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smutstationchoochoo · 1 year ago

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Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

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starkeyisthelastname · 4 months ago

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like i said husband dilf!rafe spoils his kids 🤭😅

It was the sound of footsteps prancing in the living room, when your 15 year old daughter came plopping herself on the couch. The big eyes and pout on her lips already telling you both that she wanted something. Rafe titled his head back to meet her, taking a long breath. “What is it princess?” He asked, already knowing his daughter’s I want something face.

“Can I have your credit card information, daddy?” She asked, batting her lashes as she had always been a daddy’s girl and he knew he couldn’t say no to his little girl. Even if she could be a brat sometimes. Rafe let out an exasperated sigh and motioned for her to hand her the phone. The one rule he had for both of his kids was that he had to see what they were purchasing and he was the one who put his card info in.

Taking the glittery phone in hand, his blue eyes ran over the screen to see the extensive online shopping cart filled with items from Sephora. He let out a scoff, reading the total. “You need $400.00 dollars worth of makeup for what?” He asked, looking back up at her. Yeah.. she definitely got your beauty habits that were gonna cause him to go broke.

“It’s not just makeup dad. There’s skin care stuff and I ran out of my favorite perfume and I need a new one.” She said, trying to reason with him. She watched as he rolled his eyes, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Go get my wallet off the counter.” He said, clicking the checkout button before she added anymore stuff.

The teen happily jumped from her space and into the kitchen where she grabbed the leather wallet Rafe was referring to. Handing it to him, he adjusted his hold onto you and pulled out one of his cards to type the numbers of the black amex onto the phone screen. “There. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed. You got school tomorrow.” He said firmly, already watching the smile spread on her face he handed her back the phone. Hopping up, she came over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks dad! You’re the best! I love you both!” She said, running back towards her room.

“I spoil her way too damn much.” He mumbled, before focusing his attention back on you. “And don’t even get me started on you.” His tone raspy as he reached back underneath the blanket to squeeze your thigh. You hummed, trailing your hand up his t-shirt and ran your expensive manicure across his toned stomach.

“What about me?” You asked, tone playful as you ran your hand further down until it hit the waistband of his sweatpants. You watched as he sucked in a breath, blue eyes staring at you with a look you knew very well. “That you’re fuckin’ spoiled too..” He said, his voice a littler lower as your hand slipped in the boxers he was wearing.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dilf!rafe #husband!rafe #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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starkwlkr · 5 months ago

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Can I request some hung with old man Logan? Something domestic or soemthing like reader baking for him. I love reading fics of Logan and reader being an old married couple

just the two of us | old man logan

an: anon ily for this request old man Logan needs more love <3 credit to pinterest for the gif btw this doesn’t follow the logan storyline so i added laura hope that’s ok!! sorry if there’s an spelling mistakes!

reader and logan live in a nice little cozy home because i said so 😍

“Taste.” You held the wooden spoon up to your husband’s mouth. Logan sighed, he knew you weren’t going to let him walk away without tasting the brownie batter so he licked the spoon.

For a while you had been craving brownies. While Logan was out working, you and Laura drove to the city to pick up the ingredients to make brownies. It was a fun small girls trip until it was time to come back home. Laura had helped you mix everything together until she got tired, she then decided to go up to her room to watch cartoons. You continued working on the brownies by yourself, that’s when Logan had arrived from work and now here you were giving him a taste test.

“So?” You waited for an answer.

“Bub, you are the best baker in this whole town, city, state, planet.” Logan was going to dip his finger in the batter until you slapped it away.

“No! You’re going to wait like the rest of us, but I did tell Laura she could have the first brownie so just wait.” You told him.

Logan groaned and walked to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. “How was your day?”

Logan always asked about you day. It didn’t matter if you stayed home and read a book or did some gardening, he wanted to know.

“Good. Laura and I read a new book, we went to buy ingredients to make brownies and now my old man is home so I’d say it’s been a pretty good day.” You started to pour the brownie batter into a pan.

He didn’t mind you calling him old man, in fact, he loved it. Yeah, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but you still loved him. You did admit to him many times that the grey hair was a turn on for you, which made him laugh.

Before you could react, Logan quickly dipped his finger in the batter and licked it clean.

“James! Don’t you dare do it again!” You scolded him. “These are for Laura too.”

“Come on, Laura’s not going to know that I ate some batter,” Logan leaned on the counter next to you. “I’ve been thinking. .”

“Oh no, that’s concerning.” You teased, finishing up with the brownies and putting them in the oven. You turned to face him then wrap your arms around him, bring him closer to you.

Logan chuckled at your response. “I’ve been thinking about taking you and Laura to some place nice. We can do that family shit you always talk about.”

You laugh at his choice of words. “Family shit, yeah that’s what I said.”

“Tomorrow then, I’ll drive us to the nicest place you’ve ever seen, get some ice cream, watch a movie, whatever you want.” Logan leaned in closer, you doing the same.

Before your lips could touch, Laura interrupted you asking about the brownies.

“Not yet, my love, I just put them in. I’ll call you when they’re done,” You pulled away making Logan groan. Laura nodded then ran up to her room. You noticed the frown on his face so you quickly gave him his after work kiss. “Don’t be so sad, old man, the neighbor’s kid wants to have a sleepover with Laura this weekend so it’ll just be the two of us.” Logan definitely liked the sound of that.

Half an hour later, the brownies were ready. Laura took several with her to her room while you and Logan took a plate outside to the patio where your porch swing was. It was a beautiful evening, it wasn’t too hot or too cold, and now you were ending the night beside your husband eating some homemade brownies.

“I think Laura is going to ask you for a dog.” You mention, scooting closer to Logan and laying your head on his chest. You held a brownie up to him so he could take a bite.

“No, we are not getting a dog.” He said.

“It would be nice, you know . . .” You bit the brownie after Logan.

“Is this why you made brownies? You want me to get you and Laura a dog?” He looked down at you.

“No, but can you?”

He sighed defeatedly. “I’ll think about it.”

#marvel fluff #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #wolverine fluff #wolverine x reader #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine fanfiction

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 1 year ago

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

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

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

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

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

‘Medjack! Medjack, now!’

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

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

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

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

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You mean I’ll have a limp?’

‘Potentially.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah?’ he called back.

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that was something worth fighting for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Clint!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N held it out to Newt. ’Teach me.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Good that.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All because of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Saw what?’ Thomas asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry Newt, but I am not brave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was the end.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Y/N?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Brenda!’

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

If she could make it in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right as his drove the knife into her stomach.

‘Y/N!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Y/N?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘For what?’ she asked.

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

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

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

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

#maze runner newt x reader #newt x reader #tmr newt x reader #maze runner imagines #maze runner x reader #the maze runner #minho #tmr frypan #tmr thomas #tmr minho #tmr newt #tmr gally #tmr brenda #tmr jorge #the death cure #the scorch trials #romance #angst #friends to lovers

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marvelstan0905 · 6 months ago

Text

"Good luck Charm"

Kenji Sato X S/O!Fem!READER [Smut Scenario]

TW :blowjobs/almost being caught/public setting/mixed POV/idk what else/petnames

-Hi guys. My requests will be open starting 26 June at 5PM [MT ] up until 28th June 1PM [MT]. I'm putting these dates because I don't want to get overwhelmed and end up burned out! Also, May you guys help me out with differentiating between scenarios/headcannons/imagines/oneshots/etc. Thank you so much for the love and support.❤

Gif credit @soranatus

Kenji needed a little incentive, a little energy boost in order to get his head in the game. He was frustrated with the way games had been going so far. What's better way to relieve his stress and frustration than with his girl's help.

Here the two of you were in the locker room, the two of you were alone and your boyfriend was leaning against the door, his pants undone and his hair disheveled. There you were ,on your knees and his cock in your mouth.

"There we go, you're so pretty on your knees for me, princess" Kenji groaned as his hands tossed through your hair. He stared down at you with hazy, half lidded eyes which were beyond dilated. His hips bucked up into your mouth causing you to whimper slightly. "Shh b-babygirl. You don't want us to be caught ,hmm?"

I nodded and took him deeper into my mouth. With a deep breath I relaxed my gag reflex in order to take him down my throat. A guttural groan and small whimper fell from Kenji's lips.

"T-Thats it my love. You're taking it so well" Kenji breathed heavily as his head fell back against the door and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I bobbed my head and hallowed my cheeks, hoping to get him there quicker. I glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing we had about 5 minutes before my boyfriend needed to go. I sucked on his cock a lot harder and with more fervor. My tongue ran against the veins on his beautiful cock. My boyfriend almost jolted from the added pressure. "F-Fuxk..I'm so close."

We froze when we heard a knock at the door. "Hey Sato! We're about to go on! Are you almost done changing?" One of Kenji's teammates shouted from outside the door. I didn't stop and kept going. Kenji's breath hitched and he cleared his throat.

"Y-Yeah...be out there soon!" Kenji called out sounding like he just ran a marathon. I hummed holding in my giggles. My boyfriend cursed from the vibrations.

"Okay? Well be quick! We're almost starting!" The player called out. Kenji sighed and grabbed a hold of the back of my head before thrusting into my mouth.

"I'm s-sorry baby, but I need to be quick but I a-also need my little goodluck charm" Kenji panted. I felt his cock throb into my mouth and in the knick of time, he came. His cock was deep into my throat as I swallowed all of his release. Kenji groaned, his face twisted with beautiful pleasure as his hips rut into my mouth. Calming down from his high, He panted."T-Thank you, sweetcheeks"

He breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Kenji gently pulled his soft cock out of my mouth and kissed my head. "Open for me" My boyfriend ordered and I opened my mouth. He smirked in satisfaction, happy that I swallowed all of it.

"What a good girl. Thank you, my love." Kenji smiled and gently tucked himself back into his pants. I stood up and made sure he looking fine.

"Go get em, honey! You can do it!" You encouraged him enthusiastically whiles gently pecking his lips. Kenji chuckled and kissed me once more. I was still a little breathless from our little activity.

"With that kinda of encouragement, I'm scoring home runs left and right" Kenji smirked and gave you a teasing wink. With a playful eye roll and a slight flush on your cheeks, you ushered him out the door.

"Get out of here" I giggled. Kenji laughed and kissed my cheek.

"I'm going. I'm going." Kenji spoke playfully raising his hands in surrender. He jogged off and I was confused when he jogged back to give me another kiss on the lips "I love you"

Kenji pulled away with an affectionate smile and jogged to the stadium with a pep in his step. I chuckled. "I love you too"

"Hey! What are you doing in here!?"

