ALIENQUEEN

He can smell your juices, see the darkening of your panties when his pretty eyes flicker to your cunt. Pushing your thighs further, you drop the phone.

"Ah-ah," he bites your other thigh. Your hands come to tug on his fluffy ears, making his tail twitch side to side. Cock leaking. "Tell him you're busy."

"Fuck, okay," your shaky hand picks up the phone, your eyes getting lidded when his nose brushes your pretty pussy over those panties, you suck in a breath at it, fingers faltering. "mngh..."

"Tell him," he says in a soft little hum, inhaling you again, palming his cock to adjust it, feeling it swelling with how badly he wants to devour you. "If you wanna cum, you will."

"Fuck you're a brat," you mumble as he tugs you closer, shoving your knee up over his shoulder, nose inhaling your cunt again. "Are you gonna just sniff me !?"

"Till you answer," he sighs. "I could do this and cum."

"Freaky wolf, ah!" He bites your inner thigh, your juices just slippin' down further, in rivulets against his face, his glasses fogged up with his breaths. "F-fine."

Sorry Caleb - I'm busy tonight.

You show him the screen, and he smirks, a curve of his lips.

"Good girl."

Fuck.

Valko tugs your panties aside, looking at the mess your cunt is and moaning at the sight, tongue hot as it laps you from your ass to your clit, then back down, not just tasting - he's fucking lavishing you, spit soaked tongue dragging through your folds. "V-Valko I..."

"Good, good, good... good girl you're s-so... good," he's gripping you bruisingly now, slurping your messy, needy hole, the juices just pouring - his adam's apple bobs as he gulps you down, his glasses just slightly askew from the way he's drinking you. "Taste s'good... fuck..."

He could almost cum from the taste alone, greedily dragging his tongue from your slutty, quivering hole to that twitchy clit, all while you're gripping his hair with one hand, the other rubbing his ears. It feels so good as he lets you coat his taste buds, watching your eyes roll back in your skull.

You shatter so fast, but he's not even trying to make you cum - he just needs your taste, he needs your scent, biting your clit before he can stop himself, the action having you squirt right down him, all over his sweater and his collar. He laughs softly as you whine out, arching your hips, thighs quivering.

"Please... in me, mngh..." You see his slick face and blush, the dark mess you made on his sweater apparent as he takes it off, standing, his cock leaking through his sweats.

You go to touch him but you don't get a moment, he's got you turned and bent over the living room table, that sweater of yours gripped in his huge hands, claws ruining the material without him meaning to. He spits right on your cunt just to make it even messier, it's so wet she doesn't even need it, laughing as you arch, thighs shaking.

The phone goes off.

Valko hums a bit, looking at the message.

"Aww... he misses his 'pips'. Cute," Valko laughs, lost now - he's not the goofy little jerk you're used to, not when he's lining his reddened tip with your hole - no, he's feral. "Should we show him how you're doin'? Hmm, sweetheart?"

"N-no, psycho," you're wetter at the idea, and he notices, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, torturing you as you arch, begging for more. "In me, in me... in - ah!"

Valko slides his veiny, thick cock deep, his tail wrapping around his body and tickling you as he groans, head falling forward, that heavy weight pressing you down. He's as big there as he is everywhere, his grin against your skin felt before he bites your neck, shoving in fully.

"S'deep... you're..."

You're a babbling mess when he pins you there, twitching inside you, cock dragging your sweet spot and kissing it over and over again. You're a drooling mess the more he moves, the more his cock rocks in and out, thickening and swelling impossibly.

"Should call him, huh baby? Let him hear your cunt he wants s'fuckin' bad," Valko can't stand it then, thinking of anyone with the girl that should be all his, every instinct on fire. "All mine, yeah baby? Breed your messy cunt till you're all mine, can't even talk, can you?"

"Mhm," you're shattering when he fucks you faster, meaner, a hand on the table bracing himself as he bites your neck till blood drips, lapping it up so his lips are crimson, moaning against your skin. "Valko... please..."

"I'll give it all to you," he's sinking his teeth again - marking you his, ones he hopes last and last, as his cock is soaked, and your tacky walls are milking him. "Fill you so full, won't be able to see anyone, will you?"

You shatter with one more drag of his fat tip, and that's when it pushes him over the edge, his knot swelling as his cum fills you to the brim, coating your walls in white. He's biting your shoulder, your neck, your arm, everywhere he can, as that fat knot stretches you, hurting so bad you're in tears - but fuck it feels good.

"So much... s'much, V-valko..." you whimper as he moves that knot, kissing all the places he's marked you, moaning softly. His tail twitches as it tickles your skin, his ears curving down.

"Perfect, f-fuck you're so... oh baby I don't think it'll go down I..." He's never had this happen, not being able to calm it down, locked and knotted so thick in your tiny cunt. He keeps kissing you, moving back a bit, hearing your little sharp breath. "Want me to keep this cum plugged inside you? Hmm, breed you, baby?"

"Yes, yes," you're drooling, looking at him with dilated eyes, all covered in his marks. "K-keep it all.. in ... your knot it's so..."

"Mhm, I know baby," he's soothing you even as he rocks it in just an inch - back and forth, until he's pressing all his cum right against your puffy lil cervix.

You're cummin' again and again, but what you don't realize is...

Valko left Caleb all of that on a voice message </3

****

You became aware of the voices before anything else, soft at first and blending together in a way that made it hard to separate one from another.

They drifted in and out of focus as your mind slowly caught up with your body, pulling you back toward consciousness whether you were ready or not. The brightness came next, sharp and overwhelming, forcing its way through your vision even before your eyes were fully open.

When you finally managed to lift your eyelids, you were immediately met with a harsh white light that made you flinch and turn your head slightly, a quiet groan escaping you as the movement sent a wave of pain through your body.

“Are you okay?!”

The voice came suddenly and far too loud, making you wince as it rang through your ears. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision, only to find Riyo right in front of you, her face much closer than you were prepared for.

Her expression was a mix of worry and relief, her eyes scanning you quickly. You instinctively leaned back, your muscles protesting immediately at the movement, and pushed yourself up just enough to sit upright, though the effort made you exhale sharply. “Yeah- I’m fine,” you said, though your voice came out quieter and rougher than you intended, your throat still dry from everything you’d been through.

“Good. You’re awake.”

The interruption came from across the room, and you shifted your gaze to find Corvus standing at the end of your bed, arms crossed in his usual composed stance. He looked as calm as ever, but there was something slightly more intense in the way he was watching you, something that hadn’t been there before. “I’m glad you’re well,” he continued, his tone even and controlled,

“but I have a few questions.” There was no real room to refuse, not that you had the energy to argue anyway, so you gave a small nod, settling back slightly despite the discomfort still lingering in your weak body.

What followed felt much longer than it probably was. Corvus guided the conversation, asking you to recall everything you could, from the moment you encountered Hermes to the point where you managed to escape.

You answered as best as you could, piecing things together in fragments at first before your memory started to settle into something clearer. You described the fight, the way Hermes moved, the others who showed up, and eventually the base they had taken you to.

Some parts were harder to talk about than others, especially when the memory of being restrained or hit resurfaced more vividly than you expected, but you didn’t stop.

Riyo stayed close the entire time, quieter than usual now, her earlier energy replaced with something more watchful, her attention fixed on you.

By the time Corvus finally seemed satisfied, your voice had grown weaker, and the exhaustion you had been holding back began to settle in again. “That’s enough for now,” he said at last, straightening slightly as his gaze lingered on you for a brief moment. “You’ve done well. Get some rest.” There was something almost reassuring in the way he said it, even if his expression remained mostly unreadable.

You nodded faintly, not trusting your voice to hold up for much longer, and watched as he turned and left the room. Riyo hesitated for a second longer before following, giving you one last look as if she wanted to say something else but decided against it.

It wasn’t until later, after someone else had come in to check your condition, that you learned how long you had actually been out. A full day.

The information sat strangely in your mind, not quite settling the way it should have. It felt like more and less at the same time, like time itself had become unreliable after everything that had happened.

You didn’t dwell on it for too long, though, because the steady stream of the other cleaners coming in to see you kept your attention occupied. Some stayed only briefly, offering quiet reassurances or awkward greetings, while others lingered longer, clearly trying to gauge how you were holding up without directly asking.

Eventually, though, the visits slowed, and then stopped altogether, leaving the room quiet again. This time, the silence wasn’t overwhelming, it was almost welcome after everything.

Your body sank further into the bed as you let yourself relax, your gaze drifting lazily around the room until it landed on the small table beside you. That was when you noticed your phone sitting there, untouched.

You reached for it slowly, your movements still careful as you picked it up and turned the screen on. The number hit you almost immediately.

113 missed notifications.

Messages stacked over each other, names you recognized filling the screen in a way that felt almost suffocating. Friends, classmates, people who expected you to respond, who had likely been wondering where you were.

And then, mixed in with them, messages from your so, called family.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, your thumb hovering as if you might open one of them.

But the longer you looked, the heavier it felt. They wouldn’t understand. Even if you explained it perfectly, even if you tried to make them see what your life had become, it wouldn’t make sense to them. It wasn’t something they could just fit into their version of you.

What would they think of you?

The thought circled around your mind, pulling familiar names with it, Willow, Charlie, Alex. To them, you were something simple, something steady. You were kind in the way that didn’t ask for recognition, funny in the quiet moments, responsible when things needed to be held together. To them, you were someone they could rely on without hesitation, someone safe enough to trust, and in return, you trusted them just as easily.

But that trust had conditions you never said out loud.

Because what would happen if they needed you, really needed you, and you weren’t there? If something went wrong and you were stuck somewhere like this again, unreachable, missing, gone without explanation.

The version of you they believed in wouldn’t exist in that moment. There would just be absence.. A gap where you were supposed to be.

The thought pressed in harder than it should have, and for a moment, it was difficult to breathe past it.

Then the thoughts shifted. Your family.

The word itself felt distant, like something that didn’t quite belong to you no matter how many times it was used. What did they even think of you? The answer wasn’t clear, it never really had been. To Duke, maybe you were someone capable, someone who could stand on their own without needing to be told what to do.

There was a certain level of respect there, something grounded and real, even if it wasn’t spoken often.

But Damian, your biological brother.? You hesitated.

What were you to him? The question didn’t have an easy answer. You weren’t sure if you were anything at all in his eyes, or if you were just… there.

Another presence in a house already filled with too many people playing roles they understood better than you did.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The Wayne family wasn’t just a family, it was something structured, something built on expectations and unspoken rules.

Everyone had a place, a purpose, something they contributed to the whole. They moved like pieces in a game that had already been set long before you were part of it.

And you?

You didn’t know where you fit.

Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe you weren’t meant to. Maybe, in the end, you were just someone standing on the outside of it all, watching a game you were never really taught how to play, let alone win.

Your grip on the phone loosened slightly as you exhaled, the sound quiet in the empty room. After a second, you turned it off completely and placed it back on the table without opening a single message.

The silence returned almost immediately, settling around you again, but this time it felt distant rather than suffocating.

You leaned back into the pillow, closing your eyes as the weight of everything began to catch up with you once more.

Your body was still aching, your mind still trying to process too many things at once, but exhaustion eventually won out. This time, when sleep came, you didn’t resist it, you let it pull you under, if only to escape the heaviness for a little while.

You were discharged from the infirmary the next day, though your body didn’t exactly agree with the decision.

Every movement still carried a dull ache, your ribs protesting with each breath, your limbs heavier than they should have been. Riyo drove you back without much conversation, her usual energy dialed down into something quieter, something more observant.

You sat in the passenger seat staring out the window, watching the city pass by in a blur, your thoughts looping in ways you couldn’t quite stop. She didn’t interrupt you, didn’t push, and for once you were grateful for the silence.

By the time you reached Wayne Manor, that quiet had turned into something heavier.

You stepped inside, barely giving yourself a moment to adjust before you were met with Tim. His expression wasn’t relieved, not really, it was tight, controlled in that way that made it obvious he was holding something back.

“Bruce is looking for you,” he said immediately.

“We all have.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead letting out a slow breath. Now they were looking. Now it mattered.

“Where have you been?” he added, sharper this time, like you owed him an answer the second you walked through the door.

Before you could respond, more footsteps echoed through the hall. You glanced up to see Duke, Richard, and Stephanie coming down the stairs, all of them stopping the second they saw you.

“There you are!” Stephanie rushed forward, pulling you into a tight hug before you could react. The sudden contact made your body tense, pain flaring under the surface, but she didn’t notice, or didn’t think about it.

“We were so worried,” she said, her voice full of relief.

Right, you thought bitterly.

