare?"

"Not exactly.”

"A different one?"

You nodded. Edwin was taken aback at that. He knew about your dream, and that it was the only thing you ever dreamed about. Hell he knew everything about you. Both of them did. They were your only family.

The sun was slowly starting to emerge from underneath the cover of the dark. Edwin approached you at your place on the couch, two coffee mugs in his hand, steam ascending from them. He handed you your mug and took his place beside you.

You took a sip of your coffee. "Mmm.”

"Passable eh?" He teased.

"Yeah." You threw your head backwards.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, your shoulders touching and knees budging each other.

"You want to talk about it?"

It took you a second to realize the context, "No." You shook your head. "It's nothing.”

"Okay." He didn't probe further and you were thankful for that.

You felt someone watching you and you glanced at the window, only to find a crow? a raven? looking back.

"Bastards.”

You both turned your head to the source where a jealous Charles stood. "Are you having coffee without me?" He was acting like you both were cheating on him.

"Oi calm your horses, its not like your body requires coffee."

"And I care why? Everything is not about survival loser." He flicked your forehead.

"Ouch.” You sent him a glare.

"Okay I don't have the energy nor the patience to sit through this." Edwin got up. "You two, be ready in fifteen. Cases await us."

The moon was beginning to appear in the sky and the wind blew some mischievous strands of your hair across your face as you stapled the posters in your hands on the poles around you. A boy was missing, and your client was sure it had to do with some supernatural activity. It paid well so the agency didn't question it further. While the both of them were searching the location of his disappearance for clues, you were seeking more information about him. The wind knocked some papers out of your hand, and you bent down to pick them up. Your body jerked back when you straightened up.

Hand on your heart, you exclaimed, "Jeez!"

The goth guy from your dream stood before you.

"You seriously need to stop doing that," you gritted out.

And then suddenly your mind clicked and the words left you before you could stop them. "Wait you are real?"

Ever so slightly, Dream's face morphed into a question mark.

Okay so that definitely wasn't a dream, it was real. Very real apparently you realized as you assessed the man, no Endless standing before you.

"You need to come with me," he said oblivious to the raging commotion happening inside your mind.

You didn't reply, instead widened your eyes for an elaboration.

"To the Dreaming, my realm.”

"I can't, I am on a case.”

"Your friends can manage without you," he stated as a matter of fact.

You scoffed, "first of all that's rude, secondly-"

But before you could finish, sand, yeah sand for sure, began to swirl around you, gaining more motion until it enwrapped your entire body and when you next opened your eyes, you were in the Dreaming.

"Holy mother of god," you breathed as your eyes took in the throne room, the magnificence of it all, the colours shimmering in the glass pane, the cosmos swirling above you, the vastness of where you stood. You felt trivial, a bug in the path of a jogger.

"Lucienne I would like you to meet somebody," Dream's voice rasped and you revolved your head to face the woman his words were directed to.

A woman with skin like chocolate, sporting fashionable coattails and wearing spectacles that made her look infinitely wise or perhaps the glasses were just an addition to her preexistent wisdom met your eyes.

She bowed her head. “Greetings your lady."

You returned her gesture. "Hello Lucienne."

"Lucienne is my most trusted advisor and the sole librarian of this realm," the Endless spoke.

"Wow, I wonder what the library of the dreaming would look like.”

She peered at you in bafflement for a moment before quickly collecting herself.

"It would be my honour to show you sometime.”

"The honour would be all mine, Lucienne,” you smiled.

"Lord Morpheus," she called to the Endless.

Morpheus? Who the heck is Morpheus?

"Um who is Morpheus?" You decided to voice your curiosity.

A knowing glance passed between the two.

"It's another name I am called by.”

Oh.

"Lucienne go on,”

"There were further abruptions reported earlier around the house of mystery and..."

You were no longer paying attention to Lucienne's speech as your gaze travelled along the enormous cracks dividing the ground.

"Sorry to interrupt but is this part of the decor?" You asked the both of them.

"No," Morpheus sighed, "and that precisely is why you are here.”

"You don't have construction crew around here?"

Morpheus clenched his jaw, "We have Mervin, however this problem does not concern him. It runs deeper than you can comprehend.”

"Then help me comprehend," you said.

Morpheus eyes' pierced into yours, "All in time mortal."

Your legs dangled below you from where you sat in the library. As promised, Lucienne had shown you around and to say you were mesmerized beyond your wits would be a brutal understatement. You were in the dreaming, an entirely different realm, sitting in its library that towered even after you stretched your neck to its capacity, and were going through books that no mortal would have ever had the luxury of touching or even knowing that such pieces exist. Not to mention, having spoken with an Endless. An Endless? The king of Dreams himself. For a second you feared if you were dreaming again. But the old pinch sufficed to make you believe the opposite. But why? How? Your mind was a muddling mess. Guaranteed you had your fair share of weirdness working with the dead boy detectives but this was something entirely else. The librarian had introduced you to Mervin, who to your astonishment was actually a pumpkin head. You were after all in the realm of the dreams, if anything was possible, it was here. A sudden caw pulled you from your spiraling. A crow perched on your shoulders. No a raven? Was this…the raven from before? The one you had glanced in the living room's window?

"Hi kid, I am Matthew."

You weren't as taken aback as you thought you would be at the talking raven. You were slowly getting used to all the craziness.

"Hi Matthew, I am Hazel.”

"Pretty name.”

"Flattery doesn't work on me, just for your information," you stated, your gaze fixed on the words in the book propped open on your lap. "It might serve the goth guy you work for stalker.” You narrowed your eyes at the raven.

"Ooh, a feisty mortal, nice you and I would get along very well.”

And you both did. It would have been just minutes chatting away with Mathew but as your laughs erupted in the silence around you, you felt you had known the guy forever, the raven, oh the raven that had been a guy once.

"Matthew," Dream's cold tone quieted you both. “Leave us alone.”

"Yes boss," the raven obeyed.

"Accompany me,” Dream said as he turned away expecting you to follow behind.

Arrogant.

You fell in with him, a question on your lips when the gates to the palace opened. The question forgotten, your mouth parted in amazement as you stared at the vast expanse of gardens before you. You exited the palace steps, incredulity lingering on your face as you inhaled the sheer exquisiteness of the place you were in.

Dream ushered his head in a direction. "Come," and continued that way.

You jogged to match up his pace.

"What do you know about the Endless?" He asked.

"Very little," you admitted, "I mean I know there are seven of them, Death being one and now you apparently, but I'm afraid that's about all the knowledge I have."

"It is still more than what humans generally know about us."

"Well it's the courtesy of my friends.”

"Ah, your ghost friends," he disclosed.

You stopped in your tracks. "You know?"

"That they are ghosts?" He walked on.

"Yeah I just wondered- I figured you didn't know and that's why you didn't tell Death.”

"Oh Death knows," he revealed the information with a glint in his eye, as if he was enjoying your reaction.

"What?" You cried. Gathering yourself, you said, "Then why doesn't she..go after them? Bring them to the sunless lands and whatever?" You joined him.

"Death has her reasons. She is far kinder than you know.”

"I, I don't know what to say."

Morpheus did not try to continue the conversation. You both walked in silence for some time. Questions ran rampant inside your head, but never left your lips.

"Ask," he said not tearing his eyes away from the path.

You didn't even realize he had sensed your hesitation. Questions grappled with each other to be released first and in that brawl you muttered the stupidest of them all. "How many names do you have?"

If Morpheus was surprised at the choice of your question, he didn't show it. "Many.”

Wow okay that was one elaborate answer if you heard any. Did it pain him to speak?

Just as you had accepted that's all you would get from him, he spoke, "Dream, Morpheus, Oneiros and Sandman to name a few.”

"The Sandman? As in the fable Sandman?"

"Tell me mortal, do I look like a fable to you?"

"Fair point," you mused.

Taking the opportunity of his answering mood, you exploited your luck further. "Can the mortals visit the dreaming anytime? I mean how does this even work?"

"Yes, whenever a mortal sleeps, he enters my realm where I contain the unconscious of the entire world.”

"That sounds…tough.”

"Does this mean I am sleeping right now?" You queried further.

"Exceptionally, no. I brought you here. Your soul and your body are both intact at the present and there is no trace of you in the waking world."

Your mouth opened once more to ask him another question, when his raspy voice cut through the air. “You get one more.”

The ego of this man, fine you insolent arse.

"Do you ever get lonely?"

If you were paying rapt attention you would have noticed the falter in his steps but your eyes were trained on his face.

"No," he answered.

"Seriously? Not ever?"

"You have run out of your questions and your friends must be waiting for you." He turned his body towards you. 

But before he could procure his pouch of sand from his cloak, the ground gave a sudden croak beneath you. Followed by a deafening cracking as the very ground you stood upon began parting into two.

"What the-," you started.

Dream grabbed your elbow and pulled his cloak over you both. The universe itself seemed to wrap around you and in the next moment you were in the waking world. He released his hold on your elbow as if your touch had burned him. He would probably need to wash his hands after touching a mortal.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Before you could object, he had vanished. You waited in the clearing, the stack of posters on the ground and the moon bathing you in its light. You were gone for more than half a day but only a few hours had passed back here. Times moves differently here, Lucienne's words entered your mind. After waiting another 10 minutes, you got up from your position on the ground, collected the posters in your hand, and began to make your way back to the apartment. He wasn't coming back.

Just as you were out the woods, Morpheus' voice reached your ears. "I told you to stay there.”

You turned back. Moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated his pale skin to ghastly pale. He looked beautiful. What? Shut up brain.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

Morpheus didn't say anything to that. This guy really needed to work on his communication skills.

"What was back there?"

"The realm is collapsing, at the rate of the damage we have very little time."

"For what?"

"To prevent it from happening.”

"But-"

"Rest tonight mortal. We begin tomorrow." And with those obscure words he was gone in a blur.

You opened the door to the apartment and were immediately met with yelling. "Where the fuck were you?"

"You just totally vanished!"

"We searched for you everywhere!"

"Why weren't you answering your phone?"

"We were worried!"

Charles and Edwin's frenzied voices overlapped each other.

"Guys guys stop!"

They both fell silent.

"I am sorry I-I had to be somewhere on an urgent business and my phone died down."

"Next time the very least you can do is inform us beforehand," Edwin chided you.

"I swear the situation was out of my control, I promise it won't happen again."

Edwin's features softened and he asked, "Are you alright?"

You exhaled, "Yep I am aces."

"Get your own catchphrases," Charles muttered behind you and draped his arms around your neck from the back. "We are just glad you are back safe and in one piece.”

You leaned against his frame. "You can't even lie properly.”

"Hey sod off.” He broke apart the embrace.

You laughed at his tantrums.

"Anyways you wouldn't believe the adventure we had today. It was brills. Turns out the missing boy was actually..."

Yeah you wouldn't believe the adventure I had today either.  We begin tomorrow, the words scraped against the walls of your mind.

A/N: phew the stage is set. so lmk ur thoughts<3 i would love to hear em!! 

SERIES MASTERLIST ✧˖°.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

i have nowhere to go w any character rly,, just being beaten down and SO done with everything that has gone down in ur life, ending up on someone’s doorstep in the rain, asking for a moment of peace with them🥲🥲🥲

it ain't raining cause i wanted the pathetic fallacy to provide a happier setting than our dear reader's apartment - anyway, this one was fun, and is written extremely vaguely, in terms of your chosen character.

Seeking Peace - Drabble

Written with Iruka, Kakashi, Shisui, Shikamaru, Naruto, Shino, Choji, Kiba, Sai, and Neji in mind, but could work for others.