Uh oh

#ken sato #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ultraman 2024 #emi ultraman #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato masterlist #ultraman masterlist #kenji sato headcannons #kenji sato smut #Spotify

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erwinsvow · 8 months ago

Note

random but i can see rafe giving shy!reader like a large amount of “pocket money” and she’ll always wait until she’s fully broke and runs out (if she doesn’t have a job), she’d be so nervous to ask him for more.

at first you're so shy around rafe you can't even find it in you to question what the money is for—you just assume it's some sort of test. you keep the cash in your pretty pink wallet until it's so full it won't fit in your purse.

rafe has no reason to be giving you money—you've got your own, your parents', that is. and suddenly you start to question everything, start overthinking like normal. does rafe think you're reliant on him for money? if so, is he mad at you because of it?

one day when he comes over to your place for once, claiming he wanted to get away from his noisy house to the serenity and peace of your bedroom, you dig out the wallet from under your bed and drop it next to him. he's laying on the mattress, sprawled out playing chess with a robot. the wallet lands with a thud.

like always, you let him speak first.

"what the hell's this?" he asks, lifting the thoroughly packed leather.

"i'm giving it back," you state, trying to remain a little firm. it's so hard around him though.

"jesus, kid," he comments, flicking through the cash. "did y'spend any of it? huh?"

"n-no," you stammer, suddenly nervous. "i kept it safe for you, like you wanted." you look at him with big, confused eyes and he looks back at you in disbelief.

"s'not for that, baby. it's for spending. for nice things, y'know, all the crap you like."

"crap?" you question back.

"stuff. books and records and ice cream when m'not around. y'know, pocket money."

"but i already have that," you reply. "did you think i didn't? did i ask for it?" suddenly confused, you wonder how you gave rafe this implication. "sorry, rafe."

"why are you apologizin'?" you perch yourself next to him.

"i guess because i didn't spend it.."

"well, stop. just use it for somethin' nice. for yourself, not me." he clarifies because he knows you—knows you'll go find him a new polo or golf glove if he didn't tell you otherwise.

and the way he says it—you comply, pressing a kiss to his cheek, mind floating to all the ways you could use it—a new beach read, a new bikini for boat days, ice cream nights with wheezie and a big tip for the nice girls who worked at the parlor.

you were used to spending your dad's money, now you were spending daddy's money. it wasn't that big of a change after all.

and it's really not.. until you run out.

you never had to ask your parents twice for anything, but rafe gives you cash and you don't question why, but now that you're used to getting things from rafe's money, you don't want to revert back. in all honestly, it felt nice when someone asked you where you got something from and you could tell them your favorite words.

"my boyfriend got it for me!"

credit cards are unlimited, but cash runs out. and asking rafe for more seems like the absolute worst thing in the world, especially when you were so hesitant to even start using it.

approaching the door to rafe's bedroom, you pace infront of it for a moment, thinking of the right words to say. ward walks by and smiles at you, though he's confused at what you're doing. panicked, you run in, standing in front of your boyfriend while he's looking at something on his desk. rafe glances up when you walk in.

"hey, kid."

"hi." it even comes out nervous. rafe shuts his laptop at the sound of your voice.

"what is it?" he asks, and you blink back in response.

"what's.. what?"

"y'think i can't tell when you're off? c'mon, start talkin'." you give in immediately.

"well... it's just, um, this cash. your cash. i ran out. and, um, this book i wanted releases out tomorrow. and i told wheezie i'd take her to the movies because that book we both like is a movie now, and it comes out this weekend, and y'know she's a child so-"

"yeah. m'aware."

"sorry," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. "sorry." he gets up from the desk, and you wonder if you really messed up by demanding so much.

"what'd i tell ya? stop apologizin'." when he gets close, rafe does what he always does, lifting your chin up so you're looking at him, his fingers resting on your jaw. "what'd you think? i'm gonna say no to you?"

"maybe. i'm being kinda greedy."

"nah, kid. be as greedy as you want." when you smile, he laughs at you, at how nervous you still get, how worried you are that you're doing something wrong. "besides, i got some ideas on how y'can make it up to me."

sounds like a win-win for you.

#this was so fucking cutie pie #i love them #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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ahqkas · 16 days ago

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hi!! I saw your post of the bat boys s/o wearing their merch and I loved it!!! How do you think they’d react seeing their s/o wearing another persons merch?? (Ex: Jason’s s/o wearing nightwing merch, and so on)

♯ THE COLOR GREEN

— gn!reader, angst for bruce, cursing + lmk if more

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

IT WAS AN ORDINARY EVENING IN WAYNE MANOR, FULL OF THE USUAL SILENCE that only the sprawling estate could provide. bruce had just finished a late-night meeting with gotham’s most influential philanthropists. it had been a long, tiring day, but the sense of duty still lingered within him. he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest properly until he checked in on gotham’s nighttime operations, but for now, he allowed himself a brief moment of peace.

as he made his way into the living room, he was expecting to find you curled up on the couch with a book or perhaps watching your latest show. what he wasn’t expecting, though, was the sight that greeted him when he walked in: you were standing by the window, looking out at the snowy white picture, dressed casually in a loose-fitting black shirt with a bright blue nightwing logo sprawled across it.

the symbol—the iconic bird, a badge that he associated so deeply with dick grayson, his former partner—was unmistakable. his heart skipped a beat, the rush of emotions coming so quickly that he barely had a chance to process it. he froze, just standing there in the doorway, his mind suddenly racing.

nightwing.

bruce had never expected this. sure, dick was well-known in gotham, a hero in his own right, with the same sense of justice that ran through batman’s veins. but to see his former robin’s symbol—nightwing’s symbol—worn so casually by someone he cared about? it struck a chord in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

dick grayson had been more than just a sidekick, more than a name in a costume. he had been bruce’s right hand for years, a trusted confidant, and at one point, like a son to him.

now, here bruce stood, watching the emblem of that very relationship—a reminder of the past he still struggled to come to terms with—on your chest.

his heart clenched as he realized that you, someone he had opened up to in ways he never had with others, didn’t know the full weight of that symbol. you didn’t know the stories tied to it, the sacrifices made, or the heartache that had followed dick’s departure from Gotham. bruce felt an uncomfortable mix of protectiveness, jealousy, and vulnerability that he wasn’t used to confronting. how could he explain this to you? how could he put into words what seeing that logo meant to him without revealing too much, too soon? the thought of you innocently wearing it as a mere fan seemed almost like an intrusion into something he had kept buried for so long.

his first instinct was to say something, but he didn’t know exactly how.

you looked over at him, a warm smile spreading across your face as you noticed him standing there. “hey, love! look at this cool shirt i got today. i couldn’t resist. nightwing’s awesome, right?”

bruce’s jaw clenched. his chest felt tight, and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. there was no malice in your voice, no hint of anything other than innocent admiration for a hero you respected.

you didn’t know the intricacies of the bond between them, how deeply it ran, or the strain it had caused over the years. you didn’t know that dick grayson wasn’t just nightwing, he was bruce’s family.

you saw the look on his face, the way his gaze had darkened. the smile faltered from your lips, and you hesitated, clearly sensing the change in his mood. “bruce?”

he took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down. stepping further into the room, his eyes never left the logo that felt so out of place on you. he needed to keep his voice steady. this wasn’t your fault. you didn’t know.

“i—” he cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “you like nightwing?”

you nodded enthusiastically. “yeah, i’ve seen him patrol the city a few times, and i’ve read some cool stories about him. he’s really impressive.”

he tried to hold onto his composure, but his mind was running on autopilot, flicking through memories of dick’s training, their time together as batman and robin, the way things had fractured between them. but it was hard to keep all that inside when it was standing right in front of him, so public, so casual.

bruce couldn’t explain himself to you, not at this moment, but you somehow understood. his life wasn’t, wasn’t bright.

( note! as much as i’d like to write & see jealous bruce , this is smth more of what i think he’d react as )

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

IT WAS A QUIET AFTERNOON IN DICK’S APARTMENT, the kind of lazy day you two rarely got to share. the winter sun streamed through the windows, bathing the room in a pale glow. he sat cross-legged on the couch, aimlessly flipping through a book, while you wandered around the kitchen. you’d been busy unpacking a bag from your recent shopping trip, chatting casually about the little finds you’d picked up.

his attention drifted back to you when he heard the sound of your laughter, a bright, melodic note that never failed to pull him in. it was the kind of laugh that made the world feel a little lighter, even when he didn’t know the reason behind it yet. he glanced over the back of the couch, his book forgotten, as you stood near the kitchen counter, hands rummaging through one of the shopping bags you’d brought home. the mischievous glint in your eyes was impossible to miss, and your lips curved into a playful smile that immediately piqued his curiosity. “i found something you’re going to love—or maybe hate,” you teased, the of your voice dancing somewhere between innocent and deliberately provocative, the kind of tone you used when you knew you were about to get a reaction out of him.

dick grinned and closed his book, leaning over the back of the couch to catch sight of you. “oh? what’d you find?”

you turned around, your eyes alight with a mischievous glint that told him you knew exactly what you were doing. in your hands, you held up a black hoodie, the fabric loose and casual, but what caught his attention—what stopped him mid-breath—was the bold crimson logo splashed across the front. the angular design, sharp and unmissable, was instantly recognizable: the unmistakable insignia of the red hood. you tilted your head slightly, watching his reaction like a cat that had just dropped a mouse at its owner’s feet, the corners of your mouth tugging into an impish smile as if daring him to say something.

your boyfriend froze for half a second, his brain catching up with what he was seeing. the sight of you holding that hoodie—with jason’s symbol—sent a whirl of conflicting emotions through him. amusement bubbled up first, chased quickly by a flicker of irritation, and finally, something quieter but no less present: a faint pang of jealousy.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his tone light but with a slight edge of disbelief.

you shrugged innocently, clearly enjoying his reaction. “what? it’s cool. don’t you think it’s cool?” you held it up to yourself and struck a mock pose, the red logo standing out starkly against your figure.

dick let out a laugh, though it carried more incredulity than humor, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “oh, it’s something, all right,” he said, the words laced with mock offense as he stood up and made his way toward you. his movements were casual, but there was a certain energy behind them—curiosity tinged with disbelief. once he reached you, he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head as if sizing up the offending hoodie. his blue eyes flicked between your amused expression and the bold red symbol stretched across the fabric. “but red hood? really?” asking, his voice tinged with exaggerated disbelief, the way someone might react to finding out their favorite band had been passed over for a one-hit wonder.

you raised an eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by his tone. “what’s wrong with red hood? i mean, sure, he’s a bit . . . extreme. but you’ve got to admit, he’s kind of badass.”

he tilted his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. extreme was putting it mildly, he thought, but he kept that to himself. instead, he decided to lean into humor, a tried-and-true tactic. “oh, yeah. nothing says ‘badass’ like reckless decisions and questionable moral judgment,” he quipped, smirking.

you rolled her eyes, playfully tossing the hoodie at him. “oh, come on, dick. it’s just a hoodie. don’t be such a snob.”

he caught it effortlessly, the fabric flopping against his chest before he held it up at arm’s length like it might contain some hidden offense. his fingers brushed over the bold crimson logo, his expression a mix of mock scrutiny and genuine disbelief. he tilted his head slightly, inspecting the hoodie as if it might reveal some secret about why you had chosen this of all things. “a hoodie that glorifies a guy who spends half his time breaking the rules i try to uphold,” he muttered under his breath, the faintest edge of exasperation slipping into his tone. straightening, he lifted the hoodie higher, letting it unfurl completely before glancing at you with an exaggerated look of betrayal. “seriously? you could’ve picked nightwing merch,” he said, louder this time, his voice tinged with feigned indignation. “that guy’s way cooler.”

there was a pause, and then he added with a smirk, “better taste in colors, too.”

your laughter filled the room, light and carefree. “oh, please. nightwing? he’s fine, i guess, but red hood has this whole rogue antihero thing going on. it’s appealing!”