“Yeah, what were you thinking?” Jason’s voice came from behind you, blunt and edged with irritation. “Gotham’s not exactly safe, in case you forgot.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to snap back immediately. The words piled up anyway, sharp and ready, but you held them in.

“Seriously, you could’ve told someone,” Dick added, stepping closer like he was trying to keep things light, even though there was frustration underneath it. “A heads-up isn’t that hard.”

“Not like you would’ve paid attention anyway,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“What was that?” Stephanie pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not the point,” Tim cut in, his patience clearly gone. “You don’t just disappear for days and then walk back in like nothing happened. Do you have any idea what that does to people?”

The way he said it made something twist in your chest, not guilt, but something closer to irritation. Like he was trying to make it about them.

“Guys, ease up,” Duke started, stepping in slightly. “They just got back- ”

Your name cut through the room before he could finish.

It was Bruce.

The shift was immediate. The room went still in that way it always did when he spoke, like everything else took a step back to make room for him.

He stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, expression already set. There was no relief there, no sign that he was even glad you were back, just that same rigid authority he always carried.

“My office. Now.”

No greeting, no "I'm glad you're back".

Just an order.

Duke, Richard, and Stephanie gave you brief looks, sympathetic, maybe, but it didn’t make much of a difference. You were already moving, following Bruce down the hall, your jaw tightening with every step. The anger was building now, not explosive, just steady. Controlled. The kind that sat low in your chest and refused to leave.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, but it felt louder than it should have.

Bruce didn’t sit down, he stayed standing behind his desk, arms still crossed like you were already on trial.

“Where were you?” he asked.

No “are you okay.” No acknowledgment of anything else.

Just that. You let out a short breath, your patience already thinning. “Out.”

His expression didn’t change. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” The tension in the room tightened immediately.

“You disappeared for days,” he said, his tone sharpening. “No communication. No explanation. Do you think that’s acceptable?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

“This isn’t about permission,” he snapped. “This is about responsibility.”

“Yours or mine?” you shot back.

His jaw clenched, clearly not expecting that. “Both,” he said after a second, his voice colder now. “You live under this roof. That comes with expectations.”

There it was. Expectations, rules you never agreed to, more rules that applied to you that were different to the rest of them.

“And what, I just follow them because you say so?” you replied, your tone sharpening. “That’s how this works?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

The answer hit harder than it should have.

“You don’t get to disappear into a city like Gotham and come back like nothing happened,” he continued, his voice rising now, frustration bleeding through. “That kind of recklessness isn’t something I’m going to tolerate.”

Reckless. Tolerate. The words echoed in your head, and something in you snapped slightly.

“I handled it,” you said, your voice tighter now.

“No, you didn’t,” he fired back immediately. “If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

You stared at him, disbelief settling in. “You don’t even know what happened.”

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “The result speaks for itself.”

You gritted your teeth.

“Right,” you said, your voice dropping, frustration finally breaking through. “Because you always know everything, don’t you?”

“This isn’t about me,” he snapped.

“It always is,” you shot back. “You don’t ask what happened, you don’t care what goes on, you just decide it was wrong and that’s it.”

His expression hardened further, but you didn’t stop. “You weren’t there,” you continued. “You don’t know what I've been doing and you’re just standing there acting like I just went out for fun!”

“You’re missing the point,” he said, his voice sharper now.

“No, you are,” you snapped. “You’re making it about control.”

Silence fell for a split second, heavy and charged, then his voice came again, louder this time.

“I’m trying to keep you alive!”

The words echoed through the room, but instead of landing the way he probably intended, they only made your frustration spike higher.

“Then maybe try listening for once,” you shot back immediately. “Because this? This isn’t helping!"

His expression shifted, not softer, not understanding, just more rigid, more set in his stance.

“You don’t get to dictate how I handle this,” he said. “Not when you’re the one putting yourself in danger.”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head slightly. “You don’t get to act like you care only when it’s convenient.”

That made him pause, but only for a second.

“You think this is convenient?” he asked, his tone colder now. “You think any of this is?”

“I think you only notice when something goes wrong,” you replied, your voice quieter but cutting. “The rest of the time, I’m just… there.”

The words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “You’re part of this family,” he said, like it should have been obvious. “Whether you acknowledge it or not.”

You didn’t respond, because it didn’t feel true, or, you know that it wasn't true.

“And that means something,” he continued. “It means I’m responsible for you, whether you like it or not.”

There it was again. Responsibility. Not concern.

Responsibility. Just a chore to do, Like taking out the trash or washing the dishes.

“You know I care for you, right?” he added after a moment, the words coming out more like an obligation than anything else. “I want what’s best for you.”

It didn’t sound like comfort, it sounded like justification.

You stared at him for a second longer, something tight settling in your chest, then, slowly, you looked away.

“…Can I go?” you asked, your voice flat now.

He hesitated, then gave a short nod. You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t wait for him to add more. You just turned, walking toward the door, your grip tightening slightly around the handle before you pulled it open.

And without looking back, you left his office.

You left Bruce’s office without looking back, the door clicking shut behind you in a way that felt far too final for something that was supposed to be your home.

The hallway outside was still full, but it shifted slightly the moment you stepped into it. Conversations stopped, eyes flicked toward you, Tim leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting, Dick halfway down the stairs as if he’d considered following you, Stephanie already stepping forward before hesitating when she saw your face.

You could feel all of it, the attention pretending not to be attention, the silence pretending not to be curiosity.

“Hey, what happened in there?” Stephanie asked, her voice lighter than the tension in the air, like she was trying to make it normal.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, not without saying things that would make everything worse.

So you just kept walking.

Every step up the stairs felt heavier than the last, not because your body couldn’t handle it, but because your mind was catching up too slowly to everything that had just been said.

Bruce’s voice still echoed somewhere behind your thoughts, sharp and absolute, like an order disguised as concern. The manor felt too big again, too polished, too loud in its silence.

When you finally reached your room, you closed the door behind you gently, like even sound was something you couldn’t afford to make right now.

That was when everything stopped holding itself together.

You didn’t even fully register sliding down the door until you were on the floor, your back pressed against the wood as if it was the only thing keeping you upright. The anger from before didn’t explode, it just collapsed inwards, turning into something quieter and worse.

You told yourself you didn’t care that Bruce was mad.

You repeated it in your head like it would settle into something solid, something true if you said it enough times. That it didn’t matter what he thought, that his anger didn’t mean anything to you, that his words hadn’t stuck the way they clearly had. But the more you tried to push it away, the more it lingered, sitting heavy in your chest in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Maybe you did care.

Not because of the anger itself, but because of what it felt like underneath it.

You sat there on the floor of your room, your back pressed against the door, your hands loosely curled in your lap as your breathing struggled to stay steady. Your thoughts kept circling back, not just to what he said, but how he said it. The way there hadn’t been a moment, not one, where he stopped to actually look at you and ask if you were okay. Not one pause where his voice softened before it sharpened again into something controlled, something authoritative.

It wasn’t worry.

Or at least… it didn’t feel like it.

And maybe that was what hurt more than anything else.

Because you knew, deep down, that to him, and maybe to all of them, you were just another responsibility. Another thing to manage. Another problem to fix before it got worse. The way he spoke, the way he looked at you, it wasn’t like he was talking to someone he was scared of losing. It was like he was dealing with something that had stepped out of line.

A chore. That word settled uncomfortably in your mind, and no matter how much you tried to shake it off, it didn’t leave.

You weren’t someone he checked on because he wanted to. You were someone he checked on because he had to. Because it was expected. Because it was part of whatever role he had decided he was playing.

And the others…

Their version of concern didn’t feel much better.

It came all at once, loud and overwhelming, suffocating in a way that didn’t leave space for anything real. Questions thrown at you without waiting for answers. Frustration disguised as care. Worry that felt more like panic at losing control than actual fear for you.

“We were worried about you.”

The words echoed in your head again, and this time they made your chest tighten instead of soften.

Because if that was worry… then why did it feel so empty?

You dragged a shaky breath in, your fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of your sleeves as the quiet of your room pressed in around you again. Your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall as easily now, they just lingered, heavy, like even your body was too tired to keep reacting.

After everything, after the fights, the pain, the fear, the way you had to hold yourself together over and over again when no one else even knew you were falling apart,

All you wanted was something simple.

Not control. Not lectures. Not expectations.

Just… comfort.

Real comfort.

The kind that didn’t come with questions attached. The kind that didn’t make you feel like you had to explain yourself just to deserve it. The kind that didn’t disappear the moment you stopped fitting into whatever they thought you should be.

You wanted someone to sit beside you and not ask anything. To just be there without trying to fix you, without trying to correct you, without turning your silence into something that needed to be solved.

You wanted to feel like you mattered without having to prove it first.

But as the silence stretched on, filling the room in a way that felt too familiar, you already knew,

That wasn’t something you were going to get here.

And maybe that was the hardest part to accept.

Because it wasn’t that you were asking for too much.

It was that you were asking the wrong people.

There wasn't 'dramatic breaking point', it was more of a slow unravelling, like something inside you had been stretched too thin for too long and finally gave up trying to stay intact.

You didn’t go to dinner. At some point you heard footsteps outside your room, voices passing, life continuing in a house that didn’t pause for you. No one came in. No one knocked.

Eventually even that faded, leaving only the hum of the building around you. You didn’t change your clothes, didn’t move from the floor.

You just stayed there until exhaustion pulled you under in uneven waves, sleep coming without comfort, more like your body shutting down than resting. The manor stayed cold around you, and for the first time it felt less like a home you didn’t fit into and more like a place that had simply never been meant for you at all.

The next morning came too quickly and not quickly enough at the same time. You got up slowly, every muscle stiff and uncooperative, and changed into something simple without really thinking about it, something that didn’t require attention, something that let you disappear a little into the background.

You didn’t linger in front of the mirror. You didn’t want to see what last night had done to your face. School was just another thing you had to do, so you left without saying much, slipping out before anyone could turn your morning into another conversation you weren’t ready for.

When you arrived, nothing was different on the surface. The hallways were loud, full of movement, full of people who didn’t stop for anything.

But something felt off almost immediately. Willow, Charlie, and Alex weren’t waiting for you like they usually were. No small wave, no casual greeting, no shared look that said “you’re late again.”

You told yourself they were just somewhere else, that you’d catch them later. You went through your classes anyway, sitting through lessons you barely processed, waiting for break like it would reset something.

But when you finally saw them, it didn’t reset anything.

They were together near the edge of the courtyard, but they weren’t looking for you. Not scanning. Not expecting. It took a moment before you even walked over, something in your chest tightening in a way you didn’t fully understand yet.

“Hey,” you said carefully when you reached them, trying to keep your voice normal, like everything could still be fixed with one sentence. “Sorry I disappeared, I just had some stuff going on-”

They didn’t answer at first. The silence stretched longer than it should have, and when Charlie finally looked at you, his expression wasn’t confused or relieved or even concerned.

It was frustrated.

“You were gone for days,” he said, voice sharper than usual, like he’d been holding it in for too long. “You and Willow had a project due and you just didn’t show up. And the finals for the soccer game? You were nowhere. We called you, texted you, nothing. And then you just walk in like everything’s normal and don’t even explain yourself. What the hell, man?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how fast everything was coming out, your mouth opening before you really knew what to say.

“There were c-complications,” you started, words stumbling over each other as you tried to find something that didn’t sound insane. “I couldn’t contact you, I didn’t have a choice-”

“Leave us alone, dude.”

Willow’s voice cut through yours cleanly, not loud but final in a way that made your stomach drop. You froze slightly, turning toward her like maybe you’d misheard.

“Wait, I just need to explain-”

“Alex is so upset at you,” Willow continued, shaking her head like her were done listening. “They lost the finals because you weren’t there.”

Your gaze snapped to Alex immediately, searching for anything, any sign that this wasn’t as final as it sounded. But Alex didn’t meet your eyes.

They just looked away, jaw tight, expression closed off in a way that felt unfamiliar, like you were seeing a version of them you hadn’t known existed before.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words coming out smaller than you intended.

Alex didn’t respond. They just shook their head slightly, like that wasn’t enough, like nothing you could say would be enough, and then they reached for Willow and Charlie, taking them away without another word.

And just like that, they were gone.

You stood there for a moment longer than you should have, watching the space where they’d been as the courtyard kept moving around you like nothing had happened.

People passed, voices overlapped, life continued. Your chest felt strangely hollow, like something had been pulled out and left no obvious wound behind, just absence.

You had expected them to be mad, but not like this, not like you had stopped mattering entirely.

Eventually, you sat down alone for lunch without really deciding to.

The noise around you felt distant, like it belonged to a different version of the day you weren’t part of anymore. You picked at your food without tasting it, staring at nothing in particular, your mind going quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful. Just empty.