Warnings: swearing, angst, symptoms of depression (not showering, not eating), this might suck lmk

W/c: 612

Masterlist💿

You know it's gotten bad again, when you haven't had a good cup of tea in so long, that you start to forget how a proper cup should taste.

You know it's gotten bad again, when you realize you haven't showered in over a week; you can almost see the layer of dirt that clings to your skin, matting every hue.

You know it's gotten bad again, when you can't even finish a dinner roll in one sitting, even after having forgotten to eat for two days - though your stomach whales and gurgles, if you eat one bite too much, it all comes up.

You know it's gotten bad again.

Will it get better on it's own?

Stirring your tea until you can hear not a single sugar granule on the bottom, you sip the carefully brewed mixture with purpose - only to find it tastes of... ugh.

Sitting in the shower, your arms scream with exertion while washing your hair, battling the heavy tendrils with too much shampoo to quantify - but, can you find the energy to scrub your body? Ugh.

Drawing to the fridge, you hesitate to open it.

Fuck this, I need help.

So, you pull your favourite jumper over your t-shirt, and cover your legs with black track pants. Argyle socks had always ticked you, so you thought, for shits and giggles, why not?

Shoes were all you needed, then you got your keys and your coat, ready to leave.

You know where to go.

To the kindest person you know.

He was a constant presence in your life, on the sunny days and the rainy days. His door was always open, and his shoulder was always good to cry on. With him, he brought a homely warmth. one that drew you in, one that you craved, now, more than ever.

The streets are empty, and you realize it to be the dead of night. The village was asleep, washed in a silver glow and cool breeze.

The Moon tells you that it's a little past midnight, so you'd better hurry up. You heed her gentle advice, and could feel a beam of her shine along your face as a reward.

The beautiful Moon was very kind. So kind, that there was only one kinder than she.

And now you stood at his doorstep, your muscles tired, your mouth dry, and your heart heavy. Despite your thoughts that told you to go back to your apartment, you reach up and knock gently against his door. Then, wait.

And wait.

You rest your forehead against the door. Maybe you could just sleep here, on his doorstep... at least you'd be out of your apartment.

Then the door slowly cracks open.

Standing up straight, you gathered up whatever you could, and smile at him. He smiles right back, giving you a little boost.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawns, "What's the word, hummingbird? I haven't seen you in a bit."

"I'm sorry about that, and this - y'know, given the time and all..."

"Agh, don't worry about it," he assures you with a sleep-laced voice. He holds the door open wider, and motions you in. "Do you wanna come in to have a tea and a chat, or... I dunno, we could cuddle up on the couch maybe?"

He would always understand you, he would never question you - and you couldn't have been more grateful for his mere existence in the present moment. It was like he lifted the invisible weight from your shoulders, and allowed you to draw a proper breath, for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Whatever you want to do," you reply with a small, but genuine, smile. "I just want a moment of peace... with you."

[allycat319]

Unlikely Affection Chapter 28: **To Floo or Not to Floo

Authors Note: Woah it's been a while! But to make up for my absence, I think I have written the dirtiest, smuttiest chapter that I have ever written! I hope you enjoy it and remember to let me know what you think!

Somewhere in my very sleep deprived night I made my decision, I had potions in the afternoon tomorrow and intended to go. I refuse to let Severus’ bad attitude and lack of emotional control ruin my grade and my chances at becoming an auror after I graduate next year. 

So the next afternoon, I sauntered my way to the dungeons with Mari beside me. She was going on about her plans with Edwin at the weekend, and I nodded along to her description of their plans to walk by the Black Lake and have lunch at the Three Broomsticks. It does warm my heart to see how smitten they are with each other. I knew that once Edwin finally got the courage to tell her that they would end up together, not an official relationship yet…But it’s coming. 

We continued our chat until Severus began class. I had not so much as glanced in his direction since I trotted into the room and sat in my seat. I only glanced up when Severus cleared his throat to announce that he was ready to begin and we all needed to shut it. 

“Today you will be completing an examination…” He grabbed a stack of parchment from his desk and began walking around the room, placing the test in front of each person. “And you would be wise to heed this warning…If any of you utter so much as a word this examination will be marked as a T towards a major portion of your grade.” 

Well he was in a mood today, and I honestly wasn’t surprised by that considering his run in with Harry yesterday and then our fight afterward. I made sure when he stalked past me I didn’t look at him and when he smacked the test down on the wooden desk in front of me, like he had to everyone else and my heart twinged with a small amount of guilt before I remembered why I was angry with him and continued to scowl down at my quill. 

I glance over at Marigold who is scribbling on her parchment, her eyes flit up to mine and she gives me a ‘I wonder what crawled up his ass’ look. I just shrugged and looked back down at my test, doing my best to answer the questions that were much harder than usual and I internally rolled my eyes at his pettiness. 

The test took the entire class period to complete and by the end of the two hours everyone looked a bit worse for wear. Sweat dribbled down foreheads that were so red from being rubbed raw in frustration, robes were haphazardly worn and hair was sticking up in all directions. Usually people left Severus’s classroom in a hurry but the level of speed they left with today was beyond anything I had ever seen. 

After class was dismissed I waited for Marigold to pack her bag, still avoiding the gaze of the dungeon bat that I could feel on me. Mari and I were the last two in the classroom due to her spending an extra 10 minutes on the last question to make sure her answer was complete and she left out no steps for brewing liquid luck. She was smiling triumphantly as she walked over to Severus’s desk and laid her parchment on the top of the stack. 

Once she had made her way over we both turned to leave and I stopped cold when I heard his voice call out dismissively. 

“Astrill…Stay…” I turned around to face him but he wasn't looking up at us, he was still buried in whatever he was grading at his desk. 

I looked over at Mari who just shrugged, “Sorry Sir…” I hesitated for a second thinking of a good excuse as to why I wouldn't be able to stay behind to speak to him and I know he noticed because he looked up at me, and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “I have a meeting with Professor Flitwick this afternoon, going over some advanced charms that I couldn't quite pick up on in class.” I huffed out a nervous laugh and he continued to stare at me, no doubt realizing that I was indeed not over his little outburst and I had no interest in speaking to him. 

“Very well…” Was all he said before he tilted his head towards his desk again and resumed scribbling. 

Mari and I walked toward the great hall together, we were meeting up with Edwin and heading to the library to study for our upcoming exams and Marigold and I both knew that Edwin was in desperate need of any help he could get. 

We were stopped in our tracks by a mob of students running from the great hall to the courtyard. So naturally, we followed them and were met with exploding fireworks of every color erupting into the sky and Fred and George Weasley flying through them on their broomsticks. 

The laughter and joy echoed through the courtyard and everyone seemed to have a new level of energy at the sight of a disheveled and slightly charred Umbridge trying to regain control of rowdy teenagers who were sick of her rules. I smiled over at Edwin who was clapping and cheering for Fred and George and that's when I saw him… 

Harry had fallen to his knees, I grabbed Edwin’s robe and pulled him with me through the crowd toward Harry. Hermione and I knelt beside him and he looked between us with a look in his eyes that was more than panic…It was absolute terror. 

“He’s got Sirius.” Was all he said before standing up and pushing through the crowd towards the entrance to the school. Hermione and I looked at each other, unsure of what we were going to do next, until we made the silent decision to follow after him which led to Ron and Edwin following us. 

“Harry, wait!” I called out as we rushed to the staircase. “How do you know You-Know-Who didn’t just put those images in your head to lure you into a trap?”

Harry looked beyond annoyed at the fact we were stopping him, turning toward us. “Am I just supposed to let him die? He is the only family I have left.” He was out of breath and the panic in his face made my heart ache for him. 

“How…Are…We going…To get…To him?” Edwin asked, trying desperately to catch his breath. 

Harry turned back towards the corridor the staircase had now changed to, “We are going to have to use the floo network.” 

“But Umbridge has all of the chimneys under surveillance.” Hermione countered. 

We followed Harry towards the common room. “Not all of them.” 

Once we were all changed from our robes and into normal clothing we made our way to Umbridge’s office, the obnoxious pink stones and the smell of sickly sweet perfume greeting us as we entered the room. 

Harry crouched by the chimney and we all gathered around him, “When I’m gone, alert the order if you can.” 

Ron, Hermione, Edwin and I all looked at each other quickly. “Are you mental? We’re going with you.” Ron stated matter of factly. 

“It’s too dangerous.” Harry countered. 

I sighed “Harry, you do realize at this point we are all in this mess together….right?” 

“That. You. Are.” Her voice made us all turn around to the door quickly. Umbridge looked utterly in tatters, her pink outfit was burnt to a crisp and her face was covered in soot…And she looked utterly insane with rage. 

Her wand was pointed towards us and we knew not to try to fight her, we had to get to Sirius and we needed to play along as long as we could. Following behind as she entered the room was the group of stuck-up Slytherins who joined her little rat squad, their wands pointed at a few of our DA members. Luna, Neville, and Ginny as they forced them past Umbridge and towards the wall. 

After a few moments, the Slytherins were posted behind all of us with their wands pointing into whatever portion of our bodies they could reach. Harry, on the other hand, was planted in a chair with Umbridge circling him like an animal who has just found its prey. 

Her only thought was that we were all going to Dumbledore, to conspire against the ministry and overturn Fudge and his nonsense, it was quite comical actually but I was a bit too preoccupied with Pansy’s wand shoved into my spine to giggle at Umbridge’s hysteria. 

“You sent for me, Headmistress?” His black clothed form covered the doorway entirely and my blood ran cold. Severus thought I had disbanded from this little ‘trouble making group’ as he called it and now he was being asked to provide Umbridge with truth-telling serum to interrogate Harry, if he brought the potion…we are all screwed. 

His eyes searched the room and landed on me, I could see the rage building behind his emotionless expression…Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Severus of course offered to poison Harry but thankfully he informed Umbridge that she had indeed gone through his storage of veritaserum, which rendered him useless to her. 

He turned to make his way back down the stairs when he suddenly stopped and turned back around. “Headmistress…Finley and Astrill are due to serve detention with me this evening, seeing as they are in need of in addition to what they are already facing…Would you allow them to serve their punishment in the dungeons with me?” 

My heart leapt in my chest and I looked over at Edwin who was wide eyed. At this point, neither one of us knew if staying here would in fact be worse than going to the dungeons with Severus but when Umbridge agreed with a sneer on her face we knew we would soon find out. 

Severus said nothing until we entered the classroom, shutting and locking the door behind us with a flick of his wand. Turning to face Edwin and I who were planted side by side as close to the exit as we could possibly get in case we needed a speedy get away, Severus huffed out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“How idiotic can you be?” His voice was wavering and I could tell he was holding back anger. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Finley…You are meant to be her protector in my stead, how am I to trust you when you allow her into such ridiculous predicaments.” 

Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon…I’m not sure if you actually know the same Aurora that I do because it didn’t matter what I said or how I said it…If she wants to do something, she is going to do it. So don’t go blaming me for not locking her away in her room against her will.” 

I looked at Edwin, my eyes bulging with surprise at his tone with Severus, who he was normally terrified of. Severus’ jaw tensed and he glared at Edwin. “Leave…Now…” He bit out and Edwin and I both turned to the door, my hand reaching to unlock the large iron lock when Severus spoke up again. 

“Not you my Little Star…” He took a few steps closer so he was now standing in the middle of the dimly lit room. “I believe we are overdue to have a discussion.” 

Edwin looked over at me, his eyes searching mine for an answer to if I was planning to stay or bolt from the room with him. In response I just nodded silently and turned to face Severus, giving Edwin room to unlock and open the door. My best friend turned and gave me one last look for reassurance before walking down the cold hallway, leaving me alone with a very angry Severus Snape. 