“appealing? over nightwing? i’m wounded.”

you shook your head, still grinning as you started putting away the rest of your shopping. “don’t take it personally, babe. it’s just merch. besides, i think the red looks good on me.”

he’d find a way to subtly convince you to pick up some nightwing merch next time.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON TODD HAD SEEN A LOT OF STRANGE THINGS IN HIS LIFE. he’d fought crime bosses, faced off against costumed lunatics, and clawed his way back from the dead. but nothing—not even his years in gotham—had prepared him for the sight that greeted him when he walked into your apartment that afternoon.

he’d let himself in, as he often did when you two had made plans and you hadn’t responded to his text confirming he was on his way. you trusted him with the spare key, and honestly, the thought of you trusting him enough to hand it over always softened the rough edges of his otherwise sharp side. your apartment was your sanctuary, and letting him into it was no small thing.

just like you did with your heart.

the first thing he noticed when he stepped inside was the faint sound of music coming from your living room. it was something upbeat, probably one of those rock playlists you put on when you cleaning or decorating. the second thing he noticed was you—standing in front of the coffee table, carefully balancing a steaming mug in one hand while trying to place a stack of books on the shelf with the other.

it was the third thing that made him stop dead in his tracks.

the bright, unmistakable “RR” emblem of red robin blazoned across the front of your oversized hoodie.

jason blinked, his brain stumbling over itself as he processed the sight in front of him. no way. no. this can’t be happening. his jaw tightened, and for a split second, he wondered if he’d somehow walked into an alternate universe, one where betrayal came wrapped in cozy fleece and gotham’s greatest insult wasn’t the joker, but that emblem. the bright, unmistakable initials burned into his eyes like a neon sign mocking him, and he felt an unfamiliar twinge of something in his chest—was it betrayal? jealousy? he wasn’t sure, but one thing was clear: this moment would haunt him forever.

“hey, jay!” you called over your shoulder when you noticed him, your voice light and cheerful, completely unaware of the emotional rollercoaster you’d just sent him on. you turned to face him fully, the emblem on the hoodie practically shining under the warm light of your apartment. “you’re early! i was just finishing tidying up.”

your boyfriend stood frozen in place, his mouth slightly open as he tried to process the betrayal—no, the travesty—before him. the love of his life. the love of his life. wearing tim drake’s merch.

his jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “what the hell are you wearing?”

your brows furrowed in confusion, and you glanced down at yourself as if to check for an obvious stain or tear. when your eyes landed on the red robin logo, you looked back up at him, completely unbothered. “what? you don’t like it?” you tugged on the hem of the hoodie. “i thought it was cute.”

jason let out a disbelieving laugh, the kind that came out when you couldn’t quite believe the universe had conspired to humiliate you this thoroughly. “cute? you think that’s cute?”

your confusion deepened, and you tilted your head at him, the way you always did when you thought he was being dramatic. “yeah, it’s cute. i got it at that pop-up merch store downtown. they had this whole gotham vigilante theme—nightwing, red hood, batgirl, even batman. but i liked this one the most. the colors are nice.”

he stared at you, his mind a chaotic swirl of indignation and disbelief. you could’ve picked anyone else. anyone. you could’ve gone with nightwing��sure, it would’ve stung a little, but he could’ve handled it. even batman would’ve been tolerable, if only because of the begrudging respect he still held for the older man. but red robin? tim drake? of all people?

“you’re telling me that you went out, saw that, and thought, ‘yeah, this is the one’?”

“yeah,” you replied with your tone still casual, though you were starting to pick up on his agitation. “what’s the big deal? you’re acting like i came home with a joker hoodie or something.”

jason hesitated, torn between his frustration and the part of him that didn’t want to see that concerned look on your face. finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “it’s . . . complicated,” he said, his tone quieter now. “let’s just say i’ve got some history with red robin, and seeing you wearing that doesn’t exactly sit well with me.”

you frowned. “history? like, bad history?”

your boyfriend nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “you could say that.”

your expression softened, and you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “i didn’t know,” you said quietly. “if i’d known, i wouldn’t have bought it.”

jason glanced down at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “yeah, well,” he muttered, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t know. still,” he said, smirking now, “if you wanted vigilante merch, you could’ve at least gone with red hood. he’s got way more style.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face widened. “oh, sure, because nothing says ‘cute and comfy’ like a skull and crossbones.”

he chuckled, pulling you into his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “you’re lucky i like you,” he murmured. “otherwise, this might’ve been a dealbreaker.”

. . . TIM DRAKE !

TIM DRAKE IS USED TO BALANCING SECRETS. after all, it comes with the territory of being robin—or more recently, red robin. but there are moments when that balance falters, when the personal and the professional collide in ways he doesn’t expect. one of those moments? walking into your apartment and seeing you casually lounging on the couch in a batman sweatshirt.

the sight stopped him in his tracks.

at first, it was the sheer unexpectedness of it that catches him off guard. the bold black and yellow logo of the bat-symbol stretched across your chest, and you were completely oblivious to his reaction, scrolling through your phone with an easy, relaxed expression. for tim, it felt like a collision of worlds—a glaring reminder that you, someone he loves and trusts, exist just outside the shadowy world he calls home. a world where batman is more than a symbol, where the man behind the cowl is a mentor, a father figure, and someone tim can’t escape from even if he tried.

“nice shirt,” he said finally, keeping his tone neutral as he took a step into the room.

you looked up, startled at first, then smiled. “oh, this? thanks! i found it on sale last week. couldn’t resist—it’s a classic, you know? gotham pride and all that.”

“gotham pride,” he repeated, fighting the urge to smirk. “right. of course.”

tim walked further into the room, setting down his bag on the kitchen counter as he casually glanced back at you. he was trying to play it cool, but the sight of the bat-symbol on you felt like a cosmic joke he was not in on. it was not jealousy—exactly. it was more complicated than that. because batman isn’t just a symbol to him. it was bruce. it was his mission. it was his life.

“so, uh,” he began, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “what made you pick batman merch? why not, i don’t know, nightwing? or red hood?” he threw the names out casually, though there was a glimmer of curiosity in his voice. part of him wants to know if you had any opinions about the rest of the bat-family, even if you had idea you were dating a member of it.

you snorted, putting your phone down. “nightwing? please. he’s cool, sure, but batman’s the original. the icon. and red hood—that guy is terrifying. no offense to him, but i’d rather not wear merch of someone who’s rumored to leave actual body counts wherever he goes.”

he suppressed a laugh, his lips twitching. “fair.“

“i mean, think about it. batman’s like this larger-than-life figure, always watching over gotham. he’s mysterious, he’s powerful, and let’s be real—he’s probably way too intense to hang out with, but that’s part of the appeal. it’s like wearing a piece of gotham’s history, you know?”

tim nodded slowly, trying to process your words without revealing too much. it was fascinating to hear how people saw batman from the outside. the stories of the bat looming large over the city, and even though tim knew the truth—that batman was just a man under the cowl—it was interesting to see how the symbol resonated with others.

“you don’t think he’s a little . . . much?” he was testing the waters. “i mean, he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

you shrugged. “sure, but that’s not his job. he’s supposed to be intimidating. he’s supposed to scare the bad guys. i think that’s kind of admirable, in a way. he’s sacrificed so much to protect this city. he’s not doing it for fame or recognition. he’s doing it because someone has to.”

you were not wrong. in fact, you probably summed up bruce’s mission better than most people ever could.

“you could’ve picked someone with, i don’t know, better people skills.”

“oh, like who?” you challenged him, arching a brow. “red robin? please. the guy barely even has merch. it’s like he doesn’t want people to know he exists.”

tim froze for a fraction of a second before forcing a laugh. “teah, weird how that works, huh?”

you didn’t notice the slight tension in his voice, too busy rolling your eyes. “anyway, i’m sticking with batman. he’s the OG. end of discussion.”

your boyfriend shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you settle back into the couch. you had no idea how close to the truth you were—how the man you admired from afar was someone tim knew intimately. because even without knowing the full story, you saw the good in what they did. and that, more than anything, made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to keep the gap so wide forever.

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itsmearia01 · 23 days ago

Text

Genre : Fantasy, historical, romance, angst.

Tw : yandere behavior, the characters are warning themselfs, cheat (past. On you, good luck!)

You always wonder why and how your fiancé, who cheated on you and even had children with his mistress who became his wife, is suddenly obsessed with you. it started a long time ago, you loved him but felt very empty when you saw him with that woman. until finally at the dance party he humiliated you in front of everyone.

he kissed her, hugged her waist tightly as he danced. oh how hurt you were when he said those words. You ran out of the dance party, leaving him smiling with the woman watching you leave with a 'sympathy' expression.

Yes, what else can they do? when their wedding was announced you just stared at the invitation blankly, it must have been the woman's idea, there was no way the man would want to invite you to his happy day.

just imagine when you just arrived back to your kingdom, after years of traveling and becoming a figure in the world of education and health. Imagine the king his self organizing a welcoming party for you, truly appreciating your achievements in changing the world into a better place. Your feelings for him don't remain at all, in fact most of the time you forget his existence, so imagine your confusion when in the middle of chatting with other nobles, a man your age calls you almost shouting.

"(Y/N)! y-you're back, darling…"

"S-sorry? am I know you?"

when you couldn't remember, he immediately pulled you from the crowd and hugged you, "Sorry (Y/N) darling, I promise I will take care of you and treat you like my goddess."