And for the first time that day, you weren’t thinking about how to fix anything anymore, you were just trying to get through it without falling apart where anyone could see.

Alfred informed you the moment you stepped back into the manor that you were grounded.

His voice wasn’t raised, and that almost made it worse. It was calm in that unmistakably final way he had.

Three months. No going out. no matter how many times you tried to justify it. Just school, the manor, and whatever supervised routines they decided counted as acceptable.

You nodded.

Not because you agreed, but because arguing felt pointless in a way you couldn’t even summon energy for anymore.

The first week blurred into something painfully repetitive. You woke up when you were supposed to, went to school, came back, ate whatever was placed in front of you, and then went to bed because there wasn’t much else to do.

The manor kept moving around you like a machine that didn’t depend on your participation. You were there, technically present, but never really part of it.

Even Riyo, who was usually the closest thing you had to an escape valve, was only partially available, pulled into her own work and obligations more often than not. You talked less without meaning to, and the less you spoke, the more the silence started to settle into you.

By the time a few days had passed, the routine stopped feeling like structure and started feeling like containment.

You didn’t go to soccer practice.

Not that you even could anymore, not with the grounding hanging over you like a constant reminder of how small your world had suddenly become. Even if you had been allowed, you weren’t sure you would’ve gone.

The thought of stepping back onto the field, of facing the empty space where you should have been weeks ago, made something in your chest twist in a way that didn’t feel worth confronting.

Your phone sat in your hand more often than you’d like to admit.

A few weeks ago, it had been overwhelming, notifications piling up, messages stacked one after another, names filling your screen faster than you could process them.

Back then, you hadn’t even opened them, hadn’t been able to deal with what they might say, what they might ask. But now..

Now it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You checked it anyway. Over and over again, even when you knew nothing had changed. The screen lit up the same way each time, the same empty stillness staring back at you like it had settled there permanently.

No new messages. No missed calls. No one reaching out just to ask if you were okay.

There were a few.

Duke had sent something earlier that week, casual, like he was trying not to push too hard. Riyo checked in when she could, her messages shorter than usual but still there, still consistent in a way that mattered. A couple of the other Cleaners, Enjin, Zanka, had reached out too, trying to start a conversation but interrupted by more work.

But it wasn’t them.

Not Alex. Not Charlie. Not Willow.

Their names stayed exactly where you had left them, buried under older messages, untouched, unmoving.

It was like the silence between you had solidified into something real, something you couldn’t just step around or ignore. And the worst part was, you couldn’t even blame them for it.

You exhaled quietly, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you as your grip on your phone loosened slightly.

You missed them.

More than you expected to.

It wasn’t just the conversations or the routine of seeing them every day, it was the way things used to feel simple. Easy. Like you didn’t have to think about what to say or what to hide or what might happen if you disappeared for too long.

With them, you had just been… you. Or at least, a version of you that didn’t feel like it was constantly splitting into different pieces depending on where you were.

Now, even thinking about going back felt complicated.

You wished you could rewind things, not everything, not the big parts you couldn’t change, but just enough to send one message. Just one. Something simple. Hey, I won’t be around for a bit.

Something that would’ve made your absence make sense, even if it didn’t explain it completely.

But that moment was gone.

And you knew better than anyone that time didn’t work like that.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone before you let it fall back onto your bed beside you.

Celeste rested on your desk across the room, quiet and still, its golden surface catching the light faintly. You stared at it for a long moment, your thoughts drifting in a direction you didn’t usually let them go.

Sometimes, you wished it could do more.

Not just slow things down. Not just pull you back a few seconds, a few moments, enough to correct something immediate. You wished it could stretch time in the other direction too, skip over the parts you didn’t want to feel, fast-forward through the days that dragged too long, the conversations that hurt too much, the silence that settled in places you didn’t want it to.

You wished you could just… not experience it.

Just wake up on the other side of everything, where things had already been fixed or forgotten or moved past.

But that wasn’t how it worked.

And maybe it was better that it didn’t.

Because if you could skip it all, you’d probably miss something important too, even if you didn’t know what it was yet.

Still, that didn’t stop the thought from lingering.

You turned onto your side, facing away from both your phone and Celeste, pulling your blanket slightly tighter around yourself without really thinking about it. The room felt quiet again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful, it was just empty in a way that echoed too much.

And no matter how many times you checked, no matter how long you waited, that silence didn’t change.

You were lying on your bed one afternoon when a knock came at your door.

Soft, Controlled. Not Alfred. Not one of the louder voices in the house.

You sat up slowly, already unsure of what to expect, and opened it. Cassandra stood there.

For a moment, your brain didn’t fully process it. She wasn’t someone who usually appeared in doorways like this, initiating conversations or seeking anyone out directly.

Cassandra moved through spaces like she was part of them rather than a guest in them, and when she did speak, it was usually brief, precise, and intentional.

Seeing her here, waiting, looking at you without hesitation, felt unexpectedly out of place in a way that made you pause longer than you should have.

“…Hi,” she said simply.

“Hi,” you answered, still a little caught off guard.

You stepped aside to let her in, and she entered without needing further invitation, moving like she had already decided she belonged in the space.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. Cassandra didn’t seem in a rush to fill it, and neither did you at first.

After a moment, she spoke.

“Damian is worried about you.”

That made you pause properly. “What?”

“He watches you,” she continued, her tone even, observant. “He pays attention when you are not around.”

You blinked slowly, trying to decide if that made sense. It didn’t immediately. Damian, in your experience, was many things, intense, sharp, arrogant in a way that sometimes felt almost engineered, but “worried” wasn’t a word you would have naturally placed anywhere near him.

“Oh,” you said quietly, genuinely unsure what else to respond with. “I didn’t know that.”

Cassandra tilted her head slightly, studying you the way she always did, like she was reading something written underneath your words instead of just listening to them.

Then she added, a bit softer, “He does not say it directly. But he notices when you are absent. He notices more than he admits.”

You let that sit for a second.

It wasn’t loud information, but it settled in anyway.

Then she continued, more quietly now, “If you need company, you can come find me.”

There was no pressure in the words.

No expectation. Just a simple statement of availability.

Something in your chest loosened slightly at that.

“Thanks,” you said, and this time it came out more honest than you expected.

Cassandra nodded once, like that was enough, and left just as quietly as she arrived.

After she was gone, you stayed standing there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. Your thoughts drifted without permission, circling back to what she said about Damian in a way you didn’t fully know how to place yet.

Not suspicion, not disbelief, just curiosity you weren’t used to having about him specifically.

Then, slowly, you closed the door.

The next morning was Saturday, and the manor felt different without the structure of school pressing against it.

There were no immediate obligations waiting for you, which meant your mind had space to wander in ways you didn’t really enjoy. You moved through the halls without direction, not avoiding anyone in particular, just… existing without purpose until the building itself seemed to steer you somewhere.

That was how you ended up in the library.

It wasn’t empty, but it was quiet. The shelves were tall and orderly, filled with books that looked untouched but clearly weren’t neglected. Light filtered through the windows in soft angles, making the room feel separate from the rest of the house.

And then you saw it. The piano.

It sat in the corner like it had been placed there for decoration and forgotten by time.

For a moment, you just stood still and looked at it, something unfamiliar tightening slightly in your chest.

You didn’t think about it at first. Not consciously.

But memory didn’t ask permission.

Your mother’s voice came back in fragments. Hands guiding yours. Repeating notes until they made sense. Patience when you got it wrong. The quiet insistence that mistakes weren’t failure, just part of learning how to continue.

You walked toward it slowly, like approaching something that might disappear if you moved too quickly.

When you sat down, the seat felt colder than expected, but not uncomfortable.

You placed your fingers over the keys and pressed lightly, testing them, letting the sound fill the room. A few scattered notes came first, uncertain, uneven, before your hands started to remember what they were supposed to do.

It wasn’t perfect.

It didn’t need to be.

Gradually, a melody formed. Soft at first, almost hesitant, then steadier as your memory and muscle instinct aligned. The sound filled the library in a way that made it feel less like an unused room and more like something alive again, even if only temporarily.

You didn’t notice the door opening.

Not immediately. It was only when the sound of footsteps stopped nearby that you realized someone was there.

Damian.

He stood at the edge of the room, watching you with his usual focused intensity, though something about it felt slightly different, not sharper, but more attentive.

He didn’t interrupt. That alone was notable enough that you almost stopped playing out of instinct.

Almost.

“I did not know you played the piano,” he said after a moment.

You glanced up briefly, but your hands kept moving, easing the piece into something slower rather than stopping completely.

“I know a lot of things you don’t know I can do,” you replied lightly.

He didn’t react to the tone. He rarely did. Instead, he walked closer and stopped beside you, looking at your hands for a moment before shifting his attention to your face.

“I was informed Father grounded you,” he said.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“It is logical,” he said immediately, almost automatically. “Your actions lacked operational security.”

You let out a small breath that almost became a laugh. “Of course you’d put it like that.”

He didn’t respond to that either, but he didn’t leave. He stayed standing there, watching the keys as you played, as if trying to understand something through repetition rather than explanation.

After a pause, he spoke again.

“I have been… observing.”

That alone made you glance at him properly.

“Sounds ominous,” you said.

“It is not,” he corrected quickly, then hesitated slightly as if recalibrating. “Duke uses a phrase. ‘Lowkey vibe.’ He stated it means spending time together without formal structure.”

You stopped playing for half a beat, then resumed more slowly. “He taught you that?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then, very seriously, like he was presenting a tactical proposal, he said, “We could do that.”

You blinked. “You want to… hang out?”

He frowned slightly, as if the phrasing was incorrect but he was allowing it. “yes.”

Something warm and faintly ridiculous rose in your chest before you could stop it.

“…Okay,” you said. “We can hang out.”

Damian nodded once, as if the agreement had been documented.

The piano felt easier to play after that, like the tension in the room had shifted just enough to make space for something else.

Eventually, he sat, not beside you, not too close, but within range of the sound.

He didn’t speak much after that, but he also didn’t leave. Occasionally he commented on technical things, timing, consistency, unnecessary repetition, but not in a way that felt dismissive. More like he was engaging in the only language he fully trusted.

When you finished the piece properly, there was a brief silence.

Then he said, “It is acceptable.”

You scoffed quietly. “High praise from you.”

He ignored that, as usual, but his eyes lingered on the piano a second longer than expected.

Later, somehow, it turned into a movie in the manor theatre.

Damian insisted on analysing the plot structure at first, pointing out inefficiencies in character decisions and “avoidable tactical errors,” which you mostly ignored.

Over time, he stopped commenting as much and just watched, occasionally reacting in small, subtle ways he probably didn’t realize were visible at all.

After that, you ended up walking through the garden.

The air outside was cooler, and the manor felt less heavy from there. Damian walked slightly ahead at first, then matched your pace, then drifted half a step behind before correcting himself again.

It wasn’t indecision exactly, more like constant adjustment without acknowledging it.

After a moment, he added quietly, “You would have likely succeeded in your match.”

That caught your attention.

“What… how do you know about that?”

“Duke explained it,” he said. “In detail.” Of course he did.

Then Damian added, almost reluctantly, “It sounded… nice.”

You let out a small breath of laughter. “That’s your version of praise?”

A pause passed between you.

Then, unexpectedly, he said, “I would've liked to see it.”

You blinked. “Soccer?”

“Yes.”

“…You want to watch me play?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. Then, after a beat, slightly less certain, “And potentially participate in the juniors team.”

That made you pause longer than you meant to.

“…Yeah,” you said finally. “I can help you train.”

He nodded once, satisfied, an excited smile tugging at the edge of his mouth like that agreement had been properly finalized.

By the time dinner came, you actually went downstairs.

It wasn’t announced. It wasn’t a big moment.

You just showed up.

And for the first time in a while, sitting at the table didn’t feel like you were outside of something looking in. It still wasn’t perfect, Tim’s glance lingered too long, Bruce was quieter than usual in a way that felt more observant than welcoming, but it wasn’t empty either.

And for now, that difference was enough to stay.

Masterlist

NAVIGATION ⋮ MASTERLIST

𖹭 A DRUNK MIND SPEAKS A SOBER HEART by starshaped-dreamer [ONESHOT] [1.9K]

⇢ You’re a clingy drunk and Minho isn’t expecting your pent up affection.

𖹭 AFTER THE CALM by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [3.3K]

⇢ You’ve survived the Scorch, dodged WICKED, and outlived Cranks—but nothing could prepare you for Minho’s feelings… or your own.

𖹭 ARE YOU OK? by masivechaos [ONESHOT] [1.4K]

⇢ Minho almost didn’t make it to the doors on time and you are so worried, but he can’t seem to understand why.