When the door slammed closed I jumped a little, turning to make sure it was locked because I knew this conversation was not going to be a pretty one. But to my surprise when I turned back around, Severus was directly in front of me. 

I inhaled, expecting the worst reprimand I had ever been given, but shock was all I was met with when Severus quickly cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine at an almost bruising rate. 

He continued to kiss me as he pushed me against the wooden door, his tongue invading my mouth as my arms circled his neck, trying desperately to bring him closer to me. The wetness pooled between my legs in anticipation of what's to come and my mind was fuzzy with lust. This was definitely not the reaction I was expecting from him but I’m not complaining.  

When he pulled away we were both breathing heavily and our lips were red and raw from the force of our kissing. My core clenched when he leaned down, his mouth ghosting against my ear. “Go to my bedroom and take off your clothes. You’d better be bending over my bed when I get in there.” I nodded silently and he tsked, gripping my jaw in his hand “Now now Little Star, is that the proper way to address me?” I gulped, I could feel my wetness soaking through my knickers at his demanding tone…So this is how he wants to play? 

“Yes sir.” He smiled darkly and pecked my nose. 

“Good girl…Now. Go.” I bolted out of the classroom and through the door to his private chambers, removing clothing as I went, and by the time I reached his room I was left in my black knickers and bra. I didn’t wear them on purpose, they are just comfortable so I guess it's just good luck for Severus that his favorite color is black and he will likely be tearing these off of me. 

I do ask he asks and lay on the bed, my torso is laying on the bed and my feet are still planted on the cold stone floor, my rear facing the doorway so it will be the first thing Severus sees when he enters the room and the anticipation for what's to come has be rubbing my thighs together trying to relieve the ache that is settling in my center. 

I could hear his footsteps echoing down the short hall and my stomach tightened when they stopped abruptly in the doorway. He approached me quickly, grabbing my ass with both of his hands and squeezing quickly before releasing. Those magnificent hands ran up my body until one of them landed in my hair at the base of my neck, gripping tightly and pulling my upper half towards himself as he leaned forward and pushed his covered cock into my rear. 

“I am so looking forward to turning this beautiful bottom red with handprints.” He whispered in my ear, his unoccupied hand traveling back down my body to my hip and grinding his cock into my ass making me moan at the sensation. “Do you remember your safeword Little Star?” 

I panted out a hurried “Yes sir.” and he chuckled darkly releasing my hair. 

“Remind me of what it is, won’t you Precious?” 

“Slytherin…Sir.” I moaned when I felt his hands gently pull my underwear down. 

“Good girl.” Was all the response he gave before I felt the hard sting of his hand on my ass. I squealed at the force of the slap and he chuckled. 

“When you make a promise to me…” Another slap. “I expect you to keep it.” 

“I’m sorry!” I gripped onto the duvet as his hand came down again, despite the pain of the spanking he was giving me, my core wept for him and he knew it. 

“It’s a bit too late for that.” Slap. Slap. Slap. 

I counted 15 smacks before he finally felt that I had been sufficiently punished and rubbed a soothing hand over my bottom, slowly making his way down to my now drenched core. 

“My my…You enjoyed that didn’t you?” He ran his fingers through my dripping folds, my breathing picking up with anticipation. “I would normally give you my fingers as preparation for my cock…But I don’t think you are deserving of it.” 

I whined when his fingers left my heated flesh and returned to my legs, bending them at the knee and propping them on the bed so I was spread out for him completely. I screamed into the duvet when he rammed his cock into my pulsing heat, my hands gripping the fabric so tightly my knuckles were turning white from the force. I assumed he had wordlessly used magic to remove his clothing but at the current moment I was too preoccupied to care about how, all I cared about was the fullness I know felt inside me and the brutal pace he set without so much as giving me time to adjust to his size. His hips pistoned into me while his hands gripped my hips, keeping me from pulling away from his relentless thrusting. 

“S-Severus…” I moaned, I felt my core clenching as I teetered on the edge of ecstasy. 

The sound that left my mouth when his thrusts stopped was almost primal, my body bucking into his trying to regain some type of friction to pull back the feeling of release that was slowly fading to nothing. 

“Did you really think you were going to get release that quickly?” His voice was rough and gritty as he pulled out of me almost like it was more torture for him than me. “Oh my darling Little Star, you are going to wish you had kept your promise to me.” 

“Please Sir, I need you to fuck me.” 

“Is that so?” He taunted, rubbing his head down the length of my slit teasingly. “Lie against the headboard and spread your legs.” 

I hurried to do as he instructed, my head now resting against the pillows and my legs spread enough to leave him room to crawl between them. Once he was settled between my legs, he flicked his wrist and i felt the rough fiber of ropes slither their way around my ankles, tying my legs in place so I was powerless against him. 

“I quite enjoy you like this…Spread out for me to take…To pleasure…” He leaned down and took my nipple in his mouth, sucking roughly on the hard peak before releasing it. “To punish…” 

My eyes rolled back into my skull when he entered me again, this time slowly thrusting in and out of me. Slow enough that I could feel every vain and ridge of his hard cock gliding against my sensitive walls. My hands flew to his shoulders, scratching his sallow skin with my nails as he fucked me into oblivion. 

“More…Please” I was pleading with him, my legs beginning to shake with my building climax. If he would just go a little faster, just fuck me a little harder….

Thankfully for me, he decided he was done torturing me and rammed into my sopping pussy, his pace was now relentless and brutel again and I pushed my head against the pillows. My feet pulled against the ropes, trying to break free to wrap my legs around his waist. I knew I was going to have rope burns but at this point I was beyond the point of caring. 

“Are you going to lie to me again?” He asked, his voice strained as he continued to thrust into me. 

I shook my head furiously. “N-no s-sir.” I stuttered, trying my best to talk through the pleasure. 

“Good girl. Now you had better soak my cock with your cum before I decide to stop and send you back to your dormitory unsatisfied and dripping wet.” 

That was all it took for my orgasm my rip through my body, vision turning white as my walls clenched around him causing him to erupt with a loud moan. 

Severus collapsed on top of me, trying to catch his breath and lazily flicking his hand to release my ankles from the ropes. My hands circled his neck and I hugged him tightly as we both basked in the after-effects of an incredible orgasm. His breathing slowed after a few moments before he lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. 

“Spend the summer with me Aurora?”

[teddybearspankingoffurski]

*Paul blinked himself awake, the white and red of the HR community office a bland sight at eight in the morning. The lady standing up front continued talking.*

HR Lady: We are aware that a lot of you from floor seven, section five are likely feeling very shocked and hurt about the incident that transpired yesterday at 11am. Right now we're working very closely with the authorities to make sure that your office time isn't interrupted while they do their job to find out what happened. If there is anyone who feels they need to take a couple days off to process we encourage it, we want you working at your best and if that requires a few mental health days we are ready to provide it.

*Her voice was sickeningly sweet in Paul's ears, but it felt so manufactured and fake, like artificial coffee sweeteners. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as murmurs spread around the room.*

Coworker 1: Authorities? Does that mean they think it was a murder?

Coworker 2: I bet it was Stephen from cubicle 4A. That guy's a total freak.

*Paul could see Stephen frown beside him, he almost felt bad, poor guy. But who could blame his coworkers when the all the guy talked about was how easy murders would be. Paul stared down at his hands, not wanting to look around the room and risk accidentally catching Ted's stare. He knew Ted had been looking over at him, glancing every few seconds with those exhausted eyes. He looked back up at the HR speaker as she continued talking.*

HR Lady: Now, moving on, before we conclude this meeting we had another matter to speak upon before the unfortunate casualty of yesterday. We'd like to remind all CCRP workers to keep your personal and work lives separate from each other at all times.

*He didn't miss how her eyes flicked over him and Ted for a split second and he frowned, right. That.*

HR Lady: Thank you for your time everyone, please try to have a good day. There are donuts in the hall for everyone on your way out.

*Paul stood up quickly, tie flopping a bit as he left the room without grabbing the free donut. He wanted to avoid as much interaction with Ted as possible for the time being. Sure, he had calmed down a bit since last night, but it still hurt to look at him. He was really trying to forgive him, he was, but he had never been very good at forgiveness until the person was already dead. He stepped back into his cubicle, Charlotte's crossed off with caution behind him as a few Police buzzed around it. He sat down, work on his mind as he began typing into his files again as if nothing had happened yesterday.*

@paul-j-matthews

[Ted forced himself to sit through that meeting, stone faced and completely not put together whatsoever. His hair was a mess and it was clear he hadn't slept very well the night before. After watching a few movies with Pete, finishing off that whole pizza and an entire box of hot Cocoa mix, he sent the kid off the bed. After all, Peter still had school in the morning, and Ted had work. But Ted didn't go to sleep. No. He just is laid there in his bed for 3 hours, staring at his phone screen waiting and praying a text from Paul would appear on it. One never did.

So yeah, he was kind of staring at him through the whole meeting. And yeah, he was kind of hoping to get at least a slight glance in return. He didn't get one of those either.

As soon as the meeting ended he went straight to Mr.Davidson, heeding the HR woman's advice to take some time off. Davidson really couldn't tell Ted no in front of the HR crew, so he nodded his head yes and Ted thanked him before quickly rushing off to the door.

And maybe, just maybe, he brushed by Paul's cubicle on his way out. Just hoping, wishing, praying for some acknowledgement of his own existence. He didn't get one.

The way all that felt was just...awful. He glanced at what was once Charlotte's cubicle, the cops searching for evidence there. That implied it was a murder. Paul seemed to be too laser focused on his work while the cops were right beside him, and he didn't seem very bothered by the meeting either.

The theory in his mind was only being further confirmed moment by moment. But he couldn't say anything. Not yet, not here.]

[seat-safety-switch]

In art, there is a concept of "outsider art." That's art that was made by folks who weren't trained in it, who didn't practice its rituals and take its lessons to heed. Those people still managed to make art, but its convention-defying freshness and bizarre arrival out of nowhere is important enough to define it separately from the usual stuff.

You might think that this is elitist, and it definitely is. Just because you didn't read the right magazines, go to the right schools, sleep with the right folks dressed like vampires, your art is reduced? Preposterous. Better to dwell on the positive, in that you are perfectly positioned, with your unique perspective on life, to shake up the tedium of what has come before and show them all that they were very, very wrong.

Why am I talking about this right now? Oh, no reason. It's just that recently, I got to meet my hero. No, it's not a famous explorer, scientist, or politician. My hero is the dude who invented the Plymouth Volare. I thought he would be excited to see what I'd done to improve and modernize his invention for the modern era.

He was very gracious about the whole thing, until the onrushing heart attack finally caught up with him. I tried asking him, as the paramedics were wheeling him into the ambulance: what part was the most "out there," the most innovative, the daring-est? Unfortunately, by then, he was on supplemental oxygen and I couldn't hear his yelling over the sound of the rotary vane pump. Let's just say it's the wet-layup trunk lid that I made out of carbon fibre sheets stolen from NASA. The original one rusted away, so I didn't exactly have good dimensions to go off of, so I kind of eyeballed it. I think I got pretty close! The trunk only fills with water once in awhile – only when it rains or is wet outside – and the other holes in the trunk help it to drain out.

They do say to never meet your heroes, but I have to put something on the end of that advice. Never meet your heroes with a car that fucking sucks. You want to knock their socks off, which is coincidentally something that the doctors had never seen happen either.

[viridianevergarden]

The Comforts of the Night

A/N: So I haven’t written anything serious in like 2 years but my elriel hunger is unfathomably ravenous so I decided to take a crack at it. This little fic focuses more on Azriel and is told from his POV. It’s a what if scenario that I hadn’t really bothered to specify precisely when in the story this would ever take place so 💀 Enjoy, I hope.