At first you couldn't recognize him because the hug didn't let you see his face. But when you looked at his face, there he was. Still handsome with a few changes that weren't much different. But what you feel is anger, confusion, disgust.

You managed to escape from his embrace that night. The public's view of him changed, they felt sorry for you. But what you didn't know was the evil plans he had planned. So that you will be his and only by his side.

His children with that woman? No different. They know who you are, have idolized you for a long time. My, what a beautiful fantasy it is to have you as a mother.

TBH ANY MANHWA DILFS YOU COULD IMAGINE, NOT ONLY CLAUDE. But i got lazy, sorry.

A/N : SORRY ITS BEEN A WHILE. IM SO BUSY. IDK IF I CAN CONTINUE THE SERIES BUT MAYBE ILL MAKE ONESHOTS MORE OFTEN. Just wanna post this for you pookies🫶🏻 dividers credit to @cafekitsune

#Claude de alger obelia x reader #yandere manhwa x reader #manhwa x reader #claude wmmap #yandere #yandere x reader #manhwa dilf x reader

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potatoplace · 22 days ago

Text

I Look in People's Windows

Cassian x Archeron!Reader (unrequited)

The Afterthought: Chapter 1 | series masterlist

part 2 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are the youngest Archeron sister, saved from the fate of the Cauldron by mere chance. Perhaps having been dumped in those murky waters would have been a better fate for you, when it seems that no one cares for your presence any longer.

Warnings: slut shaming, shitty inner circle (mostly Nesta and Elain), suicidal ideation

Words: ~ 4.2k

Author's Note: ahhhhh I hope you guys like this! I'm really hoping all of this makes sense lol I wrote it in one go. This idea came to me at work and you guys have already shown just the ideaaaa so much love 🫶 enjoy! I'm gonna go listen to Rosie by Rosé nowww -- let me know if you guys want a part two!

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Gone.

They were gone.

You had been out at the Reeson's home, being courted by their youngest son, Geoffrey. He was very polite, and even walked you back to the manor, your arms clasped together.

If you had to choose a suitor from the village you grew up in, Geoffrey would be the one. He was kind to you and your family, even in the depths of poverty.

It wasn't until you were in the manor, the door swinging shut behind you after you had bid Geoffrey farewell, that you saw it.

The carnage.

Every single maid and butler that you family employed... Slaughtered. Your father was already away on business, having gone to the Continent to meet with the Queens about the looming threat above the wall.

And your sisters... Nesta and Elain... Were missing.

You sprinted out of the manor after checking every room for your siblings, the hem of your pink gown soaked in blood, and ran to the inn in the center of town.

Thankfully the innkeep was kind enough to rent you a room on credit while the men of the night watch removed the bodies, burying them in the village graveyard.

Only a few days later, you were back in the manor, scrubbing every tile, panel, and piece of furniture to rid them of the horrors spilled upon them.

Your sisters were still missing. You had no idea of where they could be taken, besides over the wall, into the land of the fae.

But why? That's what you couldn't understand.

Not until three months later.

Three months later, you opened the door to the manor, met face to face with your youngest sister.

"Feyre!" You exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. She was stiff in your arms, pulling away only a moment later.

Fair enough, you thought. It has been quite a while since I last had the chance to hug her, her new senses may make them less comfortable.

"I was so worried, Nesta and Elain have been missing for months and the entire household staff was- was-" you sobbed, putting your face in your hands.

"Oh, Y/N, it's alright. Nesta and Elain are alive and safe," Feyre reassured you, gentle hands holding your shoulders as the knowledge of their safety calmed you. "But..."

"But...?" You asked, worry washing over you once more.

"I... Really, you should come with me and see for yourself..." Feyre trailed off. "Come to Velaris with me?"

You nodded immediately- if that's where your other sisters are and where Feyre is going, of course you would go. "Take me to them, please."

In the next moment, you were whipping through the fabric of reality, landing in a cozy sitting room.

Nesta and Elain were seated on the couch next to each other, Elain gazing out the window with a dazed look, and Nesta reading a novel of some kind, before her eyes snapped up to see the two of you.

Her eyes narrowed at you, filled with a silvery fire and so much hatred that you could hardly breathe-

Not human.

Fae.

Your other two sisters... are fae.

You blinked in confusion, looking to Feyre for answers.

"Nesta and Elain were... They were taken by Hybern and changed using the Cauldron, Y/N," Feyre whispered into your mind as she guided you out of the sitting room and into a kitchen, and you flinched at the sensation.

"I don't understand, Fey. What... When did all of this happen? What happened?"

Feyre sighed as she sat you at the dining table and began preparing tea. "The war that we warned you about the last time we visited? It happened... And the people we fought against used Nesta and Elain to prove the power of the Cauldron to the Mortal Queens by giving them the gift of being fae. And over the past three months, we fought long, arduous battles- but we prevailed. Elain and Nesta killed their vile king together after-" Feyre paused. "After he killed father."

Your eyes went wide and the world seemed to come to a stopping point-

"Father is-" a choked sob cut you off, tears streaming down your face. "He's dead?"

Feyre nodded, and you collapsed onto the table, sobbing.

You knew that your sisters didn't care much for your father- always saw him as a failure after losing the family's fortune. But you? You had loved him completely, clinging to the one parent that you had the blessing to know. You were so young when your mother passed, not even six years old when illness took her. You hadn't remembered much of the life of luxury the family used to lead, and were content to live in the small hut on the edge of the village, tending to your little herb garden and cooking the meals after Elain had taught you.

And so, you hadn't had the feelings of resentment that your elder sisters had towards him, instead loving each wooden carving your father would make you every year for your birthday.

They even made it into the manor, resting on your bedside table in your room.

And... And now he's dead? Just like that?

You had no idea how much time had passed when Feyre's hand smoothed over your upper back, a small gesture of comfort.

"Let me show you to your room, Y/N," Feyre said gently, her strong arms peeling you off of the table and into an upright position.

You blinked your watery eyes at her and nodded, and let your sister lead you upstairs and into a small bedroom, decorated in pale blues.

You didn't even have the energy to change out of your dress before you collapsed onto the bed into a crying heap, curling in on yourself as you mourned for the father you would never get to see again, never get to say goodbye to.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The next few months were... Trying, to say the least.

You felt out of place.

At all times. In any setting. Even just sitting with Feyre, you felt like you didn't belong.

It's not that you didn't try to fit in.

You joined Feyre for physical training. There, you felt like you were holding her back- no, you knew you were holding her back. After all, you're only a human.

You brought Elain tea and food at regular intervals, trying to keep her strength up as she stared out the window, lost in her thoughts. You knew she could talk, she just... chose not to with you. That's fine, after all, you can't relate to her situation much. She most likely wants a more understanding ear.

You attempted to talk with Nesta, even sit in the same space at her. But with each time you tried, her fiery gaze grew more and more intense, until you felt she may actually burn you alive with the powers Feyre had informed you she now possessed.

It's not that the inner circle wasn't kind to you, or that they mocked you for your human-ness.

It's that at every moment, you felt different.

When you had your first cycle while living amongst fae, you had went about it as normal. Until breakfast that morning.

Nesta had been glaring at you particularly strongly that morning, until she finally broke. "Why don't you take your iron-scented self upstairs until we finish eating, hmm? I'd rather not feel ill while having breakfast," she snipped at you, her eyes widening in delight when you blushed profusely.

You had excused yourself immediately.

Feyre had explained it away later, telling you that feelings are amplified when you're turned fae.

Nesta never was too fond of you, as she had always blamed you for your mother's death and the subsequent loss of the family fortune. She thought that having you just under a year after having Feyre was what made her body susceptible to the diseases and illnesses running rampant in the village that fateful year.

It's not as though I chose to be born so soon...

Worse even than knowing that everyone around you could smell when your cycle hit... was their hearing.

You had... a small crush on Cassian, to say the least.

It had all started when he was kind to you one day at training, having taken over for Feyre while she was away for court business. He corrected your form gently, giving pointers for how to protect yourself better from blows.

Each gentle touch made your heart race, and the kind praise he gave you made your face flush.

It's not that you wanted to like him.

You couldn't help it.

He was so handsome and kind, and could always find a way to make you laugh, or at least smile. And he chose to talk to you, which was more than you could say for the rest of the inner circle.

On the first Winter Solstice you spent in Velaris, Feyre came into your room before breakfast.

"I wanted to talk to you..." Feyre started gently, sitting down on your bed next to you while you braided your hair.

"About what?" You asked, tying off the braid and turning to face your sister.

"Cassian."

Your cheeks heated in an instant, pulse quickening just at the mention of his name. "What about him?"

"I know that... I know you have a crush, Y/N, but you need to let it go," Feyre said softly, a careful hand placed on your arm.

"I- so what if I like him? It's not like I'm acting on it-"

"That's not what it's about, Y/N, it's that he and Nesta are mates," Feyre explained.

Mates?

"Oh, I-" you paused, a renewed sense of heat filling your face. "I don't even really like him like that, Fey, I just... I can't help how I react around him," you whispered, hoping beyond hope that no one else was listening in.

"Just try, okay? It's for the best, really, Y/N. Fae and humans aren't really... Meant to be," Feyre said, eyes looking away from you.

Oh. Of course. You're just a little human, of course a fae wouldn't be interested in you...

So you did. You did your absolute best to get over your reactions to Cassian, to stuff any possible feelings down, down, down.

Nothing was enough, though. Not even knowing that Cassian and Nesta were gone for an entire week, consummating the mating bond.

When they returned, you were sitting in the living room of the River House, staring into the fire and drinking a cup of tea.

That was the one activity you did that bothered no one.

But the moment you saw Cassian's handsome face, a soft smile on it thrown your way, your heartbeat picked up, color rushing to your cheeks.

Nesta heard it- of course Nesta would pick out its traitorous rhythm, her eyes narrowing at you, hands raised, silver flames spouting from them, pointed at you-

"Nesta," Cassian sighed, grabbing your sister by the forearms and pulling her attention to him. "Nesta, my love, only you matter to me. Pay her no mind," Cassian soothed, and the flames Nesta had conjured went out, though the fire in her eyes burned hotter than ever as she glared at you.

"Stay away from him, you little whore," Nesta hissed at you before pulling Cassian out of the room and into the kitchen, where the rest of your family was gathered.

You simply pulled your legs up onto the couch in front of you, wrapping your arms around them as you went back to gazing into the fire.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The Spring Equinox came and went, bringing with it the return of Lucien, Elain's mate and Feyre's dear friend.