𖹭 AREN’T YOU LUCKY by sehnsuchts-trunken [ONESHOT] [1.2K]

⇢ A sprained ankle keeps you stuck in the glade as minho goes out into the maze to run, so you try your best to persuade him to stay.

𖹭 BEHAVE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2.2K]

⇢ Minho just wants to focus on mapping the maze in the map room. You’re determined to get his attention.

𖹭 BEST FEATURE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [1.9K]

⇢ You like to pretend that you’re a level headed and controlled person. That things such as desire or general human nature don’t faze you and you’re focused on work and helping around the Glade. And, for the most part - that is completely believable. Mainly because Minho is always out in the Maze. Thank God.

𖹭 BEYOND THE OTHER SIDE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [3.3K]

⇢ “You know they're not coming back, right?” You shoot him a glare, “Don't say that- if anyone can survive out there, it's Minho.”

𖹭 BLIND EYE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2K]

⇢ You were the first Glader to arrive in the Maze, and the only girl. With the help of Alby and Newt, you run the Glade. You take your job seriously and are the mother-figure of the Maze. Though, your business has led to complete oblivion on your end, especially when it comes to the Keeper of the Runners- who is desperately trying to get your attention.

𖹭 BUBBLY PERSONALITY by petrichor-idyllic [HEADCANONS]

𖹭* DATING HEADCANONS by petrichor-idyllic [HEADCANONS]

𖹭 DECEPTION IN LIBERATION by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [3.6K]

⇢ You and Aris escape the Maze, but the new place isn’t safe. People are disappearing, and WCKD is still in control. Teaming up with Thomas and the others, you uncover the truth and make a chaotic escape.

𖹭 DIE FOR YOU by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [1.9K]

⇢ You try to keep up under Minho’s tough leadership, wondering why he’s so hard on you. During a dangerous run, Minho saves you from a Griever, and things start to click—his harshness hides feelings he can’t express. Between near-death moments and awkward confessions, You both realize there might be more going on than just running.

𖹭 EYES UP HERE BABE... AND LIPS RIGHT THERE by minhotherunninshank [ONESHOT] [1.4K]

⇢ While fighting a griever in the maze Y/N’s shirt gets torn off and later on she realizes it and asks for Minho’s shirt.

𖹭 FIERCE by caitimetravels [DRABBLE] [0.9K]

⇢ “‘Do your part’... Does being eye candy count as my part? ’Cause it sure seems like it.”

𖹭 FINALLY by misskingshit [DRABBLE] [0.6K]

⇢ After so long, you finally take the step.

𖹭 FRIENDLY COMPETITION by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [4.2K]

⇢ After begging Alby for days, you finally get the Gladers to take a day off and play Capture the Flag. You and Minho end up leading rival teams, and the game gets heated with plenty of playful trash talk and flirty moments. Even after it’s over, the tension between you two is impossible to ignore as you chat about the day.

𖹭 FIRECRACKER by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [4.3K]

⇢ Minho teaches you self-defence.

𖹭 HIDE AND SEEK by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2.3K]

⇢ In the heat of a life-or-death escape, Minho pulls you to safety just in time. Heart pounding and adrenaline rushing, you impulsively kiss his cheek in thanks. The danger might be over, but the tension between you is just getting started.

𖹭 HIGH SCHOOL NOT-SO-SWEETHEARTS by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [3.8K]

⇢ Shy and bookish, you can’t believe it when Minho, the school’s charming heartthrob, awkwardly asks you out. Thinking it’s a joke, you laugh it off—until a heartfelt, rain-soaked confession changes everything.

𖹭 HOW TO WINGMAN (POORLY) by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2K]

⇢ You and Minho have been best friends since arriving in the Glade, but everyone except you two knows you’re perfect for each other. After countless awkward setups by your fellow Gladers, an accidental “date” in the Map Room finally gets you both to admit your feelings—but you decide to wait for freedom before making things official.

𖹭 IT’S YOU by vintage-marina [ONESHOT] [5.4K]

⇢ Little stories about how the reader came up in the box and adjusting in the Glade.

𖹭 LET ME MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER by petrichor-idyllic [TWOSHOT] [3.2K]

⇢ Minho comes back from the maze really stressed so you offer to give him a massage.

𖹭 LONGING FROM AFAR by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [4.9K]

⇢ Minho has always been confident and cocky, that is until a girl shows up in the Glade, completely changing the dynamic. What makes it worse is that Minho recognises her, though he doesn’t know where from.

𖹭 MIRAGE OF THE PAST by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [5.3K]

⇢ While you’re just gardening and humming to yourself in the safe haven, Minho spots you and feels like he knows you from somewhere—but he can’t quite place it. Intrigued (and maybe a little smitten), he goes all out trying to catch your attention, whether you notice or not.

𖹭 MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE by heliads [ONESHOTS] [2.3K]

⇢ Waking up in a strange, metal room with no memory of who you are, you’re thrown into the middle of a dangerous maze. Surrounded by boys who’ve learned to survive in this place, you decide to keep one secret: you’re the actually a girl.

𖹭 NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCES by starhaped-dreamer [ONESHOT] [2K]

⇢ Minho and y/n are stuck in the maze for the night. Feelings are confessed after their near death experience only amplifies them.

𖹭 NOTHING BY IT by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.2K]

⇢ "So, are you and Minho actually together, or do you guys just flirt all the time because you think it’s fun?"

𖹭 ON YOUR OWN | PT.2 | PT.3 by petrichor-idyllic [MULTI-PART] [2.9K]

⇢ Out of all the Maze that WCKD made, you got the short end of the stick. Completely abandoned on your own with just a dog to keep you company, you spend three years of your life in almost complete isolation, trapped with horrific monsters. That is until the last couple of days- when everything just stops. A God must be looking over you... or maybe someone else.

𖹭 ONE NIGHT AWAY by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.9K]

⇢ It takes Minho a couple of moments to realize what’s going on, why it sounds like thunder even without a drop of rain. He should know this sound from hearing it twice per day, yet for some reason being on this side of the Maze when the Doors start to close makes it completely, utterly foreign.

𖹭 OUTRUN ME by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.6K]

⇢ You and Minho have been competing since the day you met. Alby making you two co-Keepers of the Runners was the final straw, especially because that means you two have to work together.

𖹭 PROMISE by tomboyneedshercoffee [ONESHOT] [2.9K]

⇢ Minho, Thomas and Alby get trapped in the maze and as you wait oustide the walls, you think back to moments with Minho.

𖹭 PROMISE ME THIS by lieutenantfloyd [ONESHOT] [1.2K]

⇢ Reader, the keeper of the medjacks, is having a completely uneventful day. That is until Minho returns from the maze battered, bloody, and refusing to be treated by anyone but reader.

𖹭 RANDOM HEADCANONS | PT.2 by sehnsuchts-trunken [HEADCANONS]

𖹭 SAFE PLACE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [1.6K]

⇢ It was meant to be a simple night. You’d always been restless and sleep never came easy to you. It was kind of common knowledge that you’re an insomniac, so when you decided to go on a late-night walk earlier, you never expected to end up on Minho’s doorstep, blood dripping from your palm, physically shaken.

𖹭 SAVIOUR COMPLEX by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2.3K]

⇢ You’re a new Runner, and an absolute pain in Minho’s ass. You can’t seem to obey him and keep getting yourself in trouble. So, when you get stung, Minho is left to play saviour. And doctor. Though, as he looks after you, he starts to think you might not be so bad and his feelings might not just be annoyance... until things go wrong again.

𖹭 SECRETS WHISPERED BY THE WATER by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.2K]

⇢ There is a small pond in the glade. You and Minho are friends with hidden feelings. One day you find out about that pond so you takes Minho there for a swim.

𖹭 SELF-DEFENCE LESSONS by starshaped-dreamer [DRABBLE] [0.8K]

⇢ Minho reluctantly teaches you to fight after months of begging.

𖹭 SOFT AT HEART by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2.1K]

⇢ You’ve been harbouring a long-term crush on Minho, but the problem is you’re shy and nervous, and Minho is anything but. Instead of bonding with the rowdy Gladers directly, you show you care by looking after them. Little do you know, your quiet kindness inspires Minho more than you realize—and he might just want more of it.

𖹭 STAY by caitimetravels [ONESHOT] [2.2K]

⇢ Y/N and Minho butt heads after a heated argument, but a drunken confession at a bonfire forces them to face their feelings.

𖹭 STUNG by sehnsuchts-trunken [DRABBLE] [0.7K]

⇢ Getting stung by a Griever was worse than you ever imagined, but Minho stayed by your side through all of it. Between the pain, the foggy memories, and his terrible jokes, you somehow made it through. Now, you're left with a sore leg, a clearer head, and the realization that you couldn’t have done it without him.

𖹭 TAKE A BREAK by rivwritesiguess [DRABBLE] [0.3K]

⇢ Whatever Minho has to do right now can wait. You want cuddles.

𖹭 THE BEGINNING | ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE WALL | HOPELESS GREY SKIES | STRIKES FROM ABOVE by minhos-harness [MULTI-PART] [10.3K+]

⇢ With (Y/N) being appointed the role of a Med-jack and Minho winding up injured during a venture in the Maze, the two end up becoming close friends. Throughout their journey to freedom alongside their fellow Gladers, deeper feelings grow between the two. However, both Minho and (Y/N) hesitate to act on them due to the uncertainty of reciprocation and their overall futures.

𖹭 THE CITY by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.1K]

⇢ Minho asks if you’d want kids someday. You’re unsure, but he reassures you that he’s happy with just you. Standing together, watching the city lights, you realize that’s enough.

𖹭 THIS NIGHT by heliads [ONESHOT] [2.6K]

⇢ Minho only has time for two things right now: one, making it out of the Maze long enough to scratch out the day’s findings in the Map Room, and two, his best friend Newt. However, you seem to have made yourself a place between those priorities.

𖹭 TMR BOYS IF YOU GAVE THEM A ROCK by givemearock [HEADCANONS]

𖹭 TO BET ON LOSING DOGS by acciopietro [ONESHOT] [5.2K]

⇢ The newest greenie isn’t as tough as he seems.

𖹭 TRAPPED TOGETHER | PT.2 | PT.3 by minhos-harness [MULTI-PART] [12K]

⇢ Despite their shared experience of surving the Maze and Scorch, (Y/N) and Minho never liked each other and often clashed. However, their toughest trial yet throws them together when they find themselves captured by WCKD, and a new side of their relationship comes to light.

𖹭 UNDER THE INFLUENCE by petrichor-idyllic [ONESHOT] [2.2K]

⇢ Greenie Day has always been your favorite time in the Glade, mostly because of Bonfire Night—a rare chance to let loose and forget the Maze for a while. This time, after a few too many drinks and some lighthearted games, liquid courage leads you to drunkenly flirt with Minho, much to his amusement.

𖹭 WARMTH IN COLD PLACES | PT.2 by petrichor-idyllic [TWOSHOT] [12K]

⇢ You are an undercover agent at WCKD secretly working for the Right Arm. When Minho is captured, You sneaks him food and helps him survive the facility. Along the way, You find ways to aid his escape, proving your loyalty to the cause—and to him.

𖹭* WORSE WAYS TO COPE by hollybell51 [ONESHOT] [4.6K]

⇢ “Lightly buzzed” confessions leading to making out leading to sex on a shitty couch.

𖹭 YOU THINK I’M PRETTY? by petrichor-idyllic [HEADCANONS]

𖹭 YOU’RE FROM ANOTHER MAZE by minhos-harness [HEADCANONS]

The group of boys (and one singular other girl) are strung up around you in the same fashion. One of them, noticeably, is Aris. Who you happen to know very well. 

You could pick out his scrawny form a mile away. And while you have a lot of questions, your current predicament doesn’t allow you to ask them.

“Good plan, Thomas. Just hear what the man has to say. Really working out for us,” the tan-skinned Asian boy finally barks.

“Shut up Minho,” the brunette across from you mutters bitterly. Thomas tries reaching up for the rope, but his attempt falls flat. 

“Yeah, Minho,” you bristle, his name on your tongue laced with malice, livid that your cover was blown. “You idiots just had to walk in and ruin everything. Especially you.”

Minho twists his body instantly, rope swinging lightly as he does. He glares at you hard. “And who the shuck are you?”

“That’s my business,” you mock, recounting his words to Jorge from earlier. 

He rolls his eyes, a scoff leaving his throat. “The blood must really be rushing to my head right now, because there’s no way this random shank is talking to me like that.”

Before you can open your mouth to retort, Jorge enters the room.