Word count: 3.5K

Ship: Elriel

Key: light fluff, angst

Possible triggers: Elements of poor self loathing/esteem, light mentions of blood and suggestive things.

• • •

It had been a long day for Azriel, so unbearably long. Such was commonplace for him, however, as being the Night Court's Spymaster unyieldingly commanded the workload.

His muscles had ached from stress nearly all day, though he effortlessly paid no heed, not until now. A part of him had wondered how, after centuries of the same work, his body hadn't become adapted to it. He couldn't deny that he worked more nowadays than he had ever done, especially with the threat of the incoming war growing ever closer.

Work had been unforgiving for a long while. The requirement of always leaving Velaris to go to war camps, courts, or even the continent had always been something Azriel loathed and wished he never had to do. Yet now, for a time, he had returned home to Velaris. As for how long he would stay, he had no idea. Orders alone had determined that factor and even those were ever changing.

The wind's chill nipped at Azriel's wings as he flew across the clear starry sky, peering down at the warm lights that littered Velaris' buildings and streets. Fewer people were out and about at this hour, and yet the city looked as lively as it did in the day. Perhaps some were going home after a fun night at a local bar, or others were merely enjoying the ever-beautiful scenery on a late-night walk. If only he had the free time to do so as well, he'd thought.

After circling the proximity of Velaris once over, he banked into the direction of the Townhouse. He would sleep there only for the night and leave again come dawn. As of late, Azriel had avoided staying at the Townhouse, at least for longer periods. But to his dismay, sleep softly called out to him, just as his shadows so often would.

From overhead, Azriel could see the Townhouse's gardens as he approached, making note of the newly planted flowers and sprouts that rimmed the tall hedges within.

It had been over a week since he was last in Velaris. Being here now, seeing the progress that had been made, he couldn't help but let his mind wonder about the one who tended to the gardens itself. He wondered about how she was doing, what else she was up to, and if she was doing alright.

His eyes continued to scan the gardens until they locked onto a pale mass of lilac, golden brown, and cream sitting upon one of the stone benches. The Shadowsinger knew exactly who it was. It was as if his thoughts of her had miraculously willed her into existence. The very girl that had constantly plagued his mind, plagued his mind just then.

But why was Elain in the gardens alone in the dead of night? On a chilly one no less? He had known Elain to be one to stay up late on occasion but being alone in the gardens at this hour was new.

Thoughts of what to do flit through his mind, contemplating whether to bank now and go inside before she noticed him or to see her— To talk to her and revel in the moment, to see if she is okay.

Desire wrestled with the fiends in his head, the ones that told him he shouldn’t. That told him he should go inside and sleep. To forget what he saw and stay away. That there was no need for someone like him to speak to someone like her.

Although it seemed that his mental war was all for naught. Quiet as his large wings were on the wind, it seemed as if Elain could still hear him coming from miles away. Like she had already known he was coming.

Her beautiful face turned upward in his direction, brown eyes wide in recognition. It was too late to turn away now. The female remained in her place, daring not to move as Azriel had landed a short distance away on soft feet. He flared his wings once before folding them in and tucking them closed.

They stared at one another before Elain bit her lip and spoke, “You’re back.”

Her voice was quiet and soft, and Azriel took a moment to just… Listen. His shadows had pooled to his feet at the sweet sound. Like they were in need of retreat.

He swiftly ducked his head to nod, “I am.” It wasn’t enough of an answer, not for her. “For now. I’ll be leaving again at dawn.”

“Oh… I see.” Elain’s eyes darted away from him as her hopeful expression faltered. “You must be tired, so I’ll–” Azriel shook his head.

She looked him up and down in worry, searching his eyes for some form of an answer.

“I’m fine.” He angled his head toward the flower sprouts across from them. “They’re coming along nicely.” A smile twitched onto Elain’s lips, and Azriel had known then that she was well aware of the subject change.

“I planted them a few days ago.” Right after he left if he had to guess. “They’re moonflower sprouts. They bloom after dusk until dawn.”

Azriel offered her a gentle smile, recalling that they were indeed one of the flowers that she had spoken about a time before. He could remember as much with little effort.

“Sit with me?” The sudden request made Azriel’s brows twitch in confusion. Elain stammered, “If it’s no trouble, I don’t mind the company.”

Azriel shouldn’t— Shouldn’t— but he couldn’t say no, not to her offer. Not to her. He stepped closer as she scooted down the bench a little, allowing him space to sit and move his wings to get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as anyone could get on a stone bench.

Being so close, the scent— Her scent of honey and jasmine was near enough to leave him intoxicated. His heart thrummed and he only hoped that she couldn’t hear it.

“Why are you outside this late?” The words slipped from Azriel’s lips faster than he could contemplate them.

Elain fumbled with the fabric of her lilac sleeping gown like she was thinking of what to say. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would come out here for a bit to get some fresh air.” A partial lie. He knew that much, and judging by her expression, she knew that he was aware.

Was Elain like him too? Did she have endless voices in her head? Were they the ones responsible for keeping her awake at night like they did him?

Azriel blinked, his hazel eyes sliding down Elain’s form. Just in her gown, no shoes or socks, no coat. Long, wavy, golden-brown locks draped over an exposed shoulder, over her creamy skin— “It’s cool out, you should have grabbed a jacket.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed at the realization as she quickly averted her gaze from him once again, taking interest in the moon-bathed pavement. “I didn’t think it would get this cold…”

The male took a moment to think, to think over his immediate thoughts, and determine what to do. Anything to avoid messing this up. But if she was cold—

“I’ll be alright, please don’t worry.” She had known, caught on too quickly. Elain had read him all too well. She always did, he realized.

Moonlit doe eyes stared back at him once more. Doe eyes… How beautiful they were. And her bright reassuring smile— it was more than enough to make him weak in the knees, bright enough to put even his shadows at bay.

Azriel’s lips parted in an urge before they quickly shut again, quickly willing himself to speak. “At least let me keep you from freezing.” He could provide that much at the very least, if she let him.

Before Elain could speak, the Shadowsinger slowly extended his wing behind her back, though careful not to touch her and not to disturb the blue hydrangeas behind them.

An offer.

She sucked in a breath that sent shivers down his spine and glanced back at the sight. She then slid closer to him, just a few inches. Close enough that their thighs nearly touched. That large wing gently— carefully— ever so slowly curled around her far shoulder, as if he thought that any careless movement could harm her.

His wings alone were not incredibly warm but they did help to retain some semblance of body heat in times of need. At the very least, they could protect from the wind.

“Thank you.” Sweet. Her voice was too sweet. Like a song. Azriel dipped his chin in response, not knowing how to respond properly.

“Your wings,” Elain paused for a moment, focused entirely on the one resting against her back and curled around her side. “Do they get cold too?”

A laugh nearly instantly slipped from Azriel’s lips. A low and quiet chuckle. “Sometimes. The cold’s bite can be relentless.”

Perhaps it was due to his laugh or some other thing, but Elain’s shoulders loosened in ease. A smile bloomed back onto her face as she peered up at him. ���It was a silly question, I apologize. I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity is harmless. Never apologize for it.” The male smiled back at Elain. “If you have questions, you may ask freely.”

“Even if my questions are frivolous?” Elain joked with a small giggle, raising a curled finger to her lips.

Azriel’s warm gaze softened at the lovely sound— her laugh. “Even if your questions are frivolous.” A silly reassurance, but a reassurance nonetheless.

Elain hummed as she stared up at Azriel, that smile never faltering. The shadowsinger was the first to break eye contact, fearing that if he looked at her too long, he might do something foolish. That he might fall victim to his desires more than he already had this night. He looked up at the stars instead, for any manner of distraction. It was nearing an hour past midnight, judging by the moon’s positioning.

“If I may be so selfish to ask,” Elain’s voice called his eyes back down to her. “Could we stay here for a while longer?” Her tone was laced with meek hope. Azriel tilted his head in inclination, wondering why.

Elain clenched her fists and her lips trembled. She was searching for an excuse, anything not to seem impolite or desperate, it seemed. Before she could speak, Azriel had beat her to it.

“Yes,” He took a breath, “Of course we can.” Elain’s hands unclenched after hearing his confirmation, seemingly relieved by it.

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while, merely enjoying each other’s company and the scenery that surrounded them. The silence was nothing new between them and it had never been awkward before but tonight, oh this night felt… Different. Here they sat, where only the stars might witness them, while all of Velaris slept.

Sleep. The shadows whispered into his ears. The girl wants to sleep.

Azriel turned his head to peer down at Elain, right in time to witness her dozing figure lean against his arm. He assumed it was hardly comfortable, given that he was wearing his Illyrian leathers, but…

He stared, stared at her. At the way the loose strands of her hair framed her face. At her long lashes and perfect nose. Her soft lips. Her lips—

Sleep. His shadows continued to beckon. Sleep.

Azriel knocked himself out of his trance, a small frown forming on his face.

He didn’t want to disturb her rest but it was getting cooler by the minute and this was no place to sleep safely.

“Elain…” His voice was barely louder than the soft breeze. But her name— Her name rolling off his lips—

Elain merely gave him a barely audible broken hum. She was falling into a deeper sleep by the second.

“We should get you inside.” He received no response and hadn’t expected one.

Azriel sat there for a moment to consider what he should do. He then loosed a quiet sigh and moved to pick Elain up. Carefully, ever so carefully did he crane one arm underneath her legs and the other to support her back. The sudden absence of his wing had caused her to cling to him, to any semblance of warmth she could find against the frigid air.

Her head rested against the black scales of his leathers as the male started for the doors that led back inside from the gardens. Silently, the doors opened for Azriel, by the work of his shadows no less. He passed the threshold and the doors closed, then he began his ascent upon the foyer steps.

The trip to Elain’s room was short and uneventful, thank the Cauldron. If anyone had seen— There would be no excuses to be made, no believable farce to cover how they had looked in the moment. And more importantly, to disturb Elain’s peaceful rest, Azriel wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for it.

His shadows had willed her bedroom door open, and Azriel nudged it further with his foot before heading inside. Hazel eyes scanned the view before them, taking in all the details of the room.

Perhaps it was due to his habit as a Spymaster to do so, to analyze every little thing in sight. Not that Azriel hadn’t long since memorized the entire layout of the townhouse, including the placements of any weapons within, but this room— this room was uncharted territory. He’d kept true about Elain’s right to privacy after all.

Elain’s room was clean and tidy, and had smelled so strongly of her— The old vanity desk in the far left corner was littered with stacks of books, he’d guessed, that covered the arts of gardening and botany. Several seed pouches lay scattered about, each labeled with names of different flora.

On the opposite side of the room was the massive canopy bed, centered against the wall. The bed itself was big enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. Such a thing had been the standard for every bedroom in the townhouse, but Azriel could only imagine how much better the extra space was for those without wings.

The rich wood end tables that flanked the bedsides had been adorned with smaller potted plants. Each were with little budding flowers in hues of pinks and blues, although they were closed for the night.

The ivory covers of the bed itself were a mess, and Azriel had guessed that she indeed must have tried to sleep before getting up— just as she had said before.

Azriel moved through the room and gently laid Elain down in her bed, pulling off the strands of hair that had snagged onto his leathers. Elain had hardly stirred during any of it, to his favor.

Scarred hands pulled the soft covers up to Elain’s shoulders and all the male could do was halt. He couldn’t help but stare. She had looked so… So peaceful. Beautiful. Even bathed in the silver moonlight that the bay windows had offered, she still glowed like the light of the sun at dawn.