You were like a ghost these days, drifting down hallways with no destination in mind, just the desire to not bother anyone further.

You excused yourself from all family dinners beyond those you were expected to attend around holidays, thinking it would be easier to bear than the constant feeling of not belonging.

It wasn't.

But it was preferable to the burning weight of Nesta's hatred, and Elain's new distaste for you.

Training with Feyre had stopped months ago, her schedule becoming more hectic as she let Rhys pass some of the burdens of ruling off to her shoulders.

That was fine. You just wanted Feyre to succeed.

So you drifted around aimlessly, sometimes leaving the River House to walk along the Sidra and gaze longingly at couples in tea houses, or meandering through bookstores, running your fingers along the spines and wishing you could read one.

You found yourself back in front of the fireplace on a particularly warm spring day, sipping a cup of tea once again. You would have preferred to take it outside, but Elain was out tending her garden, and you didn't want to bother the one bit of peace she seemed to have.

Not that she was alone, anyways, but your presence always seemed to grate on people's nerves, making them less comfortable.

Lucien was out with her, offering to help her garden as he did every day he stopped by. By now he might have already presented her with whichever courting gift he had picked for her today.

Loud footsteps and then-

Lucien.

He gave you a soft smile, one that you returned.

"How are you today, Y/N?" Lucien asked, as he had taken to doing the last few visits.

"I'm well, thank you Lucien. How are you? Any luck with Elain?"

"No luck with the gardening, though today she accepted my courting gift: a bag of flower bulbs from the Day Court," Lucien said with a proud smile.

"Congratulations! Now you know what will get you into her heart," you said with a grin, truly happy for the male in front of you. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Thank you, Y/N, I would love one," Lucien replied, summoning a cup of his own and letting you pour out a helping of the lovely floral blend you had made into it. "I hope she will be open to pursuing the mating bond, or at the very least being friends..." He sighed. "What do you think?"

You blinked at him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Lucien said playfully. "You are my mate's sister after all."

"Oh, well... I don't... We don't really talk much anymore," you explained. "I'm sorry."

Lucien merely shook his head at your apology. "No, don't apologize, Y/N, I was just hoping you may have more insight than I do. But enough about me, what have you been up to recently?"

"Oh, not much," you replied, wracking your brain for any activities you had done recently to not seem more useless than you already are. "I, uhm... I tried out a new soup recipe a few days ago, everyone seemed to like it..."

"Really? What kind?" Lucien asked, and you could almost believe that he was interested.

"It was a creamy soup, with sausage, potatoes, and-"

"What are you doing?!" Elain hissed, a pair of pruning shears pointed in your direction. "First you go after Nesta's mate, and now mine?" She seethed, stalking towards the two of you. Elain walked past Lucien and held the shears up to your face. "Get out, you whore. Stay away from my mate!"

You were up in an instant, flying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You locked the door behind you, but you knew that if Elain wanted to get in, she could.

She would probably cut my head off with the shears...

You grabbed a spare blanket off of the chair in your room, as well as a pillow from your bed and made your way into the bathroom, where you curled into yourself in the bathtub.

No reason to make more of a mess when she does decide to kill you...

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Seven months.

Seven months and no one noticed that you had completely withdrawn, only leaving your bedroom when you absolutely had to.

No longer did you attempt to cook dinner for the inner circle. Not that they had ever liked what you made anyways...

No longer did you take your walks along the Sidra.

No longer did you sit in front of the fireplace, sipping tea and taking up as little space as possible.

But Bounty Day was coming up. The one holiday that you had cared was nearly here, and you wanted to celebrate it the way your family never had.

You wanted to roast a turkey and a boar, mash potatoes and sauté green beans. You wanted to try your hand at the delicious cheese and pasta dish Feyre adored from Sevenda's. You wanted to bake and bake and bake, until there was one of everyone's favorite desserts available.

You just needed permission. Which was why you were standing outside of Feyre's study door, hand poised to knock.

"Come in, Y/N," Feyre said from inside, loud enough that even your ears could hear her.

You peeked in sheepishly, eyes landing on where Feyre's hand was gliding across a sheet of paper, writing something out.

"Is this a bad time?" You asked quietly, wondering if you should have just stayed in your room.

Feyre sighed, and set down her quill. "No, not at all. Come in, sit, Y/N."

You did as she said, taking a seat in the low backed leather chair in front of her desk. "I... I wanted to run an idea by you...?"

"What kind of idea?" Feyre asked wearily.

"Well... Bounty Day is coming up, I thought... I thought it would be nice for all of us to celebrate. As a family."

Feyre blinked at you, her eyes losing some of their clarity for a few seconds, a look that you knew meant she was conversing with her mate. "I suppose that would be doable, Y/N, I'll make sure everyone knows. We would only be able to have it at the House of Wind, though, there's a few things that need to be done around here before we host a holiday."

A spark of hope lit up in your chest. "That would be perfect, Fey!"

Feyre smiled at you. "You can have Nuala and Cerridwen help you purchase everything, and with any preparation or cooking if you'd like."

"That would be very helpful, I'll make sure to ask them for their help and input."

"Good, I'm glad that that's settled. Did you need anything else from me?" Feyre had already picked her quill up again, continuing whatever thought you had stopped her in before.

"Oh, no. I'll be fine, thank you Feyre."

You felt... Dismissed. But at least you have permission to celebrate the day.

Over the next week, you worked tirelessly to get the ingredients you needed, even asking the meat vendors for a fae-palate worthy recipe.

You were sure your old recipes would be no good... Each one you had made for the inner circle was met with thinly veiled disgust.

And Sevenda's recipe- you were so thankful that the other female had taken pity on you and given you a copy of her recipe after you promised to share it with no one, ever.

Cerridwen had helped you read each recipe, both of you making sure that you knew the recipes by heart so you wouldn't have to rely on the mess of letters that you were no closer to understanding than you were before your family's status had changed.

Slowly but surely, you were putting together a feast that would put the one you had two years ago in the mortal lands to shame.

As you had hoped, you made a favorite dessert of each inner circle member, nine in total. You just hope that they don't go uneaten, or with only a small slice out of each one...

You woke at dawn that morning, pulling yourself into the bath and getting clean before you donned a cream colored dress, cut in the current human fashion. You had yet to wear a piece of Night Court fashion, feeling much more comfortable covered up, hidden.

Nuala shadow-walked you up to the House, a change of clothes in the bag over your shoulder. She only left when you insisted that you had the cooking covered and that you would be fine.

All day, you worked to bring Bounty Day to life around you, the delicious smells of roasting meats filling the House.

You hadn't felt so at peace in... A long while. Before your sisters were taken. Perhaps even before Feyre was taken...

Afternoon came and went in a blur of basting the turkey and turning the boar roast over the fire, your body flushed from the blazing heat as you worked.

As the final hour rolled around, you were able to change into your formal dress, a calf length pale pink wrap dress with long sleeves. You had picked this dress out months ago with Feyre, when she had insisted you needed to buy clothing of your own, and find things that you liked. This one, you liked. It was your favorite color, and the fabric was buttery soft under your fingers. You pulled on some slippers in a matching color and made your way back to the main hall, where you set the table meticulously, making sure everything was in its correct place.

Now for the most difficult part, in your opinion: transferring everything to the dining table without it cooling off too quickly.

You moved the food as fast as you were able, the turkey and boar left in the kitchen until the last moment, when you would have one of the males carve them for you.

Six o'clock rolled around, the time Feyre had agreed to, and no one had arrived. You poured yourself a small glass of wine and took a seat at the table, slowly sipping your drink as you waited.

And waited.

The food was lukewarm now, at seven.

The anxiety pooling in your gut had you back in the kitchen, carving meat from bone until your hands were sore.

Still, no one had arrived when you brought the platters of meat onto the table, a feast laid out with no one to eat it.

At eight, you were exhausted. Exhausted from working yourself more than you had in months. Exhausted from hoping, only for those hopes to be extinguished so quickly. Exhausted from living in a place you don't belong.

You sighed and pushed yourself out of your chair. On tired legs, you made your way to the front door of the House.

No way in hell would you be accused of trying to steal someone's mate again, accused of lying in wait all night to seduce Cassian if you were to stay in one of the guest rooms.

So the ten thousand steps down was your only choice.

The first thousand was easy enough, though the wind had chilled you to the bone already, the night's icy fingers extending around your heart as well.

By the time you were halfway down, you sobbed with each step.

How? How could they have all forgotten? Even Feyre...

On numbed legs, you finished your descent. But where to now...?

The only place you could belong was the River House... The only place in Prythian that you could ever belong, as a human.

You sniffled and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, attempting to keep any amount of warmth in your body as you carefully walked across the icy path along the Sidra.

The wind was bitter here too, but you had the babble of water to keep you company, the most pleasant friend you had.

The River House came in to view, lit up from within with bursts of faelight. The chimney let out pleasant puffs of smoke, a clear sign people are inside.

You stopped in your tracks.

Past Elain's garden and through the back window of the River House, you could see them.

All of them.

They were sat around the dining table, eating and drinking merrily together, enjoying each other's company.

And then there was you. Half-frozen from the weather and completely iced over inside.

You don't belong here.

Your body turned on its own, your mind so wrapped in itself that you hardly noticed where you were going.

All you knew was you needed out.

Out of this city.

Out of this life you were forced into.

Out of this family.

You need out.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the exit of the city that lead to the wilds of the Night Court.

You don't belong in Prythian. You belong in the human lands.

The boundary of Velaris passed under your feet as you continued walking, hardly feeling anything at all now.

Your fingers were numb, as were your toes and bottoms of your feet. Your arms were nearing the same sensation.

Good.

Perhaps the numbness that had overtaken your heart would consume the rest of you.

The only person left who cared, doesn't care now.