“Enjoying the view?” The older man asks, stalking towards the group of you with his staff. 

“The hell do you want?” you can hear somebody ask.

“That is the question,” Jorge says, raising his staff. “My men want to sell you back to WCKD.”

You scoff. “As if.” 

Jorge ignores you, continuing to speak. “You tell me what you know, and maybe we can make a deal.” His hand hovers over the lever that controls how high you’re all currently hanging.

Thomas hesitates. “We-we don’t know much.”

Suddenly, your stomach drops as the lever is pushed. The ropes jolt, dropping everyone a foot lower. Panicked shouts ensue. Thomas yells out, “alright, alright!”

“They’re hiding in the mountains. They attacked WCKD, they got out a bunch of kids. That’s it, that’s all we know.”

You frown, knowing that your Maze is the one that The Right Arm ambushed. It still hurts that you didn’t make it out, but you’re glad that at least Harriet and Sonya are out of WCKD’s hands. 

Jorge takes a couple steps forward, opening his mouth to speak. He’s quickly interrupted by Barkley, one of the raggedy men who lives in the facility, who you can tell appears to be a bit suspicious.

“Hey, wait. You’re not gonna help us?” Thomas asks incredulously after Jorge tells Barkley that he’s done here. 

“Don’t worry Hermano. We’ll get you back to where you belong.”

He walks off, throwing a “hang tight” over his shoulder. 

You huff, deciding you’re not wasting anymore time. You start trying to gain momentum to swing your body, though it doesn’t work very well with no extra help. 

“Doesn’t look like that’s working out for you very well,” Minho says matter-of-factly, watching you with a smug look on his face. You wish you could smack it off of him. 

“I don’t see you trying. You realize you’re in the same predicament as me, right ceiling boy?” you snap. 

“She’s right. We gotta try something here, we can’t just sit around and wait,” Thomas says. Minho grumbles something incoherent, maybe something about how he “shouldn’t be agreeing with mystery girl over here.”

Next thing you know, Minho is pushing the girl closest to the lever towards the rail to the side of the pit you all hang above. It takes a few attempts, but she eventually manages to grab it, twisting her body to be able to grab the lever. You’re all dropped another couple of feet as she pulls it. 

She frees herself from the ropes binding her ankles. Then, quickly, she starts to free everybody else. She grabs a pole, using it to have each person grab it to pull them over to the floor. 

The energy in the room is frantic, rushed. Helicopter lights flood through the windows, illuminating the room as WCKD lurks outside. Looking for all of you. The words “WCKD property” coming out of Janson’s mouth sends a chill down your spine. 

Finally, you’re the last one standing. Or hanging. Thomas holds a pole out towards you, and you grab it tightly. 

“Are we seriously helping her? We could just leave her, you know. Let WCKD walk away with something,” Minho groans. Thomas’ head snaps back as he pulls you to safety, beginning to unwrap the rope around you. 

“I’m not leaving anyone behind,” Thomas says, tone warning Minho to knock it off. 

You’re choosing to ignore Minho’s comment for now, because there’s no time to break out into a fight, but anger boils beneath your skin like an itch you can’t scratch. You scramble to your feet once you’re freed, mumbling a “thanks” to Thomas. Before you can even take another step, your shoulders are grabbed and you’re spun around.

Your mouth opens to protest, but you falter once you notice that it’s Aris. His eyes are wide in disbelief as he pulls you into a tight hug. Your shoulders relax, squeezing him tightly. 

“Y/N, how the hell did you get here? Why are you by yourself, what happened?” he asks as you pull away. 

Minho huffs somewhere nearby. “Ah, so mystery girl does have a name.”

You shoot him a deadly glare, then turn back to Aris. “Long story. Don’t worry about it right now,” you say, hinting at getting the hell out of the facility as soon as possible instead of standing around chatting. 

And with Jorge’s surprising help, you all make it out safely before his facility blows to pieces. 

The Scorch almost feels the hottest it's ever been. It’s miserable, and it’s starting to show on everyone’s faces. 

The group that you’ve now found yourself tagging along with, including Jorge, laid low for the night after narrowly escaping WCKD. Now, you’re back to trekking through the desert, on your way to find Brenda and Thomas after they were separated from you. 

It seems to stretch on forever. There’s debris everywhere, bones of buildings half swallowed by sand. 

Minho walks stiffly in the front of the group. He’s focused–until he hears you behind him. 

“Left.”

He doesn’t slow. “I see it.”

“No, you don’t,” you say smugly. “There’s a dip there. Step on it and you’re gonna fall.”

He stops just short of it, looking down. Sure enough, there’s a sizable dip in the sand where a piece of debris has created a small ledge. He exhales slowly through his nose, not wanting to admit that you’re right. 

“...Lucky guess.”

“Sure,” you reply.

Minho shoots you a look over his shoulder. You aren’t even looking at him, just already scanning ahead, unfazed. 

He has decided that he doesn’t like you. Or rather, he doesn’t like how you’re so similar to him.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Who put you in charge?”

You blink. “No one?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

From behind you, Newt pipes up. “She’s not wrong, mate. You would’ve eaten sand.”

Minho smiles tightly. “I had it handled.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Loud and wrong. Lucky I even said something, I could’ve just let you go down. Actually, I should’ve.”

He whirls around, irritation flashing through his dark eyes. “You always this mouthy, or am I special?”

“Definitely you,” you snap back. Aris overhears, and can’t help but smile in front of you. You’re not being completely truthful–you’ve always had a little attitude to you, he would know. But he can tell you’re just being like this to get under Minho’s skin.

A collective groan ripples through the group. “Great,” Frypan mumbles. “Now we’ve got walking attitude one and two.”

Everybody keeps moving, silence settling over the group for a few minutes. 

You, however, who prides yourself in being able detect change in an instant thanks to that Runner instinct, slow your pace.

The wind had been getting worse for the last hour, which was noticeable in itself. At first, it was just a low whistle through the dead buildings and broken concrete of the Scorch. But now, the direction has changed, the air carrying sharp grains of sand that scraped across skin every time the group pushed forward.

Up ahead, Minho walks at his usual pace. Fast and determined, like the idea of slowing down would kill him. Behind him, the rest of the group trudges along in a loose pack. Newt wipes sand from his face, squinting against the wind.

“Shuck it,” Frypan mutters. “Feels like the whole desert is trying to sand my face off.”

A few steps behind them, you lift your arm to shield your eyes. Something feels off. 

The wind picks up again, and up ahead, you see what almost appears to be a wall of dust and sand looming in the distance.

“Stop,” you say suddenly.

No one listens, or they don’t hear you. Either way, you roll your eyes and raise your voice. 

“Stop!”

This time a few of them halt in confusion. Up front, Minho takes a few more steps before realizing the group isn’t behind him anymore. He turns, irritation already written across his face. 

“What?”

You gesture to the barren landscape ahead, to the wall of sand that feels like it’s closer than it was a minute ago. “The wind shifted.”

“So?”

“So,” you repeat slowly. “That’s a dust storm. And it’s coming this way.”

Minho folds his arms. “And you know that how?”

“Because I have eyes.”

A few of the Gladers exchange looks. Minho glances up, then back at you, unimpressed. “We’ve been walking through worse.”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “And it’s about to get a lot worse.”

Minho scoffs. “We’re not stopping every time you think something is wrong–”

“Take shelter for a few minutes,” you cut him off. “Let it pass, then we move.”

He stares at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline. 

“You don’t get to call breaks.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

Minho takes a step forward, as if he’s challenging you. “Really.”

The wind whips harder between the buildings ahead, sending a powerful spray of sand in your direction. You gesture towards it. 

“It’s getting closer,” you say as if it’s obvious. Which it is now.

“It’s wind.”

“It’s wind that’s about to sandblast everyone’s eyeballs. And decrease visibility worse than it is now.”

“Okay, meteorologist. Dramatic.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

Behind you, Newt rubs his temples. “Please,” he groans quietly, “not another one.”

“What?” Aris asks.

Newt nods towards you and Minho, who are now standing two feet apart and glaring at each other like you’re about to break into a fist fight. “They’re the same bloody person.”

Minho points a finger at you. “We keep moving.” 

You cross your arms defiantly. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Again, who made you–”

“Minho.”

“---in charge here?”

“MINHO.”

The wind whips up again, strong and unforgiving. A cloud of sand and dust surges towards the group, so thick that you can barely see when it blows over you. Everyone immediately turns their backs, shielding their faces. 

Frypan spits, trying to remove the gritty sand from his tongue. “Okay yeah maybe we should–”

“Move!” you snap, already moving towards the shelter of a partially collapsed building nearby. The group follows instantly. Minho stays planted for a second longer before muttering something under his breath and stalking after everyone.

Inside the crumbling shell of the building, the wind is blocked enough that you can breathe without inhaling half the desert. Everyone slumps against broken walls and piles of debris. 

Minho leans against a column, arms crossed, still glaring in your direction.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.

“A little,” you reply instantly, shrugging.

Someone chuckles quietly. Newt drops down onto a chunk of concrete. “Seriously,” he says, looking between you two. “Where’d she come from again?”

“She said that was her business,” Minho mocks, recalling your words from earlier where you’d been mocking him.

You roll your eyes. Frypan, who sits nearby, seems to remember something. “Hey, wait,” he starts. “How’d you two know each other again?” he asks as he gestures towards you and Aris.

Before you can answer, Minho cuts in. “Yeah, actually. Been wondering that.”

Aris shrugs like it’s nothing. “Same maze.”

The group collectively quiets for a second.

“Same maze?” Newt repeats.

Aris nods. “Yeah. You know how I came from a maze full of girls? She was one of them,” he says. “One of the best Runners we had, actually. She was Keeper for a reason,” he continues, blissfully unaware he’s detonating something.

Silence. 

Every Glader slowly turns their head towards you. Then toward Minho. Then back to you.

“Oh, you have got to be shucking kidding me.”

Newt just laughs in disbelief. “Bloody hell. It all makes sense now.”

Minho straightens. Frypan points at the two of you like he’s just solved the world’s worst puzzle. 

“Great. Now there’s two of them. That’s just what we need.” 

You squint. “Wait, so you’re telling me that he was also a Runner?” The distaste in your voice is evident. 

Minho drags his hand down his face. “And you’re telling me,” he points at you, “you were the female version of me?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “The word version implies downgrade.” 

Newt leans against the wall, exhausted. “No wonder they’ve been arguing since the second they met.”

Minho scoffs. “I don’t argue.”

You laugh in response. “Oh, you absolutely do.”

He shoots you a look. “You called a sandstorm break.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but another massive gust of sand roars past the opening of the building. After a beat, he exhales slowly through his nose.

“...Fine.”

You grin, satisfaction flashing across your face. “Thanks.”

He points a warning finger at you. “Don’t get used to it.”

In the background, someone mutters “we’re never getting any peace again”. Unfortunately, they’d be correct. 

When the storm passes minutes later, you all reemerge from the building. You’re in front now, not wanting to give Minho the satisfaction of leading the group.

He watches you, irritation buzzing underneath his skin. With that, though, is something dangerously close to respect.

He would never say it out loud, though. 

The banter between you and Minho continues for most of the afternoon, much to the Gladers displeasure. They would be lying if they said they weren’t sick of listening to it. 

“You’re slowing down,” Minho says at one point. 

“I’m not. You’re impatient,” you say flatly. 

“I’m efficient.”

“I’m conserving my energy. You’d think you would know a thing or two about that. Y’know, being a Runner and all?”

“I don’t need to conserve energy. Clearly, I’m just the better Runner.”

You snort. “Oh please. You’re just mad because you know that’s not true.”

“I’m mad because you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying. You wanna find out?”

Minho huffs a sharp laugh. “You ever think about not talking?”

“Do you ever think about listening to someone other than yourself for once?”

“No. That’s kinda my thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Your head truly couldn’t get any bigger.”

“And yours couldn’t? Arrogant shank,” he mutters under his breath. 

You still happen to hear it. 

“Impatient,” you seethe. 

“Difficult.”

“Snobby.”

“Cynical.”

“Bossy,” you continue as you hop up onto a slab of concrete from a fallen building instead of walking around it. Minho vaults it easily. 

“Show off,” you say. 

“You say that like you didn’t take the harder route on purpose.”

“It’s not harder.”

“Right. You just took the ‘look at me’ route.”

You drop down on the other side without missing a beat. “Funny coming from someone whose entire personality screams ‘look at me’. Always moving like you’re auditioning for something.”

“Auditioning for what?”

“Attention.”

Minho grins. “Jealous?”

“As if,” you scoff. “I can’t wait for the day you slip up and I have to drag you out of it.”