He wondered, how could anyone not fall to their knees before her? How could they even think to hurt someone such as her? Someone so warm and sweet— Endlessly giving and full of light— So gentle and yet so strong—

The Shadowsinger thoughtlessly leaned down to take in her features, bracing his hand on the bedside to keep himself balanced. Elain remained ever so still, breathing slow and soft.

Oh, how he yearned to be able to hold her in his gentle embrace. Yearned to make her smile and laugh. Yearned to lay with her in warmth and comfort. Yearned to place his hand on her cheek and lift her chin the way he wanted, to lean down and press his lips against hers—

Azriel’s other hand had lifted, he’d realized, frozen merely centimeters from touching Elain’s soft cheek. His hand— Hideous splotched scars had consumed his vision, and plagued his mind like the terrible fiends did. Calloused and burned hideousness covered in the blood of many. A hand that did nothing but kill, maim, and hurt. One undeserving of anything such as this.

His hand quickly jerked away from Elain’s cheek and formed a fist back at his side, as if his own ugliness would singe her perfect face, her beauty. As if his ugliness would cast a shadow over her light and snuff it out for good.

Azriel stumbled back three steps, releasing a series of shaky breaths. His heart rushed and ached more than anything he had ever felt. Sickness fell to the pit of his stomach.

Leave. He needed to leave.

His wings tucked closer to his body as he turned, quickly and quietly making way for the door.

Stay. His heart pleaded. Please stay.

No.

No— He couldn’t— He shouldn’t—

Shouldn’t— shouldn’t— shouldn’t—

He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve this.

No one could ever hope to deserve someone as perfect as Elain. Not even himself. No matter how much he felt for her. No matter how much his heart had stirred as heavily as the crash of raging tides. No matter how much his heart yearned for her love, her light, for anything at all.

Elain was not his to love. She was a mated female after all. One who was forcibly shackled to that wretched mating bond like a beast locked in a cage. But even then, oh then, she was not his. Never his.

Azriel silently closed the bedroom door and hastened down the hall, desperately needing some form of space. Of air. Anything to calm his raging and hurting heart.

He quickly reached his room on the opposite side of the house and retreated inside without a thought. Azriel couldn’t even bear to look at his hands, the horrid sight they were. How could he? How could he when he had been so close to tainting her flesh?

Fool.

A fucking fool.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid as to linger. To let himself go astray and even attempt to touch Elain. Especially when she was sleeping, when she was at her most vulnerable— Wrong, it was all so wrong. He should have just left her to sleep in peace the moment he tucked her in.

The Shadowsinger sauntered over to his wardrobe and slowly stripped the leathers from his body, unbuckling the countless amounts of leather belts and undoing all of the strings and buttons. One by one, each article was removed and tossed onto an empty table nearby.

This room seemed empty compared to Elain’s. Lifeless. Most of his things had been moved to the House of Wind, they had been for a while now. So this room was no more than a ghost of what it once was, but even so, it served its purpose well enough.

Leaving none but two siphoned gloves on his hands to rest, Azriel grabbed a set of night pants and slipped them on. He then walked over to his bed and laid atop the fixed covers, facing toward his window to view the sky. Near instantly did the pains of the day’s stressors set back in. He’d forgotten all about them when he was with Elain, he realized. That, and his exhaustion too.

Time always flew when he was by her side. All of his pains and worries seemed to go away in her presence. Everything felt so right when he was with her. But it was wrong. Still, it was wrong. So then why? Why was Elain forced with another? Why, when she felt so right with him instead?

Why were his beloved brothers, Cassian and Rhysand, blessed by the Mother? The Cauldron? With something so lovely, so sacred as love itself? As a bond— Something so few could ever hope to have, that many dreamt about, but Azriel was left alone?

Was he truly so horrible, so unlovable and undeserving that not even the gods could give him that blessing? Did Fate itself really hate him as much?

Azriel couldn’t understand, even when he tried so hard to steel his mind to the pain and misunderstanding. When he tried so hard to make himself think that maybe it’s just not meant to be, and that it was okay.

Happy as he was for his brothers, he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t prevent the pain and envy that so viciously ripped and tore and clawed at his heart like some ravaged beast. Like an unforgiving fiend.

Perhaps he had no right to love and be loved in return.

Perhaps he had no right to experience something as sacred as a mating bond. Not with anyone.

Perhaps Elain had never even begun to see him in the light that he saw her.

Azriel’s eyelids grew heavy and he could no longer fight the ever growing fatigue. His view of the moon outside had begun to fade to black.

Elain…

Her smile alone was the last thought that his clouded mind could muster before the darkness took him, just as it always had, body and soul. Just as he knew it always would.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

hii not sure if this blog is active still but since its the 23rd, that means scourge finally gets the birthday he deserves in the fleetway universe.