You don't care, not anymore.

general taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly

#i look in people's windows #the afterthought #Cassian x reader - unrequited #Cassian x reader #archeron!reader #acotar x you #acotar x reader #unrequited love #acotar #acotar fic #angst #acotar fanfic #nessian #elucien #Feysand #tato writes

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tired-biscuit · 5 months ago

Note

I feel like you’re setting up Logan for an electric kink. You ever hear about people discovering the kink with those prank shock pens? They get the curiosity to see what it feels like on their clit/dick and end up leading into amazing orgasms. I imagine Logan’s metal body would be extra sensitive to voltage running through him

18+ MDNI, fem!mutant!reader // cw: electrostimulation, established relationship. logan gets zoinked a little, if you will.

wc: 1.1k

divider credit: div1nepetal

wait, all that’s on my mind now is mutant!reader with the power of controlling electricity, finally reuniting with logan after spending several weeks apart!

you’ve always been cautious when it came to using your powers, but around logan you have to take that guardedness a step further and be extra careful since you’re basically a contrasting match and thus pretty much deadly to him because of his adamantium skeleton.

and since all of his bones are encased in metal — that is, of course, highly conductive — you’ve made the choice to constantly make sure to never cast your gifts upon him throughout your entire relationship, to restrain your true nature and basically keep yourself on a tight leash for his own safety.

so imagine both your and his surprise when you shake that phantom leash off your neck for once and end up losing control while he’s finally as close as he can be to you…

meaning that he’s got his cock buried to the hilt inside you; fucking you like an animal on top of your kitchen counter.

you’re unsure how it all comes to fruition. in your fucked out state of mind and all the chaos, all you’re aware of is that your legs have somehow ended up wrapped around your boyfriend’s waist, and that you’ve got your heels locked on the small of his back in weak attempt of keeping yourself from sliding down the counter and melting into a puddle of lust and pleasure on the kitchen tiles.

your panties are hanging on for dear life as they dangle around your left ankle — he’d been far too impatient to take them down properly — however they fall right onto the previously mentioned tiles as soon as you curl your toes from how eagerly he licks his way into your mouth, then.

logan wastes no time as he glides his tongue across the flat surface of your teeth and deepens the kiss in a way that could almost come across as him worrying that he might never get another chance to do so again. he relishes the way you taste with a soft grunt and an even softer “missed ya”, and you swear to whatever god is up there, probably disapprovingly shaking their head at your current actions, that the subtle growl that’s lacing his voice is enough to make you go batshit crazy.

and gosh, as if that wasn’t enough already, you’re also so close. muscle to muscle, chest to chest. your foreheads press together whenever a messy, borderline sloppy kiss breaks and a new one begins, and you’re clinging onto him desperately as he continues to rock his hips into yours in that rough pace that makes you twitch each time he hits a particularly sensitive spot that’s hiding deep — so very deep — inside you.

he really has missed you, huh? i mean, normally he’s so aloof, but now he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you. like an apex predator, so possessive and greedy and hungry, but at the same time so full of desire and longing and love that he’s always been too scared to show until as of late.

his cheeks have attained a hot red hue to them from how much you’re both working your bodies, and his rich, dark hair is all mussed up from how many times you’ve ran your fingers through it already.

he’s also sweaty. so sweaty, in fact, that his brow glimmers slightly and his shirt clings to his muscular back and torso.

shit. perhaps you want to eat him, too.

instead of doing that, however, you use the chance to inhale his scent when he leans in to kiss you again. not a moment passes before the smell of smoke and all things wild fills your lungs. he smells heavy and rich and intense and so fucking male. it makes your blood reach a boiling point because of how overstimulated you’ve become from all sensations combined.

but that’s not all. besides the rising temperature in your blood, you’ve slowly, but surely, also started outright buzzing with energy. your skin feels like it’s prickling in the places where his big, calloused hands are touching and grabbing and manhandling you, and every single hair on your body has risen to attention.

there is lightning in your eyes and electricity thrumming in your veins. he keeps pushing into you, using you, fucking you into stupidity, making his way into your goddamn womb, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting.

“logan, fuck, i-…! i-i’m gonna-”

he pants into your half-open mouth from how your jaw slackens all of a sudden, breaths intermingling and spit mixing. picking up the pace even more, he’s physically aching now to help you reach your finish and feel your pussy squeeze around him in the same way that he’s been dreaming about in these last, exruciatingly lonely couple of weeks.

and he does feel it.

well… kind of.

because besides the clench of pleasure, what logan also ends up feeling is a hot, borderline burning sensation that rushes through his skull, down his spine, and spreads throughout his entire body. down to every last tip of his fingers and toes. down to every last hair follicle.

the zap of energy that you accidentally allow to slip from how hard he’s forced you to climax is not strong when compared to your level of power, but for logan it’s like he’s turned mortal again and been hit by one of those giant buses they use for tourists.

goddammit, the wretched thing must be turning back, further pressing him into the ground until he’s mush, because what the fuck?

it makes his teeth vibrate — he swears that he can taste static in his mouth. slightly acidic, his saliva goes runny because of it.

caught off-guard, he sags against you, brain feeling like it’s slowly melting and bones feeling like they’re humming, making you whimper at the immense weight of his body that you now have to help support. you’re too stunned yourself by whatever’s unfolding right now to start voicing any apologies, so all you do is hold him. you hold him tight, while trembling all over.

every breath he takes is shallow. he’s overwhelmingly warm and eerily quiet. when he at long last feels conscious enough to pull back a little so that he can look at you again, his eyelids are heavily hooded and his pupils are dilated to the point where they remind you of the dinner plates that are stored in the cupboard that’s next to your head.

he’s completely dazed.

and it’s not until you can hear something dripping onto the tiles below and feel the stickiness between your legs, that you realize that he’s spilled every last drop of cum into you because of it.

#wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #biscuit drabbles #cw electrostimulation

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You had been working at the bar for six months. And you'd been crushing on Rooster since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there, until one night you asked him about more than just his drink order.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for my Top Gun Rocktober playlist! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Oh, my god," you whined softly, drying and polishing the rack of pint glasses in front of you as Rooster Bradshaw came strolling into the bar. "Fuck me," you sighed, barely able to keep your eyes off him as you fumbled one of the glasses.

"Yeah, you'd like that," Lizzy said with a laugh as she cut up some lemons before the Friday evening rush.

You didn't even know you spoke out loud. That's how much of a ridiculous crush you had on that big, sexy man. But he strolled right past you on his way to the pool table, barely even sparing a smile in your direction.

"I really would," you told her, watching the flex of his bicep as he high fived Hangman. It wasn't like your coworkers didn't know you had a thing for Rooster. You'd been working here for six months, and you'd been crushing on him since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there.

He still occasionally called you Babydoll. He never called Lizzy or Jasmine by a pet name. Just you. And you held onto that little glimmer of hope that it meant something. That maybe one day, he'd look at you as more than just one of the bartenders.

"What's wrong with you?" Jas asked, waving a hand in front of your face. But then she looked where you were staring, and she asked no further questions. "Oh. Rooster's here."

"He sure is," you added, forcing yourself to focus on the customer in front of you who looked impatient for a drink. As you finished pouring him some tequila shots, you looked up eagerly, and Rooster met your eyes. It had been a solid week since you'd seen him, and he just always looked so good.

You pushed the shot glasses across the bar and collected payment, trying to stay as cool as you could. Because Rooster was heading your way now in his snug vintage wash jeans and bright tropical shirt.

"Hey, Babydoll," he rasped, and your whole body clenched with need as your eyes fluttered closed. When you met his gaze again, he was leaning on the bar, closing in on your personal space.

"Hey, Rooster," you replied, sounding a lot calmer than you felt. When he smirked and looked down at your shirt, your heart pounded even harder. Your name was embroidered on your Hard Deck top, just above your breast. He knew your name, but he always called you Babydoll anyway. So was he just simply staring at your tits?

He cleared his throat and asked, "Get me a beer? Please?"

"Am I starting a tab?" you asked, reaching for one of the pint glasses you'd just finished cleaning. He responded by humming and sliding his credit card across the bar. He held eye contact with you while you expertly pulled the perfect pint of his preferred beer. The way his lips parted in a soft smile that matched yours, the twitch of his mustache...it all felt like foreplay that had been going on for months.

"Thanks," he muttered when your fingers brushed against his. He winked at you before turning back to the pool table, leaving you with his credit card and a desperate need inside of you.

As you set up his tab, Jasmine ran her hand along your lower back so you wouldn't bump her as she walked behind you. "Why don't you just invite him to join you in the bathroom and fuck him out of your system?" she joked.

"Because," you sighed, "that would only make me pine harder. Getting a small taste of him would be worse than nothing at all."

"Oof," Lizzy replied. "You're a mess over Bradshaw."

"I wonder how old he is?" Jas asked.

You hummed and shrugged, watching him drink his beer across the room while you shook a vodka martini. "Gotta be at least thirty five."

"Ask him," Lizzy said. "Next time he comes over, ask him how old he is."

Your cheeks were warming up. He was bending at the waist, playing pool, and you were taking way too long to serve this martini. "No. What if he thinks I'm being rude? Or worse...what if he catches on that I like him, and he shuts it all down."

"Fine," Jas said, uncapping some ciders. "Next time Rooster comes up, I'll wait on him."

But that really didn't sit well with you. Rooster always came to you for his drinks, anytime he could. You liked that about him. You liked his attention. Jas wouldn't pour his pints quite as well as you could. You knew so well how much foam to let spill and how close to the top of the glass you could get. You loved pulling those pints of lager for him. And you loved pouring him bourbon when he asked for that instead. You knew which brand and that he liked it neat. You didn't have to ask. He didn't have to tell you.

No, you should always be the one to wait on him. And when he finished his pint and strolled back up to the bar after Phoenix beat him at pool, you stepped in front of Jasmine. "I got it," you said confidently, and Jas walked away chuckling. This time Rooster eased himself down onto an empty stool between two women who looked at him like they'd just won the lottery. But his eyes were on you.

"Lager or bourbon?" you asked, and you were rewarded with those perfect, white teeth and his deep laughter.

"You got everyone's regular drinks memorized?" he asked as you reached for his empty glass. But he didn't let you take it. He kept one hand on the glass for a few beats while your fingers met his.

He was making you feel bold tonight. He was even more gorgeous up close like this, with a few gray hairs at his temples and some laugh lines around his eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile faltered when you said, "No, Rooster. Not everybody's regular drinks. Only the hottest guys. Lager or bourbon?"

He grunted and swallowed hard. "Dealer's choice." Then he finally let you take the empty glass, and it was a good thing, too, because you needed to turn away from him. You took a few extra seconds to reach for the bottle of Wild Turkey. Your nipples were hard, your skin felt like it was on fire, and you were turned on just talking to him.

When you turned back to face him, his gaze was neutral again. You uncapped the bourbon and poured it for him, neat.

"Thanks," he murmured, moving like he was standing to leave.

And then your mouth worked before your brain, and you said, "Anytime, Sexy."

You watched him pause halfway out of his seat, his eyes dipping down to watch you nervously lick your lips. If he left for the pool table, you really were going to have to let Jasmine wait on him next time. Embarrassment flooded your veins, leaving you uncomfortable with a sheen of cold sweat on your neck. But he eased himself back down onto the stool and kept his eyes on you. "Alright. Babydoll."

You laughed softly, pulling out some glasses for the woman who wanted two cosmos. Rooster sipped his bourbon and kept his focus on your face and your body. He grunted as you took a shaker in each hand, and as you poured them out at the same time, he asked, "What's your favorite drink?"