“Please,” he huffs. “You’d leave me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not.” You meet his eyes. “I’d complain the whole time.”

He laughs, and it might be the first time you’ve heard him laugh at something you said. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrug. “I try.” 

Silence falls over the two of you as you keep walking. The rest of the group chatters behind you, but you pay it no mind. 

After a few minutes, Minho speaks again. “If you’d been in my Maze, I would’ve hated you.”

You smile without looking at him. “If I’d been in your Maze, I would’ve taken your job.”

“Ouch.”

“Truth hurts.”

He bumps your shoulder lightly as you walk. “Good thing we’re not competing.”

You bump him back harder. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Behind you, Newt groans. “Are you two done yet?”

“No,” you and Minho both say in unison. You glare at him.

“Don’t do that,” you say. 

“Relax, shank. Guess we’re just more in sync than you thought.”

“God, I hope not. That might get me killed.”

“Very funny. I happen to believe the opposite, actually.”

“Well, I don’t,” you mumble. It’s not that you don’t think he’s capable—if he was Keeper of the Runners in his Maze, then he's obviously smart and knows what he’s doing. You’re very guarded, though. You don’t trust just anyone. It has to be earned. 

For once, he has nothing to say back to you. 

Entering Zone A is far from comforting. 

It’s full of life, yet run down and slightly unsettling. Music pulses through the air, bass vibrating through the cracked concrete and sand underneath you. People are talking and laughing, yet it all blends into something overwhelming and wrong. 

You’re still leading the group when you enter the Zone. Immediately, you’re on edge. There’s too many eyes. People stop talking as you pass, some openly staring. A few smile in a way that makes your skin prickle. It’s obvious that you all don’t fit in with the vibe here. 

Minho is still walking beside you, but far enough away that it doesn’t annoy you. 

You happen to notice, though, that he quickens his pace once he notices the attention that your group is drawing. He subtly moves in front of you, angling his body enough that you’re no longer fully visible from the front. 

You don’t like that. It makes you feel weak. 

You scowl, opening your mouth to protest. “Move.”

“What?” he says, not looking at you.  

“I said move.”

Minho ignores you, guiding the group through a small crowd of people. You can hear Jorge in the background directing you on which direction to go, but you’re too focused on the way Minho steps fully in front of you after someone’s gaze lingers on you a little too long. 

You grab the back of his arm and yank him to a stop. “Knock it off,” you snap. “I don’t need you doing whatever this is.” 

He finally turns to face you. “Doing what?”

“Protecting me,” you say sharply. “Or whatever it is you think you’re doing. I can handle myself and the rest of the group.”

Minho’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about your pride.”

“Oh, spare me,” you fire back. “I’ve survived enough on my own. I think I can handle this.”

“You realize you survived a Maze full of girls, correct? And half of your journey through the Scorch has been spent with us. People who you now know you can trust.” His voice is sharp. “This isn't the same. We have no idea what these people did to Thomas and Brenda.”

Around you, everyone keeps moving—Aris, Newt, Frypan, Teresa and Jorge—probably not wanting to listen to your hundredth argument of the day. Minho’s focus locks entirely on you now. 

Your frown deepens, but he keeps going. “You think I don’t know you can handle yourself?” he says, voice low. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” you demand. 

Minho glances past you for a moment. His eyes scan the crowd, noticing the men and women watching too closely, the way some people lean in when they realize you’re new here. 

“We don’t know these shuck people,” he snaps, gaze returning to you. “We don’t know what they want or what they’ll do if they want something from us. We’re walking into their territory.”

You cross your arms. “I didn’t ask you to watch my back.”

He laughs once, short and humorless. “You think I’m doing this because you asked?”

“Then why?” you push. 

Minho hesitates, just for a second. “Because if something happens,” he says finally. “I won’t forgive myself for seeing it coming and doing nothin'. We have to stick together out here, even if you don’t like it.”

Your anger falters. Honestly, you’re surprised he even cares enough. “I don’t need a guard,” you say quietly. 

“I know,” he replies, but leaves it at that. 

Silence stretches between you, thick and tense. Then, you sigh, sharp and annoyed. You know you’ve lost this fight. “You’re impossible.”

He smirks faintly. “You noticed.”

You step around him, but this time, you don’t shove him away when he falls back into position beside you. Not in front, just close. And you let him—just this once. 

Everything after that escalates rather quickly, seemingly moving in a blur. 

You find Thomas and Brenda, thankfully unharmed (albeit maybe slightly hungover). With them, you also find Marcus. Jorge wastes no time in borderline torturing the information about the Right Arm out of the sleazy man. By the time Jorge is finished with him, his eye is swollen shut, blood leaking from a cut above his brow, pride shattered. 

His truck, which he calls “Bertha,” awaits your group once Marcus gives up where the Right Arm’s outpost is. The space is quite confined with the amount of people you have crammed in the back, and it would be your luck that you’ve managed to be squished up against Minho. You’re pretty positive the other boys did it on purpose. 

Minho, you quickly discover, doesn’t stop moving. He fidgets almost the entire time, either trying to get comfortable or trying to get on your nerves, you can’t tell. 

“Would you stop?” you finally snap, turning your head away from the window to glare at him. He flashes you a lazy grin, knowing he’s getting under your skin. 

“My bad. It’s a little tight back here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I have. And it would help if you’d sit still,” you say as you grit your teeth. 

He purposely stretches his arms, nearly smacking you in the head. He’s sitting with his legs spread slightly apart instead of keeping them together, taking up even more room. In the background, you catch Newt rolling his eyes. 

You slam your elbow into Minho’s ribs. Not enough to hurt, but hard enough that you can hear a quiet ‘oof’ escape his lips. 

He frowns. “What was that for?” 

“Stop moving and give me some more space or you’re gonna get it again,” you bristle, elbow drawing back again to deliver a second blow. 

“Alright, alright,” he says in surrender, begrudgingly giving you some more leg room. He folds his arms over his chest, trying to keep them contained. “Jeez, woman,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Stop talking,” you huff as you overhear his comment, giving him a quick pinch to the skin of his upper arm. He smacks your hand away, and your hand balls up into a fist as if you’re ready to punch him. Which you are. 

Before you can think about it any further, Newt interrupts—always trying to be the mediator. “Would you two bloody fools knock it off? See, I told you it was a bad idea,” he says to Aris, who has a smug look plastered to his face. You should’ve known he was up to something. 

Yourself and Minho, though, both go quiet. You lower your fist, placing both hands in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. Although you’d love to keep arguing, the last thing you want is to annoy Newt further. 

“Thank you,” Newt mutters. The truck now goes almost completely quiet without you and Minho bickering. 

Minho has to pipe up, though, one more time. “See how boring it is in here without me talking? You shanks wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

You have to bite your tongue hard to prevent yourself from speaking again. 

The truck eventually rolls to a halt. 

The roadway is covered in old, abandoned, broken down cars. There’s multiple of them, and no way to get through, meaning you’ll have to keep moving on foot. 

The thought of that is slightly unsettling. 

Hopping out of the truck, you take in your surroundings. You’re surrounded by mountainous terrain on both sides, the rocky landscape towering over you. 

You all start to push forward, making your way through the mess of old vehicles. Crows caw in the distance, disrupting the silence, creating an eerie atmosphere. As if they know something that you don’t. 

Your fingers brush over the windshield of a car, flitting over a bullet hole that creates a small crater in the glass. It dips under your fingertips, jagged edges sharp against your skin. 

You’re about to pull your hand away when a bullet flies mere inches past your head, pinging off of the metal hood of the car behind you. A few more follow in its wake, causing everybody to duck down behind the cars. 

And of course, as you take cover behind a rusted out SUV, Minho is right next to you. 

You roll your eyes, even in the current situation you’re in. “How do I always get stuck with you?” you whisper-yell, sliding down so that your back is against the door. 

He scoffs, crouching down on the ground and facing the direction of the car instead of away from it. “Oh yeah, because I planned this.”

The round of shots finally subsides. Thinking that it’s over, you turn and slowly peek over the hood of the car–for about half a second, before Minho grabs the back of your jacket and yanks you down. 

“Are you trying to get your head blown off?”

You shove his hand away. “I was just looking.”

“Well maybe don’t look when someone’s actively trying to kill you.”

“Relax, I know how to handle myself.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. Could’ve fooled me,” he pauses momentarily, then continues, like he wants nothing more than to piss you off. “You know, for someone who supposedly ran the Runners in Group B, you’re kinda terrible at following basic survival instincts.”

Your jaw tightens. “Actually, I’d beg to differ. I’m trying to scope out where my enemy is instead of cowering behind this car like someone else.”

Minho snorts. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it, go ahead.”

Your hands tighten into fists at your side. Faintly, you hear Jorge yell out to get ready to run back to the truck, but you barely register it. 

“Minho,” you say flatly. “I could kill you.”

“Would love to see you try,” he mumbles, muscles tensing as he prepares himself to run. 

You also get into position, moving to a crouch with your hand braced on the ground. “You better watch out. When we start running I’m tripping you.”

Minho barks a quiet laugh. “Good luck keeping up with me.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re not that fast.”

He looks at you for a second, then leans in, voice low and cocky. “Wanna test that?” His breath tickles your ear.

His face is much closer than you anticipate, his voice almost sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your skin heat up at the proximity, and then you want to smack yourself for even considering that he might be attractive. Which he is. But you’d never admit that and boost his ego even more. 

Instead, you shove him away. A smirk is forming on his face, and it takes everything in you not to slap it off of him. 

Before you can even open your mouth to fire back, you hear the sound of a rifle being loaded. 

“Drop it.”

Silence follows. You shoot Minho a questioning look, but he looks just as confused. 

“Now. I said drop it!”

You turn your head, looking back to where the voices are coming from. A few cars back, you see two girls with rifles pointed down at who you can only assume are Thomas and Jorge. 

“On your feet. Let’s go.”

Thomas and Jorge rise from behind their car, arms raised up in surrender. 

“Move! Back up!” 

The rest of you don’t move, frozen to your spots. Thomas and Jorge back up towards the guard rail. 

“Come on, let’s go. On your feet!” the blonde girl commands, and one by one you can see everyone else get to their feet. You don’t move for a moment, contemplating doing something stupid, until Minho grabs your arm and yanks you up with him like he could sense what you were thinking. 

As you look closer, though, the two girls look awfully familiar. You steal a glance over at Aris, who looks equally confused. 

One of the girls falters, looking between the two of you. She lowers her weapon. 

“Aris? Y/N?”

Aris stays silent. You do as well. 

She pulls down her mask, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Oh my god, Harriet?” Aris exclaims, pushing past Teresa and Brenda. Harriet pulls him into a hug, then pulls you into it as well. 

Sonya brings her mask down next. She does the same as Harriet, arms wrapping tightly around you and the boy next to you. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot your dumbasses,” the blonde says lightly, and you huff out a laugh. 

The Gladers stand to the side, arms still raised up in surrender. 

“Uh, what’s happening?” Minho finally pipes up, looking confused. 

Aris turns his head to look at them. “We were in the Maze together,” he replies. You nod, and you don’t miss the way everyone still looks a little lost. 

Harriet whistles through her fingers, giving the signal that it’s all clear. It’s then that you realize there are multiple snipers standing on top of the mountains above you. 

With that, you’re brought into The Right Arm’s camp. 

Not everything goes as smoothly as you’d all hoped (like Brenda almost cranking out in front of Vince, which almost went south quickly), but it’s thankfully quickly resolved thanks to Mary and Thomas and you’re all allowed to settle in. 

You’re currently sitting on a bench made out of large wooden sticks, deep in conversation with Harriet, Sonya and Aris. 

Your body feels lighter, muscles no longer tense and mind no longer in overdrive as you sit there surrounded by familiar faces. It feels like everything is finally settling into place. Like you’re finally going to be able to rest and stop running.

The camp buzzes with activity, still making final preparations for the following day. People move in and out of tents made up of patched canvas and salvaged tarps, carrying crates and passing supplies, moving quickly to speed up the process.

The sound of Aris’ name being called out snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up to where the sound comes from, eyes locking onto the Gladers on top of the ridge overlooking the camp. Aris lifts his hand in greeting, yelling a friendly ‘hey guys!’ back at them.

Standing, you wipe your hands on your pants. “I’ll be right back,” you say, looking at Harriet and Sonya. You’ve decided that there’s something you need to do. 

You make your way up the small hill, careful not to lose your footing on the rocky terrain. It doesn’t take very long for you to make it to the ledge where the Gladers reside, but as you do, your stomach churns nervously. 

Thomas, Newt, Frypan and Minho sit on a smaller rocky ledge, all of their eyes drinking in the sight of the camp before them. 