OH SHIT HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO THE BASTARD MAN HIMSELF

~~~

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Can't you take a hint?" Scourge hissed, swatting at the finger insistently poking him in the head. "'M sleeping. Go away."

"Absolutely not," Sonic snorted, evidently giving up on poking Scourge awake and upgrading to physically shaking him. "If I let you sleep in, you'll just be bitching later."

"When have I ever bitched about sleeping in?"

"Repeatedly. Get up before I push you out of bed."

It wasn't an empty threat, and Scourge knew it. The knowledge, however, did not stop him from burying his head under the pillow and groaning long and low. "Fuck off and let me dream about setting Tekno's experiments on fire."

It was disappointing, but not surprising, when instead of heeding Scourge's command, Sonic yanked him out of bed by his ankles, letting him crack his head on the cold, unforgiving floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Scourge twisted in Sonic's grip, pulling his poor ankles free. He glared up at Sonic, who looked down at him with his arms folded, customary smug smirk on his face. It was sorely tempting to kiss that stupid smirk away, but that would require getting up, and Scourge was seriously considering pulling the blankets off the bed and curling up on the floor and going back to sleep out of sheer spite. "What was that for?"

"Get up and you'll find out," Sonic said, nudging him with his foot. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

"How about you get up and find out a new place to sleep tonight," Scourge grumbled, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet. "Won't even let me sleep in peace when there's no new missions you need me for... don't get in the bed if you want to be up at the asscrack of dawn."

"This is my room," Sonic said, linking his arm in Scourge's before Scourge could contemplate throwing himself back under the bed-sheets. "If it bothered you that much, you would go crawling back to your own room."

"Maybe I will."

"Sure you will."

"You think I won't?"

"Prove me wrong tonight if you want to, but you're not going back to bed today. After all the bitching you did about the birthday chair on my birthday, I'm not going to let you sleep your birthday away and give you the chance to bitch about not getting the chair."

"Some boyfriend you are, not letting me sleep in on my..." he trailed off, half-asleep brain finally registering Sonic's words. "Birthday?"

"Yes," Sonic said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Birthday."

That couldn't be right. His birthday wasn't until...

Scourge frantically tried to remember the date, and when his memory failed him, he snuck a glance at the calendar.

Huh. Well, fuck him sideways, look at that. It was his birthday.

Scourge... had honestly forgotten all about that.

It wasn't his fault! It was this stupid dimension and their backwards way of writing dates. The weirdos wrote the day before the month, like maniacs, instead of putting the month first like a normal person. That little difference had tripped him up more times than he cared to admit, and he'd lost count of the amount of times the mix-up had gotten him into trouble. His recent tactic was to just leave all the date stuff to everyone else, and while he had gotten better at remembering their weird system, it still didn't come to him automatically. It was one thing to know, logically, what month it was, and another thing entirely to look at the date and associate the unfamiliar order with the month they were in. So he hadn't been paying much attention to the date, and the reminder of his birthday just sort of... slipped by him.

Apparently, though, it did not slip by Sonic. He remembered. Although Scourge couldn't remember ever telling him when his birthday was, so how Sonic knew was beyond him.

"It's my birthday, and you're still making me get up at ass o'clock in the morning?" Scourge complained, shoving down the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest as he snatched his glasses from the nightstand. It was a familiar feeling by now, and it didn't bother him as much as it once did, but it was way too early for anyone to see him feeling sappy feelings.

"Oh please, it's only nine o'clock," Sonic snorted, dragging him out of the room. "Nowhere near the asscrack of dawn. Quit your bitching."

"I think I should get to sleep in as long as I want on my birthday. Don't I get any birthday privileges? What kind of fucked up dimension is this?"

"Your birthday privileges are the birthday chair. Move your ass, or you won't get any of the presents you were bitching about missing out on on my birthday."

Presents? Well, that was a motivator, Scourge couldn't lie. He dragged his feet for a few more seconds, just to prove a point, just so Sonic wouldn't win, but with lingering sleep slowly losing its grip on him, eagerness took its place, and he couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace a little. Sonic, like the dickhead he was, noticed immediately, and that stupid knowing smirk returned, and fuck, Scourge really needed to kiss it off his face. He'd do that. Later. Pencil it in to his to-do list. He'd get around to it right after he opened his presents.

Downstairs, the rest of the Freedom Fighters bustled about, the same way they had done for Sonic's birthday. Just like before, there were no cheesy banners (thank fuck for that) and the old ratty armchair had once again been dragged out of storage. The hand-made banners from last time were nowhere to be seen, but that was expected; those were banners for Sonic, after all, and Scourge didn't want banners about Sonic Day hanging from the walls on his birthday anyway. Overall, there weren't as many decorations as Sonic had, and the ones that were in the process of being hung up were boring and generic, but as most of those decorations from last time mentioned Sonic specifically, Scourge wasn't too upset about it. There was a green cushion on the armchair, though, which wasn't there last time, and Scourge took his rightful place on his throne for the day with smug satisfaction coiling in his chest. It wasn't much, but the cushion was so clearly bought with him in mind. It was for him and him alone, and it did wonders for his ego. No wonder Sonic was so pleased with himself while sitting on the armchair on his birthday.

"Scourge!" Amy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, beaming at him with a bright smile Scourge still wasn't used to. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks." Scourge leaned back in the armchair, crossing his legs and doing his best to shove away the bubbling discomfort. Amy didn't need to know he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such genuine... genuineness. If she knew, she'd probably do it more, under some kind of excuse like helping him get used to it, which was such bullshit; Scourge knew her well enough by now to know she liked messing with people, and liked messing with people by being nice to them even more. The only reason she'd stopped telling people she was Sonic's girlfriend was because Scourge bragged about dating Sonic too much for anyone to believe it; apparently not even dating Tekno was enough to get her to stop, because Tekno found it funny and encouraged her to do it more. If anything united the Freedom Fighters outside of, well, fighting for freedom, it was opportunities to screw with Sonic.

Speaking of Tekno, she also fluttered in and out with presents clutched in her arms, parroting another "happy birthday" in his direction, although thankfully she was gone almost as soon as she said it, so he didn't need to reply. Even Tails waved at him as he flew in with a few more decorations.

"Sonic, can you-"

"Yeah, yeah, already on it," Sonic interrupted Amy, dashing into the other room after Tekno to help. Scourge peeked through the doorway after him; from what he could see, the pile of presents was nowhere near the size of Sonic's pile on his birthday, but he guessed that was to be expected. Sonic was the Hero of Mobius, receiving presents from grateful citizens in every Zone they entered, including a few sent over from the Special Zone, and Scourge had no interest in being viewed as a hero by anyone. No one had the same sense of gratitude towards him as they did towards Sonic.

An envelope and present landed on his lap before he had the chance to feel anything about that.

"From Ebony," Amy said quietly as she passed, like a secret. "And... well, the rest of them, too, I guess."

Raising an eyebrow, Scourge ripped open the wrapping paper on the present; Sonic had waited until all his presents were brought into a pile at his feet, but considering who this was from, Scourge figured he'd be forgiven for opening this one early. It was nothing special - a simple mug, Scourge couldn't tell if it was hand-made or store bought - but it was honestly more than he was expecting. It would be good to put his hot chocolate in, if nothing else, since he broke his last designated mug and hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet.

Setting the mug aside out of sight, he ripped open the envelope next. A cheesy birthday card greeted him - gross - but when he opened it, he was greeted with a glorious sight: money. Score.

He almost didn't bother reading the words on the card, but he was feeling gracious, so he skimmed them. Ebony's neat, cursive handwriting greeted him: thank you for all you've done for us. From Ebony, Pyjamas, and Super - The Groovy Train

Ew, sappy shit. Scoffing, Scourge tossed the card aside with the mug, ignoring whatever weird feeling was happening in his chest. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to send him anything; he didn't even like them that much, he only showed up to babysit Super if Ebony promised to pay him. But hey, if it meant he got birthday money out of it, he wasn't going to to question it too much.

Folding his arms, Scourge watched Tails and Amy hang the rest of the decorations. Someone managed to get their hands on some balloons, which they'd scribbled "yearly survival day" on in marker. And - oh boy - they'd found some banners to hang up after all. Amy was balancing on a ladder holding one end, while Tails grabbed the other, flying up to stretch the banner out-

Oh.

That... that was a hand-made banner. Not one of Sonic's, and not a generic or cheesy one, either.

Thanks for bullying Sonic, it read, with a bunch of names scribbled underneath. Signatures. Signatures of people he knew, people he was... friends... with. Front and center, proud, not tucked away at the back where they'd be out of sight.

Scourge stared at it. It was objectively ugly, an eyesore if he'd ever seen one, clearly made with limited resources, and the letters smushed together at the end where they'd clearly started to run out of room when they were writing. It was messy, far from perfect, nothing lavish or fancy. In all his life, he'd never had a birthday banner as ugly as this.

A pesky lump formed in Scourge's throat. He swallowed it down. At least his eyes were dry, and if that changed, his tinted glasses would hopefully hide that.

And oh fuck, there was Sonic suddenly standing before him, arms full of presents, glancing at the banner before meeting Scourge's eyes with that stupid, stupid, smug and knowing smirk.

Fuck it. He wasn't waiting. He was moving this task to the top of his to-do list.

Sonic barely had time to drop the presents onto the meager pile before Scourge seized him by the arms, dragged him in, and finally kissed that smirk off his face.

His triumphant plan promptly failed, for although Sonic couldn't smirk, his smugness was apparent in his kiss, instead. Asshole.

"Worth getting up for, huh?" Sonic said when they broke apart. "Was I right, or was I right?"

"Eh, I've had better," Scourge lied, pulling Sonic onto his lap. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"I've got something planned for later," Sonic promised, looping an arm around Scourge's neck without his customary complaining. "Bring your spray can, we're going vandalizing."

... Fuck, Sonic knew him too well. Damn it, Scourge loved him. It was actually unfair how much he loved him. He'd say there should be a law against it, but... well, Scourge wasn't exactly famous for giving a flying fuck about the law.

"You'd better treat me to dinner after," Scourge said, instead of saying any of that sappy shit.

"You'll get burgers or hotdogs from the first stand we see and that's it."

"Cheapskate."

"You'll get over it."

It wasn't lavish, or extravagant, or over the top, or any of the flashy, fancy things he was sure he'd get when he became the King of Moebius. And it was still too damn early, and he would've still liked a lie-in. But the hand-made banner was for him, and was signed, and Sonic wasn't even complaining about being in his lap, so... it would do.

It would do just fine.

[ovwechoes]

Been going through a lot recently and my comfort characters are Lifeweaver and Symmetra, the sweetest duo!

Could I get some cute fluffy stuff from them please, if that’s okay 🪷💎 I love them both

SymmWeaver / Symmetra x Lifeweaver Drabble (SFW) thank you for the request anon c: I rly enjoyed writing this and I hope things improve for you too ^^ this isn't my best work (i've been in a mini writing slump sry) but if i feel the need to redo this in the future, I will - ANYWAYS enjoy anon! themes: close contact, university, friends/mutual pining, mentions/implications of touch avoidance, just rly fluffy and soft. word count: 1419

“I'm not even tired, are you?” Niran uttered, his smile shining through his words as he laid on his side, watching Satya's expressions carefully. Truthfully, he was drained, struggling to keep his mind clear as their shared TV played on with a bad comedy movie. But, something about the peaceful way Satya was laying on her back, watching the TV with her eyes lidden from the wine was breath-taking for him. He wouldn't dare miss out on a scene that was so beautiful to him, even if he had to keep that to himself. Niran would give anything to tell her that, remind her of how she's so effortlessly able to make his heart skip beats, and yet he couldn't bring himself to. To him, it wouldn't be worth risking their friendship over. So, his thoughts had to remain stifled, silent on his lips and loud in his mind as he waited for her response.

“Not even slightly” Satya replied, a giggle leaking through her voice as Niran watched her chest rise and fall with each motion. She knew he was tired, she always knew, and yet she couldn't help but enjoy these moments together. Niran was someone she never expected to let herself grow closer to, and she especially never expected to find herself doing new things she had once been uncomfortable even considering. But still, she found herself enjoying this long awaited night to the fullest extent - how could she not when the man laying next to her always pushed her further in life, always tested her limits and showed her that she could do more than she ever expected?

Satya's eyes might've been planted on the TV, letting the images play as her mind was becoming slugged from the wine they enjoyed before. But, in her mind, she was replaying the day's events and fondly recapping how well things went for the two of them. They hadn't been able to see each other much for a while - their exams overlapped, with their lectures being on opposite days, so there wasn't much time for the two of them to catch up, talk or enjoy one another's presence apart from the odd instances they'd be in their shared dorm together.

Tonight was their personal celebration of making it through exam season, with the two of them buying a bottle of wine each, some food and renting a movie they wouldn't have to focus entirely on, but could still enjoy together. So, it wasn't surprising to Niran that the night ended with the two of them slightly inebriated, with his bed holding their empty packets, bottles and gifts for them until the morning. Satya often scolded him for the mess of his bed, but tonight was different - her senses were dulled from the wine they shared and so, she was paying no heed to it right now, only focused on the way she felt she melted into her mattress with his warmth engulfing her under the sheets.

“Are you awake still?” Satya asked, her voice soft as she turned to look at Niran. He had let himself drift off, telling her that the night had finally come to a close. Her voice was sudden, making Niran's mind come crashing back to consciousness as he watched to see if she noticed. 

When he didn't respond, not knowing what to say or what exactly she had said, Satya took that as her cue that the night had ended now. Niran watched as she turned the TV off, switched the bedside lamp on to illuminate the room softly and gently, and tucked herself into bed facing him. Satya couldn't sleep in complete darkness, and never has been able to, so Niran wasn't going to scold her for it right now. He was too tired to, truthfully, and he was too focused on how she looked laying in front of him now.

Her hair was down and draped across the pillow in a messy way, but still somehow made her seem more sophisticated to her close friend. Niran couldn't help but let his eyes trail over the softness of her skin, the beauty spot that lay on her right cheek, and how her eyelashes complimented her so well right now. He thought she hadn't noticed how much he was observing her, analysing her details. But she had, and a part of her didn't want to stop him, for one reason or another. 