He was hyper focused on you now, leaning in just the slightest bit further as you served both pink drinks. "To have or to make?" you asked, taking more orders.

"Both. I want you to tell me both."

You smiled at him, and he matched it right away. "Nothing is more fun to make than an expertly crafted Bloody Mary, but those are best as breakfast cocktails."

He nodded, accepting your answer, and then he asked, "And what do you order when you go out?"

You shrugged. "I don't often get to have someone make my drinks for me, but when I do, I usually order a Manhattan."

"A Manhattan?" he asked, balking at your answer. "How fuckin' old are you, Babydoll? People in their seventies drink those things!"

"I'm twenty three," you told him, laughing so hard you were doubled over. He looked delighted when you were finally able to stand up straight again. Your smile was still bright as you leaned on the bar until you were only two feet from his face and softly asked, "How old are you?"

The song on the jukebox changed as Rooster rubbed his mustache and said, "I'm a lot older than you are." His little self deprecating laugh just made you want to get closer to him. He looked amused by you and also resigned to the fact that he thought his age was something you wouldn't like about him.

"How old?" you asked again, biting your lip.

His brown eyes found your mouth, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. Oh god, you wanted him to, so badly. "I'm thirty eight."

You hummed softly as Phoenix came to stand next to him, and you started to get her favorite kind of beer ready.

"You coming back to the pool table?" she asked Rooster, but he just grunted something about needing to finish his bourbon first. When you handed Phoenix her drink, Rooster told you to put it on his tab, and he looked relieved when she walked away.

"Thirty eight," you said, watching him down the remainder of the drink in his glass. "That's why you're so good at flirting? You've had time to practice?"

He coughed a little bit as he set his empty glass down on the bar top. "Babydoll, I'm fifteen years older than you."

"So?" you asked, pulling another perfect pint for him. "You don't want to flirt with me?"

"Now wait, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just surprised you don't want to flirt with someone your own age."

"I don't like boys my age," you told him fearlessly. "I like men."

"Oh, hell," he groaned, taking a long sip of his fresh beer. "Just look at you. You're gonna get yourself in trouble if you don't find a nice guy."

He looked flustered now. You were making Lieutenant Bradshaw flustered. His cheeks were pink, and he kept sipping his beer, avoiding your gaze. He looked adorable and boyish, and you didn't know quite what to do about this. Or about the fact that talking to him was making you wet.

"Hmmm," you hummed, and his eyes met yours immediately. "Are you a nice guy?"

"Fuck," he groaned, adjusting himself in his seat. "Sometimes."

"You're always pretty sweet to me," you whispered. "What's it like when you're not a nice guy, Rooster?"

You wanted to touch him for more than a few fleeting seconds. After six months, you thought you were going to. His long, thick fingers were just resting there in front of you. But then Fanboy came to the bar and asked you to close out his tab. And then you had to help Lizzy pour a massive round of shots. And then when Rooster asked you to close out his tab as well, you did it with a pout on your lips.

As you slid his credit card, the slip he needed to sign, and a pen across the bar, he smiled at you. "Aww, come on. Don't give me that look. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually," you replied, watching him sign the credit card receipt for you. "How is it?"

He looked up and studied your face. "You're too perfect to mess with, Babydoll. Too young. Too pretty to touch."

You chewed on your lip and squeezed your thighs together. You had to know. Your voice was soft and unsure as you asked him, "Do you wanna touch me?"

He didn't meet your eyes again as he scribbled on the receipt and then left it and the pen for you to collect. He stood up from his stool, gave a quick salute to his friends and then headed for the door.

You moaned helplessly. You blew it. He thought you were just a kid, and you never stood a chance. And now he'd probably never even look at you again.

But when you picked up the receipt, you read one word written there under his name. YES.

-----------------------------

When you strolled into the bar the next evening, you got right to work. You had no idea if Rooster would show up, and you weren't sure if you even wanted to see him or not. You'd torn off the bottom of his credit card slip and taken it home with you. That little scrap of paper on which he'd admitted he wanted to touch you was hanging on your bedroom mirror. But it was the fact that he was probably never going to touch you, even though he was more than welcome to, that was making you frustrated.

"What's wrong with you?" Lizzy asked as she arrived a minute later. "You look hot."

You glanced down at your Hard Deck top, denim skirt and beat up sneakers. "I look the same as I always do," you told her, continuing to dump buckets of ice into the cooler behind the bar.

"Maybe it's your makeup," she replied. "I think you're hoping Rooster comes in tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "I always hope he's going to be here. He's pretty. I like looking at him."

"I'm not going to dispute that," Lizzy said as she cut up the lemons again tonight. "But I think you actually like him. Not just the way he looks."

You didn't respond, because it didn't matter. You'd keep the flirtation to a minimum the next time you saw him. The last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were desperate. He wanted to touch you? He could go right ahead. But you weren't about to beg him to.

As the bar got crowded, Jasmine showed up as well. The three of you got into a nice rhythm. A lot of the aviators were back again tonight, and you were serving them drink after drink. And then it was like you knew he was there before you saw him. After you handed a couple their drinks, your eyes automatically shifted toward the doorway, finding it filled with Rooster's big body. And he was already looking at you.

"You want me to wait on him?" Lizzy asked you softly as Rooster approached the bar.

But you just shook your head and reached for two different glasses, holding them up as he took a seat in front of you. When he pointed to the pint glass, he said, "Lager. Please."

"Sure," you replied, setting the smaller glass aside and pulling a perfect pint of beer for him. "Start a tab?"

"Nah, I'm not staying long tonight," he told you as you placed the beer in front of him without meeting his gaze. "Just wanted to see you and get one drink."

"Mmkay," you said. But when you pulled your hand away, he reached for it.

Stunned, you let him take your hand in his large one, and then he asked, "Does this mean you're done flirting with the old man now? You got it all out of your system yesterday?" His eyes were guarded, cautious, and he held onto your hand, expecting an answer.

You shook your head slowly, running your fingertips along his rough calluses. "I was just getting started."

A crooked little smile danced across his lips. "I am too old for you, Babydoll. And it's a shame."

Your heart jumped in your chest, hand still tangled up with his on the bar top. You could hear Lizzy and Jasmine working extra hard to take all the orders, trying to give you a moment here. So you smiled back. "You think you're old. So what? You expect me to call you Daddy?"

"Shit," he grunted, squirming a bit in his seat but keeping your hand in his.

When he didn't respond right away, you leaned a little closer, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you a question."

His eyes were wide, and that little grin was back. "I could be a... Daddy. Maybe for the right girl."

You pulled your hand free of his and planted both palms on the bar top and leaned closer to him. "And just how is a girl supposed to know if she's the right one?"

But his cheeks were tinged with pink once again, and he looked flustered. It was flattering, such an ego boost. You were the one who made him like this. But he wasn't responding now, and you needed to help Jas pour some chardonnay for the impatient ladies at the end of the bar. You sighed and said, "Well, I work until eleven. So just think on it."

But he wouldn't let you leave. Rooster reached for your hand again, but this time he was the one leaning closer. "The right girl would be one that I can't seem to stay away from. You said you work until eleven?"

"Yes," you replied softly, his large hand completely covering yours on the bar top.

"Right. Then ask me again if I want to start a tab."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle. "Would you like to start a tab, Rooster?"

"You're damn right I would, Babydoll. I can't get enough of you. Think I'll just hang here until eleven. If that's okay with you."

This time you did giggle. "Yeah. That's okay with me." As he pulled his wallet out and handed you his credit card, you asked, "Bourbon or lager?"

"Make it a Manhattan."

"I've been told these drinks are for people in their seventies," you said with a straight face as you reached for the vermouth, secretly pleased he wanted your favorite. "You're only thirty eight."

"Listen," he said, watching you fix his drink. "You said you don't like boys your own age. And maybe I'm a little older than you, but all the parts are still in working order."

You felt giddy. When you set the glass down in front of him, you couldn't help but ask, "Does that mean you'll let me take you for a test drive?"

You had to work to keep an innocent expression on your face as Bradley's blush deepened. He took a sip of his Manhattan, licked his lips and said, "I don't do test drives anymore."

"Oh," you said with a little pout. "You don't?"

"No," he replied a bit cautiously, taking another sip of his cocktail. "I'm getting too old for that. I like at least a little bit of commitment from the driver. Don't wanna feel like I'll get dinged up."

You shivered at his words, mesmerized by his voice and his demeanor as he looked down into his glass. Could you do more than a test drive? Of course you'd thought about it. You were crushing so hard, you'd imagined what it would be like if he was your boyfriend. But you'd barely even let yourself hope for a one night stand. Even that much seemed too good to be true.

"Oh," you said again in a softer tone. When he glanced up, his dark eyes were no longer guarded, and he was looking at you warily. Without giving it much thought, you pushed up onto the bar and leaned until he met you halfway in a kiss. It was just the softest brush of your lips against his. But the sound he made and the prickle of his mustache on your skin left you wide eyed and out of breath as you eased yourself back down. "No. You're too handsome to get all dinged up. I'm a great driver."

"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "I can already tell. And that's what I was afraid of last night. There's just something about you, isn't there?"

"You have a thing for me?" you asked him, gripping the edge of the bar top. "Because I definitely have a thing for you." You had stopped breathing now, and your heart was pounding in your ears.

With a little grin, he said, "Yeah, I do, Babydoll."

"Well, what are we going to do about it, Daddy?" you asked with another giggle as Jasmine thrust a bottle of prosecco into your hands.

"We're going to go out my Bronco the minute your shift is over. We'll figure it out there."

You nearly dropped the bottle when you met his eyes. "A quickie?" you asked softly, but you were sure he heard you.

"No," he groaned, running his big palm along his mouth and shaking his head at you. Then he finished the rest of his Manhattan in one gulp and pushed the glass your way. "Nothing about this is gonna be quick. I'd like to take my time, especially with someone as perfect as you."

You sounded like a feral animal, thighs clenched together and gripping the bottle of prosecco with both hands.

"Shit," Rooster grunted. "You're making it hard to just sit here, Babydoll."

"Hard?" you asked with a grin.

"You'll find out."

After another embarrassing noise, you had to excuse yourself to the other end of the bar for a few minutes. Jesus, you needed to keep your job, after all. But his eyes followed you everywhere. Any time you looked his way, he was transfixed on you. When you pulled a pint of lager and set it down for him, he whispered, "Thanks, Babydoll," sending shivers along your skin again.

"Anything else you want, Rooster?" you asked him sweetly.