As you approach, you clear your throat so as not to startle them. The four of them turn to look in your direction. Frypan gives you a friendly wave.

“Hey!” he calls. “Look who decided to join us.”

Thomas gives you a friendly nod. Newt offers a small, tired smile. 

Minho glances over last. His eyebrows lift slightly. “Well, look at that,” he says. “Thought you’d finally ditched us.”

You stop a few feet away from them, crossing your arms. “Trust me, I considered it.”

He smirks faintly at that.

You hesitate for half a second, suddenly feeling more awkward than you expected. Then, you clear your throat again. “Actually…I just came up here to say thanks.”

This gets their attention. 

“For letting me tag along,” you continue, gesturing to the camp, to the entire miserable stretch of Scorch behind you. “You guys really didn’t have to. And I know it probably wasn’t ideal to add on another person.” Your eyes flicker over to Minho, and you can’t help but to throw in a quick jab. “Even though someone in particular did want to leave me for WCKD.”

For a split second, you think you almost see shame flash across his face. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

Thomas gives you a small smile. “You kept up.”

Newt nods in agreement. “Better than some of these shanks, actually.”

Frypan points a thumb at Minho. “Especially him.”

Minho scoffs immediately. “Oh please.”

You just huff a small laugh. “Seriously, though,” you say. “Thank you.”

There’s a brief pause. Then Minho tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Huh.”

Your eyes narrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says casually, lips twitching. “You know, this might be the first non-insulting thing you’ve said to me since we met.”

Immediately, you roll your eyes. “Oh don’t worry. I can fix that.”

“There it is,” he says with a grin. “Thought we lost you for a second.”

“Whatever,” you shoot back. “This isn’t about you.”

“Pretty sure it always is.”

Frypan snorts in the background. Newt rubs his face, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to conceal a laugh or if he’s really just tired of the two of you.

You point at Minho. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much?”

“Nope,” he draws out, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “You always have something to say back, though.”

“Not true.”

“Sure.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile that you don’t want him to notice. 

The wind moves gently through the trees on the hilltop. For the first time in days, there’s no worrying about Cranks, or desert storms, or WCKD being hot on your trail.

After a few minutes of silence, Minho glances over at you again. “So you gonna stick around with the rest of us? Or are we gonna act like strangers once we get to the Safe Haven?”

You shrug. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If I can tolerate you for more than five minutes,” you say as you vaguely gesture at him.

He smirks. “Good luck with that. Doesn’t seem like that’s going well so far.”

You give him a small shove, a small laugh escaping you. Then, once you feel like you’ve intruded on their space long enough, you turn to make your way back down the hill. 

You pause before you take another step. Then, you look over your shoulder. “...Thanks, Minho. Especially for not leaving me as WCKD bait.”

His expression flickers with surprise for a split second, but he quickly recovers. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t get soft on me now.”

You scoff, but say nothing more as you make your way down the hill and back towards your friends. 

Behind you, Frypan elbows Minho. Hard.

“Shut up, man,” he mutters. But as he watches you head back towards the others, the faintest hint of a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

You rejoin Harriet, Sonya, and Aris, who has a wide grin plastered to his face.

“Don’t,” you warn him, already having a slight idea of what he wants to say. He just shakes his head, arms going up in mock surrender.

Thanking the Gladers lifts another weight off of your shoulders. You feel lighter already, excitement growing in the pit of your stomach at what’s to come next, of how carefree your life will soon be.

Unbeknownst to you, that would all change in the blink of an eye. 

The soldier releases him and steps toward you. You tense, every muscle in your body coiling. He grabs the back of your collar, shoving your head down to expose the chip at the base of your neck. The scanner hums, and you see red. 

“B7.”

Before you can stop yourself, you twist violently and spit straight at him. It hits the soldier's visor. 

For a split second, everything freezes. 

Then you’re shoved, hard. You lose your balance and slam sideways into the dirt, shoulder aching from the impact. 

There’s only silence around you, no one daring to speak up in fear of what might happen to them. Minho’s jaw clenches so hard he fears he might break teeth, though.

The soldier wipes his visor clean with the back of his glove, then hauls you upright again. Your shoulder throbs as you’re yanked back into position. 

“Try some shit like that again and see where it gets you,” the soldier's muffled voice seethes, moving on to the next kid. 

You sit there breathing hard, dirt sticking to your clothing. 

After a moment, Minho shifts slightly beside you. “You’re an idiot,” he hisses. 

You just shrug like it was nothing. “Worth it.” 

When Thomas reappears, hell breaks loose again. 

It seems like there might be a chance when Jorge and Brenda show up. But not for you. Or Aris, or Sonya.

In the midst of chaos, you can see Harriet running back towards the truck. Relief floods through you, knowing she isn’t in WCKD’s hands. 

A surge of adrenaline and anger floods through you, and you throw your elbow back in an attempt to escape the grasp of the soldier who has you captive. It lands, and you twist in an attempt to break his grip. It almost works, but you’re shoved forward and both of your arms are locked behind your back. 

“Move,” the soldier growls, the ramp of the berg looming closer. 

Aris and Sonya are shoved into the berg at the same time as you. There’s no point in fighting it anymore. 

From your spot in the aircraft, your eyes catch sight of the Gladers running across the dirt. Minho is covering them, shotgun blasting soldiers left and right. 

Until his gun jams, and a launcher hits him square in the chest. 

You can only watch as he drops to his knees, slumping over a barrel as shockwaves tear through him for the second time that night. Thomas is yelling in the background, trying to move towards him, but his efforts are futile. 

WCKD soldiers surround Minho, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him backwards. He’s motionless, helpless as they haul him toward the berg ramp. 

A heaviness weighs on your chest as he’s brought into the cramped space, black uniforms holding him upright as he doesn’t have the strength to do it himself. Your eyes flicker over to the people still left outside, and you can see the Gladers in the distance. Thomas’s chest rises and falls quickly, mouth parted slightly in disbelief as the ramp doors begin to close. 

And as the doors finally seal, it feels like your fate does too.

The door slams shut with a metallic clang that echoes off of the concrete walls. 

You stagger forward as the guards shove you inside the room, barely catching yourself before you can hit the floor. 

Behind you, another body stumbles in. Then the door seals. 

Silence. 

You take a quick glance around the room. It’s small—bare concrete walls, a single harsh light overhead, and two small bunks bolted into opposite sides of the wall. A camera blinks red in the upper corner. 

Great. 

You turn. And freeze. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Across the room, rubbing his shoulder where a guard had shoved him, is Minho. He looks just as unimpressed. 

“Fantastic,” he mutters. “Out of every shank they could’ve picked, it had to be you.”

You scoff. “Feelings mutual.”

“Could’ve been anyone. Literally anyone else.”

“Yeah, because you’re such a joy to be around.”

“At least I don’t pretend I am,” he mutters.

For a moment you just stare at each other. He’s angry, that much is obvious, but the fact that he’s directing it onto you is pissing you off. Even now, bruised, dirty, and trapped in some WCKD facility, the feeling of blinding irritation is no different than when you’d first met in the Scorch. 

Minho breaks the staring contest first, walking towards the bunks and inspecting them. 

“Well,” he says. “Looks like we’re roommates.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Oh please.” He points at one of the bunks on the side of the wall that isn’t in direct view when the door opens. “That one’s mine.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“That one’s better.”

“Exactly.”

Out of spite, you march over and shove past him, plopping onto the bunk before he can react. 

“Too slow.”

Minho stares at you like you just killed his friends in front of him. “You did not just—“

“I did.”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable. They stick me in a prison cell and I still have to deal with Group B’s most irritating runner. I don’t know which is worse, honestly.”

“Oh, you mean the one who finished her maze faster than yours?” you shoot back. 

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky now.”

“Oh, I will.”

The tension in the room crackles. For a second it almost feels like you’re in the desert again. Arguing over directions, trading insults while the others groan behind you. 

But now, you realize, there’s no one to stop you. 

Minho starts pacing the room. He tests the walls, the bunks, the door. It’s solid, no handle on the inside, no weak points. 

He glances at the camera. “They’re watching.”

You follow his gaze. “Well,” you snort, “hope they’re enjoying the show.”

He leans back against the wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to show them I’m the strongest.”

“Please,” you say as you roll your eyes. “Didn’t I have to save you from eating sand a few days ago?”

“As I said before, I had it handled,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You huff a laugh despite yourself. 

Then the silence creeps back in. It’s deafening, the only audible noise being the low hum of the ventilation system. Neither of you acknowledge how tired you are. Or how scared or alone you feel. 

Instead, Minho jerks his chin toward the bunk you’d stolen. “You’re really taking that one?”

“Yep.”

“Fine,” he huffs, dropping down on the other bunk with a metallic creak. 

You sit in silence for a long time, until the sound of the electronic lock on the door buzzes. Both of you sit up instantly, your pulse quickening. 

The door swings open, revealing two WCKD guards donned in black uniforms. They step into the room, and Minho gets to his feet immediately. 

“What do you want?”

Neither guard answers. Instead, one of them points directly at you. 

“You. Up.” 

Your stomach plummets. Slowly, you force yourself to stand. 

Minho looks between the guards, then at you. “Where are you taking her?” No response, as expected. 

“Relax,” you mutter. “Maybe they’re taking me somewhere nicer.”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That’s definitely it.”

One of the guards grabs your arm. Instinctively, you jerk back. Immediately, the grip on your arm tightens and you grit your teeth. 

“Hey—“ Minho goes to interrupt, but the second guard lifts a stun baton ever so slightly. He freezes. You meet his eyes for a brief second, giving him a warning look. 

“Don’t start something,” you say quietly. The guard shoves you towards the door. You twist back just long enough to throw one last jab. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Minho folds his arms over his chest. “Trust me. I’ll enjoy the quiet.” His jaw tightens ever so slightly, though, as the door shuts behind you. 

The cell door opens again about an hour or two later. Or maybe longer, but it’s hard to keep track with no way of knowing the time. 

Minho is on his feet instantly. 

You stumble inside as rough hands shove you forward. The door carelessly slams shut again, and you grumble to yourself quietly as you straighten. 

Minho takes in your appearance, noticing you no longer wear the clothes you came in with. Instead of your jacket and pants that were dirtied by the harshness of the Scorch, you now wear all blue–a dark navy blue t-shirt and lighter pants. Most notably, your shirt has the words ‘PROPERTY OF WCKD’ printed across the back in small but bold letters. On the front, it’s printed in smaller letters on the left chest, along with your number. ‘B-07’. 

Minho frowns. “What’d they do to you?”

You shake your head, sitting down heavily on your bunk. Minho also notices the piece of gauze taped to the inside of your arm. 

“Decontamination. Made me change into this garbage. Took blood, vitals, gave me some sort of injection like they did when we got to the compound in the Scorch. Basic stuff,” you pause. “For now.”

He nods, exhaling slowly. 

And not long after that, they come for him next. 

He returns in similar shape to you. He wears the same outfit, though he has ‘A-07’ printed at the top of his. 

You watch from your bunk as he tugs at the fabric of his shirt, expression morphing into one of disgust. 

“Branding us as shuck property,” he mutters distastefully. 

“Get used to it,” you reply, sighing heavily. “That’s what we are now.”

The rest of the evening, neither of you says much more. You're too tired to care.

The second day, you start arguing again.

By the fifth, it’s constant. The joys of being trapped together with nowhere to go, you suppose.

“You’re pacing again.”

You sit on your bunk, arms folded, watching Minho wear a path into the floor. 

“Thanks, captain obvious,” he snaps, continuing his pacing. “Not like there’s much else to do in here. I’m thinking, anyway.”

“You’re sulking,” you correct.

Minho stops mid-step and glares at you. “I don’t sulk.”

“You absolutely do. You’re doing it right now.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

He scoffs and resumes pacing. “You’re the one sitting here acting like it’s the end of the world.”

You stare at him incredulously. “...Um, we’re prisoners in a WCKD facility,” you say slowly. “How exactly is that not the end of the world?”

“Because they’ll come,” he says immediately.

You laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Are you joking? You mean Thomas? Newt, Frypan?”

Minho’s jaw tightens out of irritation. “Yes. Them.”

“Minho,” you say flatly, voice void of any emotion. “They have no idea where we are, and do you really think WCKD is going to keep us in one place for too long?”

“They’ll figure it out.”

“And how long is that supposed to take?” you snap. “A week? A month? A year?”

Minho finally stops pacing, staring straight through you. “At least I haven’t given up.”

That hits a nerve. You push yourself to your feet, standing quickly. “I haven’t given up.”

“Really? Sure sounds like it.”

“My apologies for being realistic.”

“Listen, I get feeling hopeless, but don’t drag me down with you,” he hisses.