The closeness would've been suffocating for her, with anyone else. But with Niran, she felt as though she was addicted to it, in a way. Satya was used to laying beside him, never worrying about him overstepping boundaries or getting too close, even with the single bed not providing much space for the two. She appreciated that about him, and how he was careful with his space and refused to cause her discomfort with the brush of a hand, or a forceful hug when she didn't want it. A part of her wondered, though, what it would feel like. Would it be different with him? Would she be able to handle it with him? She didn't know, and that small thought in the back of her mind made her heart race with possibility.

She moved closer to Niran, testing her limits and wanting to see how he would react. The bed was against the wall, with Niran's back facing it as she faced him, so there wasn't anywhere else he could go right now. And yet, he wouldn't have moved even if he could. Deep down, Niran wanted to feel her closer too, and wouldn't complain about Satya initiating it for whatever reason. But, he couldn't stop himself from asking, checking with her about it.

“Satya?”

“I'm just cold, I thought being closer might help me.”

“I can turn our heating on if you'd like?”

“No need, I'm alright here now…” she replied, her tone soft but her words feeling rehearsed as they fell from her lips. Satya seemed to have had an excuse already lined up, not willing to let herself become vulnerable by admitting why she wanted to be closer to Niran. And yet, he was content with it. He wouldn't argue with it, and let himself believe that was the true reason as his heart swelled from the closeness they now faced with one another.

Satya's arm was lightly touching his now, their skin brushed somewhat with one another. In her mind, it was strange, new and unexpected. But, she enjoyed it. A lot. Her mind was growing used to the touch, but still craving more - it was a feeling she wasn't used to and couldn't help but feel worried by. If she indulged, she might make him uncomfortable. The way his cheeks were darkened under the dim light of the lamp, though, told her that he must be fond of it too.

Niran lay quietly, as though his body was too scared to move too fast against her closeness. He could feel her soft breaths against his cheek, and a pounding in his chest that filled his ears. He couldn't help but wonder if she knew how much her close proximity affected him - surely, she had to, when she was smiling still from ear to ear. Niran was always careful with his touch, not allowing himself to brush against her unless she initiated it first; it was something she had made clear early on in their friendship as something she didn't like. So, right now, he was stuck between confused and content emotions for the woman laying in front of him.

Satya watched as Niran's mind ticked away, something was repeating but she couldn't quite see what. His exhaustion was catching up with him, though, and she could tell he was going to be out like a bulb soon. But she couldn't help but feel as though she needed to be closer, that this small amount of touch wasn't enough.

Satya couldn't bring herself to, though, and she was left with the softness of his slightly hairy arms lingering against hers. It somehow relaxed her more, though, as she found herself drifting off with the silence of the room filling her with a peaceful feeling deep down. Satya would have truly done anything to be closer, to let herself be held by him, possibly. If only she had the courage to move closer, she thought, as she continued to watch the man who shared her feelings drift off to sleep.

[doctorhouse5343]

Show Me That You're Willing To Burn (Chapter 1)

If there was one word that Robert 'Hob' Gadling, the town's priest, would use to describe the sleep that he had, it would be either awful, pure torture or maybe literal hell.

Perhaps the latter would be the more correct term that fit the situation, due to how his dreams has of late had been plagued by the saddest blue eyes that he ever saw, pulled down deeper into unrest by a devilish siren's song meant to lure him to sin and while the priest normally started his morning with a simple cup of tea, it simply wasn't enough to keep his troubled mind focused on his duties, so against his better judgement he decided to drink several cups of coffee to soothe his very agitated nerves.

Which had turned out to be, unfortunately, a grave mistake, for he then found himself having difficulty staying still during the delivery of his morning sermon, pulling on his collar nervously while glancing at the door once or twice, almost expecting the wings of his tormentor and while he knew that the source of his unease would never dare step a foot within the sacred space of the church, it only made him dread the arranged meeting that would happen later in the day even more, one that he couldn't ignore or skip, no matter how much he felt tempted to do so.

Luckily for him, mass had went better than he ever could have hoped for, allowing him to take a much needed deep breath and, with a shaky sigh, drop himself in a chair in defeat, cursing his bleeding heart for getting him caught up in a situation that had left him with no other choice than to side with the opposite side. As he tried to calm himself down by brewing himself a cup of a tea, Hob began to think over the events that happened the night before, wondering if he still would have done what he did at the time if he knew what was at stake.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to help you get back home, Mrs. Hettie? It's rather cold outside, plus I'm quite sure that the storm is getting worse...It wont be too much trouble for me, at least let me return you the favor for all the things that you do for the church" Father Hob pleaded, but his words only seemed to make the old lady in front of him more sure of her decision, determined to go forth in her venture. "It will take more than a silly storm to knock me down, Father, that I can assure you. It is you that ought to be more careful, priest" She admonished, squinting at him while handing him a few containers full of left-overs "If you continue not taking good care of yourself, you'll certainly catch your death at this rate, and then we'll have no priest!" She then sighed, shaking her head, clicking her tongue as she muttered "Evil won't wait forever, dark forces are fast approaching. Even the air feels wrong, I can feel it...".

While the mad woman's concerns for him brought a smile out of the man of the cloth, her ramblings however made him mutter a quick prayer, crossing himself before trying to reassure her as best as he could "I'm sure that everything will be alright, Hettie. God is watching over all of us, so I doubt that any ill will befall us and if it does reach that point, there still will be a chance so in the meantime" He explained, squeezing her wrinkly hand comfortingly, "make sure to take good care of yourself and try to stay dry until the morning comes".

Pressing her lips together, brows-furrowed, clearly wanting to protest but deciding against it, the older woman nodded, bidding the kind man goodbye, heading for the door, but before she went outside to brave the elements awaiting, she gave him another warning "You might be quite powerful in your field of work, but so are the ones that you are trying to keep at bay. Heed my warning, Father, and don't let your guard down, that's exactly what they want". Before he could ask for more clarification, or at least insist on her staying a bit longer until the bad weather had dwindled, Hettie was already gone, leaving the brown-eyed man alone with his own thoughts, his confusion only growing as he began to sweep the church's floors, deciding to let the matter slide for the time being but as he drove on to his humble abode, trying his best to drive safely while the windshield-wipers did their best to fight against the heavy rain, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, as if some unseen threat was lurking in the shadows. 'Nonsense', he thought to himself. Just the ravings of a old woman, driven mad with grief by the passing of her husband several winters ago, a tragedy that she had never gotten over. Only that and nothing more, he assured himself, repeating it over and over like a mantra until he went to bed, where he fell deeply into sleep, rocked by the sounds of the thunderstorm. Unbothered and unaware of what was yet to come.

As the storm outside raged on, followed by the thunder clapping loudly, a lively party thrown in the lavish manor, belonging to the Endless family, was in full swing, all the guests enjoying themselves despite the awful weather. All except for one raven-haired young man, who stayed far from the others, his peony-colored lips pressed together as he fiddled with his sleeves, occasionally chewing on them while looking at the ground, with a look of pure exhaustion etched on his face : with all the constant dancing forced upon him by his mother, along with playing a song on the violin for the lady of the manor's adoring crowd, Dream hadn't found one moment for himself, which had left him with no other choice but to retreat in a far corner in an attempt to relax. Just as he was about to head off for a more quiet space, maybe the parlor so that he could try to play his instrument in complete silence, for only his friend's ears and his own, the young-man was stopped by his mother, who was proudly boasting about her favorite child's recital to an old gentleman, who seemed entranced by her words, his eyes focused on her lips whenever they parted.

"Yes, my dear son is quite the gifted boy, very talented as well. He never misses his classes, his tutors only have great things to report...Come, Dream, say hello to Mr. Burgess" The greying-haired woman said with a smile, one that felt rather forced as she tried to bring her son closer to her as she spoke, facing the man who gave the ravenette a very odd smile "He has been asking quite a lot about you, in fact he wishes to get to know you better, so I thought this evening would be the most ideal time for this meeting".

Her tone was eager, with a slight demanding edge to it but the look in the young-man's eyes made her pause for a moment, reconsidering her choice "Oh, my dear boy, I have forgotten how tired you must be after your performance. Do rest up in the parlor, I'll deal with the rest. I insist, off you go" Lady Nyx said as warmly as she could, trying to keep up appearances, but inside she was fuming but knew what would happen if she did anything that the...thing that had taken over her son's body didn't approve so it was a fake smile that she watched her son walk out of the room, leaving her alone with Mr. Burgess, who kept on talking to her, seemingly oblivious to her fuming. Nodding a few times to satisfy the man, throwing a 'oh, truly?', or 'how lovely' here and there to pretend to be interested, the wealthy woman kindly excused herself, insisting on the man coming over more often to talk about her son, which made the creepy man's eyes light up and when Roderick Burgess eventually bid his farewell, thanking her once more for the lovely evening, mentioning how adorable her son looked with his piercings before kissing her hand and finally leaving the premises to the sound of the music playing in the background, the rich woman let out a 'Fucking finally' under her breath, leaning against the wall with a bored expression on her face. Even though she had promised to wed her favorite son to Mr. Burgess, should the boy show no interest in his two sons, the lady couldn't stand being in the same room as that nuisance but, alas, it had to be done : her son was heading off the wrong path, so the best solution was to get him married. There was, however, one major problem that stood in the way of her grand plan : the creature that had made Dream's body it's home, changing things about her precious boy as it went.

Her lovely son, Dream, her pride and joy, had been tainted by a malicious being, one that no doubt came into his life during the vacation that the rest of the Endless family had went to, leaving the Goth to his own devices at the manor. It was a decision that all agreed to, due to the young-man's skin burning far too easily under the sun and his distaste for warm temperatures, but as she bid him goodbye, the woman squeezed her son's cheeks, reminding him to be good, to not frown so much and to practice lots and lots, finishing with a light tap on her boy's pierced nose, which made his lips press together in an annoyed pout, one that made his snake-bite piercings stick out as the group all walked out, leaving the ravenette all alone. When they returned to their lavish home a month later, all seemed well, nothing seemed to be broken and Dream was behaving quite normally, but when his mother tried to pinch his cheeks again, the ravenette turned his head away, muttering that he would like to spend time with the others instead of her. Those soft words, followed by that reaction, brought a deep frown out of Nyx but out of wanting to keep the peace and not cause a scene, she allowed it, though her eyes scanned his every movement in the following days, trying to understand what had made her son change so fast. Despite everyone's best effort to keep up a front for all the town's folk, things only became more tense back at the Endless manor, with Dream becoming more withdrawn under Desire's merciless teasing, his mother's harsh words telling him to just brush it off, to keep his chin up, to watch his posture while everything around them seemed to fall apart, without any of them able to prevent it from happening. As if things couldn't get any worse, the fourth eldest of the Endless siblings, Destruction, had left the family home in the death of night, only leaving an empty bed for those who loved him to find in the morning. The red-head's absence weighted heavily on them all and while Desire tried to make amends by being nicer to their brother, Dream seemed out of it, his wet blue eyes fixed on the ground as he tried to will himself not to cry, for Mother wouldn't like it one bit. For a while the raven-haired young-man stayed strong, giving short answers to the guest's questions, but when one person offered their support, telling them that it must have been difficult, Dream found himself trembling, biting his bottom lip to stifle the sob that was forming in his throat, and before he could form a word, he heard his mother's cold voice.

"Oh, there is no need, really. Destruction has made the choice to part ways with us, so he is no longer a son of mine. It was his decision and since he didn't leave a note, we shouldn't waste resources in finding him, for he clearly wishes to not be found. Besides," She added, her tone sickeningly sweet as she pulled her weeping son closer to her, stroking his black hair with a smug smile "I have my dear son right here with me and, unlike his pathetic little brother, who was undeserving of the Endless name, he will never leave my side. Isn't that right, my little Dream?".

The possessive tone in Lady Nyx's tone broke the boy out of his trance, making his eyes misty with tears as he pulled away from her cold, heartless touch, turning his head away as he left the room quickly, sobbing in a way that brought a 'Oh, poor lad, I hope he feels better...What a tragedy, to loose family like this' out of the kind stranger, and a look of pure rage on the wealthy woman's face.

How dare he reject her touch, pull away from her like this? In front of a guess, no less! Enough was enough, so it was with a curt tone that she announced the end of the party, waving all the guests off with a dismissive 'farewell', all the while taking large swigs of her favorite wine to try to calm herself down, though the attempt proved itself futile for she crushed the empty glass after she was done, storming off to her son's room, demanding to see him at once.

The minute that Dream stepped out of his room, his pale face stained with tears, asking in a small voice what did his mother wish to see him for, the lady began to throw insults at him, calling him an ungrateful child who couldn't appreciate all that she did for him, all the tutoring and the lessons she got for him "And to think that out all of your siblings, I always thought that you would be better but alas, it seems that I have been sorely mistaken. Perhaps it would have been best for us all if you had went off with Destruction, the only good thing about him where his paintings, and even then they were mediocre at best. Honestly, I do not understand why you would waste your tears for that pathetic waste of spac-" A sudden force cut off her vicious words, sending her right into a wall, helpless as she could only watch in horror come out of his stupor and for the first time in ever, she saw him smile.

Not a fake one or full of malice, no. A kind, warm one, but not destined for her. It was all for the thing that had taken over him that day, the creature that took her baby boy away. And after long weeks of seething in silence, trying to rack her brain for a solution to stop it once and for all, she finally got it. The perfect plan, guaranteed to bring Dream back to his senses.