His gaze dipped down to your chest before returning to your face. "Nothing I'm allowed to have inside the bar."

"At least not when we're open to the public, sir," you replied, giving him a little salute that had him reaching for you across the bar. But you managed to skirt away from his grasp with another laugh.

"You coming back over here?" he asked between sips of his beer. "I didn't get a chance to ask you if you'll make me a Bloody Mary for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. Breakfast," he confirmed with a smile. "At my place?"

You pressed your lips together to keep from screaming. "So since this isn't a test drive, what are my options, exactly? Am I looking at a lease? A financing package?"

"I'm sure you'll know what you want to do when the time comes. And I'm going to need you to stop saying package right now."

"Just go," Jasmine told you suddenly. "It's after ten, and you're useless. You and he have had hours of foreplay already. Go."

"Are you sure?" you asked, already reaching for your bag and Rooster's credit card.

"Yes," Lizzy confirmed. Then she looked at Rooster who was already standing up and told him, "Pay your tab next week. And get her out of here."

"My pleasure," he rasped, and you practically ran for the opening in the bar, ducking underneath the counter. And when you stood up again, he was right there. He was so tall and broad, and with a coy smile, you slipped his credit card into the pocket of his jeans. When your fingers trailed closer to his zipper, he grabbed your wrist gently.

"Just checking for myself to make sure all the parts are working," you mused as he raised your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. In the middle of the crowded bar. Then he wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss.

He kept it pretty clean as he promised, "Wait until we get outside."

"Now," you demanded, pulling him along behind you by his shirt collar. As soon as the cool, night air met your hot skin, he had your bare thighs in his hands, and your back was pressed against the side of the building. "Oh my god," you gasped. Your body was pinned between the siding and Rooster, and the rough denim of his jeans was rubbing you deliciously through your underwear.

"I told you I'm not going to rush," he whispered, pressing into you as you held onto his shoulders. He teased you with that delicious mustache and his lips on your neck before he kissed your ear and said, "Now, I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, Babydoll."

"Yes!" you nearly shouted. "Everything!"

He chuckled next to your ear and asked, "You wanna fuck in my Bronco?"

"Yes," you moaned so loudly, you were sure Jasmine and Lizzy could hear you.

"I don't have any condoms with me," he said, looking you in the eye. "Do we need them?"

"No, I'm clean, and I take the pill," you said, leaning in to kiss his lips. He tasted you, running the tip of his tongue along yours before pulling his lips away.

You whined for him, but he was undeterred. "I need you to tell me that you'll come home with me and make me that Bloody Mary in the morning while I make you breakfast."

He already wanted you to sleep over with him. He wanted to make you breakfast. He didn't want to have a one night stand. He was waiting for an answer. "You'll have to let me know if you want it traditional or extra spicy."

"Fuck," he grunted before his lips came crashing against yours. His big hands held your thighs wide as he rolled his hips gently against you.

"Rooster," you moaned against his lips as he let you gently slide down his body until your feet hit the ground.

"Please call me Bradley," he whispered as he wrapped his hand around your waist and quickly guided you across the dark parking lot.

When you saw the Bronco, you ran the last little bit hand in hand. His laughter mixed with yours as he unlocked the door. "Come on, Bradley," you sang, looking up at him over your shoulder before climbing up onto the driver's seat on your hands and knees. "Do you wanna touch me?"

"Babydoll," he moaned, keeping you still as he guided your skirt up over your butt and around your waist. You cried out as he kissed the backs of your thighs. He slipped his fingers inside the thin strips of lace fabric that made up your thong, and you couldn't ever remember being this turned on before.

"Bradley!" you gasped loudly when his lips and tongue met the globe of your rear end. He slid the lace to one side and kissed your slit from behind until you were panting. You might cum. You might actually have an orgasm on your hands and knees with your ass in his face. Boys your own age couldn't get you like this no matter what they did.

He gently swatted at you before palming your ass and saying, "Get in the backseat."

Oh yes. He was about to show you what else his age and experience had to offer, and you were already shaking with need. "Yes, sir," you whispered, and you heard him mutter a string of obscenities as you scrambled onto the backseat. As he slid the driver's seat forward and climbed in the back, you carefully pulled your underwear down your thighs. He helped you and then pressed the lace to his nose before pulling you onto his lap.

"I've thought about this so many times when I touched myself," you blurted out as he teased your clit with his thumb. "Bronco sex," you whined, head tipped back, enjoying the perfect pressure he applied to your body. "Bronco sex with Bradley Bradshaw."

"Forgive me, Babydoll," he whispered, voice harsh. "But last night was the first time I jerked off thinking about you. Too afraid to go there before that, thinking there was no way in hell you'd want me."

"I want you," you swore, meeting his eyes in the near darkness. If anyone else was out in the parking lot, you couldn't see them. And you didn't care if they could see you, because he was slipping one thick finger inside you. "Wanted you for so long. Months and months."

"Jesus, you're tight," he groaned, sliding your snug top up to your chest as you rode his hand. "And you skipped a bra tonight like a good girl."

"Bradley," you gasped as he cupped your bare breast in his big hand. He lazily swirled his thumb around your nipple before bending to take you into his mouth. "Oh my god!"

Your orgasm was already building. You had only been in the backseat with him for a few minutes, and he was still fully clothed. But now you were riding two fingers, and his thumb was delicious against your clit. As he licked and sucked on your breast, you started to clench.

"Damn," he muttered against your body. "Already?"

You just nodded before guiding his lips up to yours, and you came as you moaned loudly against his mouth. "Bradley." You raked your fingers up into his hair and kissed him. He was hard through his jeans, and when he withdrew his fingers, you felt them trail up your body.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, pulling your top over your head. "You'll look even better in my bed."

You wanted him to fuck you here first, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already thought about his place and what he might make you for breakfast. And as you sat straddled his hips in nothing but your skirt up around your waist and your sneakers on your feet, you felt adored by him. He was kissing a trail down between your breasts and rubbing his thumbs along your thighs.

"Bradley," you whined, rubbing your pussy against his jeans, already feeling a little wrung out. "Please."

The street light at the corner reflected in his eyes, letting you know he was looking at your face as he raised his hips and unzipped his jeans. And a few seconds later, they were down around his knees along with his underwear. Your lips met his as you felt the velvety soft tip of his cock resting against your core. As you kissed him and tugged on his hair, he throbbed for you. And suddenly you weren't in such a hurry either.

"Let me make you feel good," he whispered, and as you slid down around him, Bradley guided you with his hands on your hips. "You're so wet, my god."

"You always make me wet, even when you just talk to me at the bar," you admitted softly, your voice shaking as he kept pushing deeper inside you. "Oh. You're huge."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, pausing where he was. But you just shook your head and rolled your hips slowly until he was completely inside you. He kissed you softly as you gasped and got used to him. "I don't wanna hurt this sweet pussy," he whispered next to your ear. "Perfect."

And then he brushed his knuckles along your clit and leaned his head back, watching as you rode him. "Take it off," you gasped, and he let you push his shirt down his arms and pull his tank over his head. You explored his broad chest with your hands and his shoulders with your lips. He was warm and rough and oh so sweet. His chest hairs brushed against your nipples as he guided your hips with his hands.

"Bradley?"

"Hmm?"

You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips. "Fuck. So good." He felt delicious, his big hands everywhere, sliding up to span your back and keep you close. He fucked you in long, fluid movements that just got faster and faster. His pubes were coarse against your clit. His little grunts and words of praise kept you going as you started squeezing around his cock.

"Don't stop, Babydoll," he coaxed as you got closer. When his lips met your sweat slick chest again, and he pulled your nipple between his teeth, you came for him.

"Oh!"

As your legs shook and your fingers went loose in his hair, Bradley fucked up into you until you were screaming his name.

"Good girl," he grunted, and suddenly you were on your back along the seat with your legs spread wide. He fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your tits bounce and prolonged your orgasm. His lips were everywhere, and you were surrounded by his voice in the dark, holding onto his biceps as he came inside you.

You scrambled to get your mouth on his as you both caught your breath together, and as your heartbeat started to return to normal, you pressed a dozen soft kisses to his lips, one after the next. "Will you take me home?"

His hands stilled on your thigh and your neck. "Yeah," he said with a tone of sadness. "I can drop you off at home."

When he started pulling away without so much as another kiss, you reached for him, keeping him firmly inside you. "No, no. Take me home with you, Bradley."

"My place?" His voice was still soft, but it sounded hopeful now.

"Of course," you reassured him, and his kisses returned. "I'll spend the whole morning tomorrow making you Bloody Marys with little heart shaped garnishes."

He smiled against your lips before he said, "I'd like that, Babydoll."

---------------------------

The Hard Deck was pretty busy the following evening, and you were so physically exhausted from your night with Bradley, you could barely keep up. The Sunday crowd was keeping you on your toes, and Jasmine wouldn't stop asking you how your night ended.

"Did you go home with him? You did. I can tell," she said as you just shrugged at all of her questions. "Are you going to see him again? Come on! Tell me!"

When you saw movement on the other side of the bar top, Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Hey, babydoll." The deep rumble of his voice was so distinct, you didn't need to look at him to know it was Bradley. He had whispered dirty, sweet things in your ears all night and all morning. You knew the sound of his voice by heart now.

When your eyes met his, you reached for a pint glass and filled it with his favorite beer. "Hey, Bradley. Wanna start a tab?" you asked with a soft smile.

You giggled as he reached for your hand and tugged you closer. Then he leaned across the bar and kissed you as his nose brushed against yours. "For you? Always. And don't close the tab until your shift ends."

---------------------------

No more test drives. I'm sure she's already considering her options to make him hers permanently. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32. Also, the pretty banner was made by Mak!

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zweetpea · 2 months ago

Text

Mrs. “Wayne”

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned

Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)

BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)

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"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.

"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.

"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."

"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."

"Thanks dad."

"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.

You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.

You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.

"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

He turns to me. "Do you-"

"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.

"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.

The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.

Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."

"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.

"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."

Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."

"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.

"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."

"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."

"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.

"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"

"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.

"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.

"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."

Damian glares at you. "You skank."

"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."

"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.

"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes

"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.

"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.

"Busy with what?" Cass glared.

"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.

After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.

At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?

Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.

"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.

"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."

"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.

"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."

"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.

"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.

"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"

"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.

"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."

"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."

You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.

"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”

He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"

"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."

“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”

"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."

"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."

"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.

"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.

Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!

Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce

"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."

"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.

"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"

That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.

"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.

"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.

"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.

"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.

"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."

"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"

So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.

"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.

Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.

He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."

"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.

He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."

He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"

"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.

"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.

"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.

On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"

There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...

Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...

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