After the party had ended and everyone was asleep, with the sound of thunder clapping, followed by heavy rain, the cold woman carefully stepped into the boy's room, silent as possible as to not wake him up, creeping up at his bedside. Staring at her sleeping Dream's face for a moment, the woman pulled out some black bindings, tying them around her boy's wrists before fixing them to the bedposts so that he wouldn't squirm during the night and when the ravenette woke up, with fear in his eyes, she simply smiled.

"I know that it's uncomfortable, my darling boy, but it's for your own good. This thing inside you, it is keeping you away from me, making you hate me. Shhh, Shh, sweet Dream" Nyx soothed, touching her son's bony cheek, sighing as she saw him snarl at her "there is no need to fear, for Mother's here to stay. Once all of this is over, you will be out of those bonds, I promise" Her fingers brushed a few strands of hair away from the young man's forehead, lingering there for a while before walking out of the room, leaving the frightened man bound to his bedpost, unable to do anything but wait for the nightmare to be over.

It must had been only one hour, or two, since the ravenette had been stuck in his room, unable to free his tired arms from their bindings, but to him it had been way too long and just as he was starting to feel himself falling asleep, hoping that it would all go back to normal once he'd wake up, he heard his mother's voice, thanking someone for coming so quickly, to which a soft male voice replied with 'Oh, it was no trouble. Always happy to help a family in need, madam', which brought a frown out of the bound young-man as he began to wonder what this mysterious visitor came to do. Certainly not to have a cup of tea, that's for sure. The sudden thought seemed to amuse his demon friend a lot, so much so that the minute that Nyx stepped into the room, with a priest in tow, a horrible demonic cackle left the ravenette's peony lips, earning a look of disgust out of the wealthy woman and a quick 'Lord have mercy on us all', followed by the sign of the cross from the priest, which seemed to make the laughter worse. Taking a deep breath to brace himself for the biggest challenge of his life, the priest carefully approached the bed, speaking as softly and gently as he could, hoping to reach the young-man trapped in his own mind "Hello, Dream..I'm Father Hob, and while I wish that we could have met under more, well, pleasant circumstances, I want you to know that you are safe here, alright? There is no need to fear, I am here to remove the demon that has possessed you".

Hob assured, clasping his rosary tightly as he got down on his knees, lowering his head to mutter a quick prayer, his voice wavering slightly as he did so, but his concentration was broken by another laugh, though this time it sounded mocking, as if the fiend that had taken refuge within the boy's body found him amusing.

"Well, I was hoping that we could go the easy way, but it seems that this demon wants to play a little" The brown-eyed man sighed, uncorking a small glass bottle with 'Holy Water' etched on it's surface, giving the now grinning, snarling poor soul bound to the bed a stern look as he added "Unfortunately for you, foul demon, I don't play nice with the likes of you, nor am I fair. So I am afraid that since you have pulled me away from my sleep, it will be more painful for you than it will be for me", before throwing the contents of the bottle on the demon, starting the exorcism as the bone chilling screams of the creature filled up the entirety of the room.

After the long and painful task of exorcising the demon out of the young-man, Hob breathed out a sigh of relief, giving a nod to the boy's mother, who quickly undid her son's bounds "You are free, my sweet boy, everything's alright now. With him gone, all will go back as it once was" Nyx whispered soothingly to Dream, smiling at him as he looked around uncertainly, a look of confusion in his blue eyes. When his gaze settled on the man of the cloth, the boy frowned, hesitating for a moment before softly posing the question that had been on his mind since the ordeal "Is he gone? Hobo H-...The demon, I mean. Is it really..gone?". The trembling in the other's voice broke the priest's heart, who could see just how much the situation had taken a toll on him so in an attempt to reassure him, he gently held the boy's pale hands in his own, telling him that yes, the fiend was gone, that there was nothing to fear anymore, for he was safe. He then offered the Goth a warm smile, hoping to see the man do the same but to his shock, Dream shook his head, pulling his hands away while telling him to leave immediately, his voice full of hurt as he turned his attention to his mother, shoulders trembling. "You who told me to be more sociable, to make new friends, how could you do this?! You took away the only one that I ever cared about!! Get out of my sight, mother!!" The ravenette yelled out, tears streaming down his face as he shoved his head in his pillow, refusing to look at either of them, not wanting to hear his mother's words.

"I know that it hurts right now, my dear, but it had to be done....You'll understand, eventually" She muttered, stroking his hair one last time before walking out of the room, followed by a very distraught Hob, who wondered if he had made the right call in following the woman's wishes as he walked back to his car, sighing as he cursed himself for wanting to go back in the room to gently wipe those tears away tenderly, kissing all of his hurt away....No, he mustn't think that way, he was a priest, for god's sake!

"I really need some sleep" The priest muttered, driving back to his home with a sigh, trying his best to keep himself focused on the road ahead, hoping that the young-man would be alright in the end as he went back to his home, unaware of the fact that a very curious creature was following him the whole time.

While Father Hob did manage to exorcise the demon that was inside of Dream, he didn't truly get rid of him, the only thing that he did was send it sprawling onto the Goth boy's bedroom, annoyed by what happened but more interested in trying to comfort his friend. "Did you truly think that he got rid of me this easily, my friend?" The demon whispered in the crying young-man's ear, chuckling at the happy squeal of the delight that the other had let out as he hugged him tightly, rubbing his back as he went on "I already told you that it would take the Heaven's wrath itself to keep me away from you, so until that day comes, I am never, ever leaving your side".

The skull-faced demon's voice brought a content sigh of Dream, who slowly closed his eyes as he curled up in the hellish being's arms, whispering a 'Thank you, Hobo Heart' as he fell asleep, bringing a smile out of the white-haired creature, who stayed with him until he was sure that the lad was safe before venturing out of the manor, grinning at the idea of having a nice little chat with the cute priest. While he normally didn't follow people around like this, there was something about the brown-haired man that the demon found fascinating, that and the fact that Hob had put up quite a fight, which made Hobo Heart even more intrigued so it was a smile that he had patiently waited for the priest to fall asleep before creeping up to him and, with a silent giggle, tickled the man of the cloth's nose with the tip of his tail to wake him up.

At first Hob didn't react much, simply turning his head away with a grumble but on the second stroke, he let out an annoyed sigh, grabbing the source of the tickling with his bare hands, waking up with a 'I don't know who you are, but if you don't stop this nonsense at once, I swear I'm going t-', before pausing, brown-eyes widening as he looked at the forked tail in his hands, his gaze slowly going up to face it's grinning owner, who seemed quite amused with the other's reaction "Going to do what, Father Hob? Go on, I would love to know the things that you will do to 'punish' me" The demon teased, moving the tip of his tail seductively under the blushing priest's chin, making the other move quickly to the opposite side of the bed. "Look, I don't know what you want from me, nor do I know why you are here, in my home, but please, I am very tired and don't wish to fight so please, leave so that I can rest" Hob pleaded, hoping with all of his heart that the creature was more the merciful type, but to his dismay the being simply flew towards him and, with a playful giggle, sat down on the bed, right next to him "Oh don't worry, little priest, I'm not here to fight either. In fact" He murmured teasingly, his fingers dancing along the priest's cleft-chin "I'm here to offer you my help, and before you ask, there is no catch : all that I ask is, in exchange for information that could help you keep your town safe, you agree to spend time with me". If Hob wasn't flustered at first from all the touching, the teasing and the looks that the charming fiend was throwing at him, the man was completely red, quickly getting up from his bed to pace around a bit "Wait, wait, let me try to understand this, alright?" The priest sputtered, taking a deep breath to organize his thoughts, hands folded in front of his mouth as he faced the demon "You have information that, apparently, will help me a lot and in exchange for this, you don't want my soul. Instead, you want to spend...time with me? Am I getting this wrong, or is there something that I'm missing? More importantly, how do I know that you aren't lying to me?". To the man's surprise, his evident distrust of the demon didn't seem to bother him, in fact it made the skull-faced flirt smile more "Hmm, that is a very good question : why would I, your enemy,be so eager to offer an helping hand to a priest that knocked me off my feet an hour ago? Well, the answer to that is quite simple, really" His smile faded as he got up to his feet, walking up really close to the man, his expression grave "I have every reason to believe that some demons back home have their sights on your quiet town, seeking to possess all of it's inhabitants in the hopes of claiming it as their own and since I have grown rather fond of this place, I simply cannot allow their plan to come to fruition. Which is why I offer you my knowledge : I know that you would do whatever it takes to keep your congregation safe".

Seeing the shocked look in the priest's eyes, the demon's tail caressed his cheek once more, more tenderly this time as he leaned in closer to Hob, their lips almost touching as he whispered "And if it's the offer itself that makes you hesitate, I'll be more than happy to bring Dream along with me, it would be no trouble for me. Once again, there will be no soul snatching or anything like that : all that I want is to have the chance of getting to know you better. No, no, my dear little exorcist," The white-haired hellspawn's finger gently pressed against the priest's lips, stopping him from talking as he continued; "you don't have to agree to anything just yet, I have something much better in mind. If you wish to take my offer, simply go to the 'Bookish Crow' café, you'll recognize it pretty quickly : it's the one that has a crow hiding in a castle made out of books, surrounded by flying books. I'll be there in the afternoon with Dream, but I hope that we'll be seeing you there as well, Hob". And before the holy man could make a sound or even ask for the other's name, the demon vanished from the premises, leaving only behind a little note that said 'Red is a color that suits you a lot, cutie priest', with a small red skull with the name 'Hobo Heart' next to it, the note itself proving to him that he hadn't been dreaming the whole encounter and despite all of his efforts to sleep after the strange visit, his mind was tormented until the morning, still bothering him even now as he finished his tea, his tired gaze dropping to the strange note. Taking a deep breath, muttering a quick prayer on the way out, the man quickly grabbed his tote-bag, hurrying to his car while hoping that the two would be at the agreed meeting place before driving at a respectable speed, not wishing to get in any kind of trouble. Luckily it didn't take long for him to find the 'Bookish Crow' and right after he parked his car, taking the time to lock it before stepping out of the vehicle, and walk inside the coffee shop with a small hum.

Giving an awkward smile to the owner, Hob's eyes scanned the room to see if Dream and Hobo Heart were there and when the latter waved at him, the priest let out a sigh of relief as he walked towards them, sitting down with a sheepish smile as he offered an apology for the delay, which was waved off by the flirty demon. "It's quite alright, Father Hob, we haven't been here long so you didn't miss much. I'm sure you already know Dream, after what happened last night" Hobo Heart teased, taking a bite out of a strawberry while the ravenette muttered a 'Hello, mister', his gaze focused on the very sweet, cute-themed strawberry milkshake in front of him, his fingers moving the straw around distractedly. Feeling the man's gaze on him, the boy stopped his movements for a moment, sighing a bit as he spoke "My apologies, I did not get the best sleep in the last hour. If I seem out of it or not paying attention to anything, I hope you won't take it the wrong way, Father" Dream muttered, fiddling with his long chewed up sleeve, the gesture bringing a soft smile out of the priest as he gently patted the young-man's hand reassuringly "It is quite alright, dear boy : I too didn't get much sleep, and I fear that the coffee that I have been drinking haven't been helping much" He said with a chuckle, which in turn made the Goth smile a bit, a sight that made Hob's heart beat faster. Realizing that his hand was still on top of the raven-haired lad's own, Hob pulled it away quickly, his cheeks red as he stammered a quick 'sorry', making the lad let out a cute snort, followed by a grin as the pretty boy began to drink his sweet beverage, eyes closed in delight as he enjoyed his milkshake, all under Hob's mesmerized gaze. While he knew that it was wrong of him to stare at the other's lips like this, the priest found himself wondering if they were as soft as they looked, wanting to know how it would feel to kiss them and as he felt himself leaning forward a bit, he quickly stopped himself, shaking his head as he forced himself to relax. "You sure do seem a little bit tense there, little priest. How about a nice strawberry to take the edge off, or perhaps a tea, if you aren't feeling hungry?" Hobo Heart teasingly suggested , letting out a sound of delight that made the man quite red as he watched the hellish creature take a bite of the fruit, clearly enjoying himself far too much and before he could politely decline, Hob felt his body grow hot under the other's smoldering gaze, trying to stay still as he felt the creature's tail caress his lap ever so gently, making it difficult to keep his composure. "I-I'm quite alright, but thank you for asking, dear" He replied quickly, struggling to keep his tone even as he felt the tail's caresses on his lower half still, slowly making it's way upwards, making him cover his mouth in a desperate attempt to cover up the noise that came out of him and just as he felt himself get weak at the knees, eyes rolling back in pleasure, the tail withdrew from it's original spot, giving Hob time to catch his breath, which made Dream look at him with concern.

Seeing the lad's reaction made Hob's guilt worse, so out of wanting to not making the boy worry, he quickly assured him that he was alright but when Dream insisted on him at least having a glass of water the priest agreed and, after thanking the waiter, began to drink from it, making sure to avoid the eyes of the creature that, of which he was most definitely sure, only existed to lead him down a path of sin with his powers of temptation.

After finishing his glass, the brown-eyed priest got off his feet, thanking the both of them for the lovely invitation and just as he was about to walk away, he felt the sultry demon's tail wrap around his leg, keeping him in place as the other's enchanting voice filled the air, making it harder for him to concentrate.

"On the contrary, my dear Hob, it is you that we must thank, for your presence made this little coffee date much more fun, Father. We will be seeing more of you soon, I hope?" Hobo Heart tilted his head as he spoke, the tip of his tail teasing the priest's ass a bit, making him blush bright red as he assured the seductive terror that yes, he would be coming around more often and his words seemed to please him, for the creature's hold on him ceased, allowing him to quickly head over to his car and as he drove back to his home, Hob let out a loud groan, now painfully aware of the effect that the pair had on him. But that fact brought forth a question, one that he didn't have the answer to : Would he be strong enough to resist it? Or will he be unable to resist, forever damning his immortal soul instead?

[kareofbears]

you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)

"Communication, right?" Thomas spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

—

Or, a missing scene in The Death Cure where Thomas can't let Newt sacrifice himself. He just can't.

read on ao3 or below the tag :)

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

—

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

—

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.

he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.