“You’re being delusional!” you fire back, hands running through your hair. 

The room falls silent except for the sound of the two of you breathing heavily. For a moment, it really does feel exactly as it did when you first met him. Except this time, there’s nowhere to walk away. No one to stop you. 

Minho’s glare doesn’t falter, but he looks away first. “Whatever. Talking to you is exhausting.”

You sit back down hard on the bunk. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “Whatever. You’re impossible.” You turn on your side to face the wall, shutting him out completely. 

Even when you close your eyes, the bright fluorescent lighting doesn’t disappear. The shirt you wear on your back feels like it’s suffocating you, the words printed on it making something in your stomach churn. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily. You quickly learn that it never will.

After so many days, long after you’ve lost count, the tests start to blend together. Some are worse than others. 

You’ve already been moved to another facility with all of the other kids, though you knew WCKD wouldn’t be dumb enough to keep you in one place for too long. 

Dark circles have started to form under your eyes. Your hair thins, energy diminishing—so much so that you almost don’t have the energy to argue with your roommate anymore. Key word almost. 

Now you’re the one that’s been pacing. It’s hard not to, when you have so much pent up energy and anxiety with no way to release it like you did in the Maze.

“Weren’t you just yelling at me a few days ago about pacing?” Minho’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You don’t stop. “And?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Then don’t watch me.”

“Hard not to when that’s literally the only thing I can see. The room isn’t very big, if you haven’t noticed.”

You roll your eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but don’t respond.

He pipes up again anyway, in that annoying way of his. “Maybe you should try sitting down. You’re gonna wear yourself out for no reason.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply.

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you’ve got everything under control. Because I know you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he replies. “But I’m not losing it either.”

“I’m not losing it.”

“You’re pretty damn close.”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning slowly. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s obvious.”

“You don’t. You don’t know anything about me,” you hiss, anger bubbling under the surface.

“I know enough,” he says, standing now too. “You were a Keeper, no? You’re the same as me. Same job, same pressure–”

“Then stop acting like I can’t handle it,” you cut him off.

“Then handle it.”

“I am.”

“No,” he says sharply, “you’re trying to control something you can’t.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “And what are you doing?” Your voice drops. He doesn’t answer immediately, causing you to laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

“At least I’m not acting like our lives are already over.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it out loud, shank. It’s obvious enough.”

You shake your head, turning away, dragging a hand through your hair in frustration. “Okay, whatever Minho. I’m done. Don’t talk to me, I’m sick of hearing your voice.”

“Gladly.”

True to his word, he doesn’t speak for the rest of the night into the next day. The room is plunged into a long, uncomfortable silence, but you’re not about to break it due to your pride.

You’re lounging on your bunk, staring at nothing in particular when you hear the buzz of the lock and the door swinging open. You don’t even lift your head. 

“B7. Let’s go.”

You sigh dramatically as you sit up, swinging your legs over the hard mattress. Minho catches your eye for a quick second, but says nothing. 

The guards lead you out, toward whatever your next test will be. 

The lab you’re led into smells like antiseptic and chemicals. 

Before you can even attempt to protest, you’re forced down onto a cold metal table. You yell out in protest, struggling as your limbs are held down and restrained. With your wrists and ankles bound, you’re powerless. Your expression hardens, glaring at the technicians around you.

“You people ever hear of consent?” you mutter, knowing that your consent means nothing in this place. As you expected, no one answers.

A needle slides into the vein in your arm, causing you to flinch. A second one is slid into your other arm, attached to a tube that disappears into a humming machine. You can only imagine what it’ll be used for.

A screen lights up with rows of numbers. One of the doctors in a white coat glances at it, then nods towards another one. “Begin cycle.”

You barely have time to process the words before a mask is placed over your face. No matter how hard you try to fight it, it only takes seconds before your vision goes dark.

Then, suddenly, you jolt awake. It felt like you had only been out for mere seconds, but you know it’s been longer than that. Your head pounds. The room spins slightly as your eyes crack open, the machines beside you beeping steadily.

Your arms are still strapped down. 

Two doctors stand nearby, arguing quietly over a tablet.

“...response levels are good. We can move her into phase two, if this continues to go well.”

You blink slowly, forcing your mind to focus. Tools sit on a sterilized tray on the table next to you. Scalpels. Needles. Other devices that you don’t recognize. Something sharp twists in your chest, something like panic.

You test the restraints on your wrists, hoping something will give. And then you feel it–one of them is loose.

“Hey,” one of the doctors snaps. “She’s awake.”

The other immediately reaches for a syringe. 

“Sedate her again.”

The doctor steps closer, and that same panic rears its head again. You rip your hand free from the loose restraint and swing.

Your fist connects hard with his jaw. He stumbles back, crashing into a table of tools. Metal clatters everywhere, loud clangs echoing through the room.

“Restrain her!” someone shouts. You try to sit up, ripping the IV from your arm as you struggle. A guard grabs your shoulder, and you lash out again out of pure desperation, catching him across the face.

For a brief, glorious moment, chaos erupts in the room. Then, a fist slams into your mouth. 

Pain explodes through your jaw as your head snaps sideways. Your vision bursts into white. Rough hands shove you back onto the table, forcing you down. A syringe plunges into your neck. Cold instantly spreads through your body. 

The last thing your consciousness holds onto is the feeling of warm blood dripping down your chin.

You don’t remember them bringing you back.

Minho does.

The door bursts open, much later than usual. Two guards drag your unconscious body inside and drop you carelessly onto your bunk. You don’t even stir as you hit the mattress, body completely limp. 

Minho is on his feet instantly. 

“What the hell happened to her?” he snarls. He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. The guards leave as quickly as they arrived. 

The door slams shut. Minho kneels beside the bunk, eyes scanning over your face. Your lip is split open, dried blood smeared down your chin. An ugly bruise is already blooming along your jaw. 

His stomach twists. 

“Hey,” he says urgently, shaking your shoulder. “Hey.”

You don’t wake up. His hands curl into fists, fury burning hot and sharp in his chest. 

For the rest of the night, he doesn’t sleep. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, just to make sure you’re still breathing. 

You stir sometime later. 

At first it’s barely noticeable. Your fingers twitch slightly against the mattress, but it catches Minho’s eye immediately. He’s on his feet again in an instant. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, crouching down beside your bunk again. 

Your eyes flutter open. For a moment you just stare at the bottom of the bunk above you, blinking slowly like you’re trying to remember where you are. Then the pain catches up to you. You inhale sharply, one hand flying up towards your mouth.

“Careful,” Minho says, grabbing your wrist gently before you press too hard against your split lip or swelling jaw. Then he realizes what he’s doing and pulls his hand away like your skin burns him. 

You squint at him, still trying to make sense of what was going on. “…Why does my face feel like I got hit by a truck?”

Minho exhales a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

You slowly sit up, wincing as your head throbs. “What happened?” you mumble. 

Minho studies you for a second. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head slightly and immediately regret it. “Not really, no.”

He leans back on his heels. “They brought you back out cold,” he says quietly. “Your lip is busted. And you have a real nice bruise on your jaw.”

“Oh.” Your eyebrows furrow as the memory flickers back in pieces. Then it hits you. “Oh. Shit.”

Minho raises a brow, silently urging you to continue. 

“I may or may not have punched a doctor.”

“You what?”

You rub your face, careful to avoid your jaw. “I woke up and panicked and one of the restraints was loose so I swung,” you say quickly. 

Minho pauses, then lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You punched a WCKD doctor.”

“Well technically two people if you also consider the guard that I swung at.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Might as well not make it easy for them, right?”

“Don’t make it easy, but don’t be a dumb shank. That’s how you get hurt, like you are right now,” he says sharply. “Do you want them to make it worse for you?”

You frown, ignoring his question. Then you take a better look at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tired look on his face. 

“You didn’t sleep.”

Minho shrugs. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?” You raise a brow. 

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Making sure my shuck roommate wasn’t dead.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly, and you look away quickly. 

“…I was fine.”

“Right,” he huffs. “Well I had to be sure. Would probably die of boredom if I didn’t have someone to argue with all the time.”

You can only roll your eyes in response. 

Over time, the hostility between the two of you lessens more and more. When it becomes clear that no one is coming for you, at least not any time soon, you only have each other to lean on. 

It starts as small gestures. Helping each other sit after a particularly hard day, subconsciously looking for injuries on the other. Reminiscing about your friends together, wondering if they’re okay. Sitting beside each other on the floor, backs against the bunk, shoulders brushing slightly. Light touches that ground you. 

Your arguments turn into something sillier, something lighter. 

“You snore, by the way.”

Your eyes snap open. “I do not.”

Minho doesn’t even look at you. Just stares at the ceiling like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You do.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You absolutely do.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows. “I would know if I snored.”

“Right,” he says. “Because people always hear themselves snore.”

“That’s not the point. It has nothing to do with hearing it.”

“It kind of is the point.” He completely ignores the second half of your statement. 

You glare at him across the room. “You’re making it up.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

You grab the thin pillow off of your bunk and throw it at him. It hits him square in the chest. He looks down at it, then back at you. 

“…Really?”

“You deserved that.”

“For telling the truth?”

“For being annoying.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It should be.”

He picks up the pillow, turning it over in his hands like he’s considering something. 

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t throw that back.”

“I wasn’t going to. Matter of fact, I might just keep it.”

“Minho.”

You stare at him. He stares back. Without warning, he tosses it. You barely have time to react before it hits you in the face. 

You drop back onto your bunk with an annoyed groan, clutching the pillow to your chest. “You’re the worst.”

“And you snore.”

“I do not snore!”

“Do too.”

And then, Minho had been right before. WCKD was making it worse for you. When they came to get you for testing, you were handcuffed every time without fail. You always had some sort of restraints on you, and not once were they loose after the stunt you pulled previously. 

There was one time where you were stupid enough to fight against the guards taking you out of pure anger, and you and Minho ended up with a taser in your sides. You for fighting, and Minho for getting angry and threatening them. 

After that, you stopped fighting. There was no point. 

Currently, you sit on the cold floor with your back against your bunk, gaze fixed on the wall across from you. 

Minho has been watching you for the last fifteen minutes. 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. No response. 

“Hey, earth to runner.”

Still nothing. 

“You just gonna stare at the wall all day?” he asks, frustration creeping into his tone. 

“What’s the point?” you finally speak. 

Minho frowns. “What?”

“This.” You gesture weakly around the room. It’s a different room now, yet same concept—WCKD had moved you again. 

“The room?”

“All of it.”

Minho pushes himself off his bunk. “Don’t start that.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Start what?”

“The whole ‘we’re doomed’ klunk.”

You look up at him through tired eyes. “You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You stand suddenly, irritation surging through you. “They’re draining us, Minho!” Your voice echoes throughout the barely furnished room. “And that’s all they’re going to keep doing.”

He crosses his arms, unmoved by your outburst. “I’m well aware of what they’re doing. And until we’re out of here, you need to try not giving up.”

“You still think we’re getting out of here?” you ask, disbelieving. You know you sound hopeless, like you’ve completely given up, and maybe you have. 

“We will.”

“You don’t know that!” your voice cracks, barely noticeable but still there. “They’re not letting us go, and I have a hard time believing anyone is going to find us. We’re just lab rats now.”

Minho’s expression hardens. “Stop talking like that.”

“Like what? Being realistic?”

“No, like you’ve already given up.”

You throw your hands up, laughing bitterly, but say nothing more.

He takes a step closer. “You think I’m just going to sit here and let them win?”

“They already have!”

The room goes silent. Your chest heaves, and Minho just stares at you. Then, he snaps.

“Stop acting like you’re already dead!”

You stare at him. He looks angry, but there’s something else there too. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you. You, who carried enough sass in the Scorch for the both of you, who didn’t let anything get in your way, whose spirit couldn’t be broken because that’s how runners operated. 

And WCKD was taking that from you. 

You break your stare, opting to look down at your hands instead. “I’m tired, Minho.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“No,” you say softly. “I mean..tired.” Your voice cracks slightly again. “Tired of them taking us. Tired of waiting. Tired of wondering if the next time they drag me out there is the one where I don’t come back.”

Minho’s anger dissipates. He takes another step closer so that he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Look at me,” you say and laugh bitterly. “I used to run through a maze full of monsters every day,” you continue. “And somehow that felt easier than this.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment as you try to still your shaking hands. Then, he says your name so gently that it startles you into looking up at him. He looks at you for a second, then does something you’d never expect him to do in a million years. 

He pulls you into a hug. 

It’s unsure at first, like he’s worried that you’re going to fight it and start swinging or start cussing him out. 

Instead, you melt into it. Your entire body sags against him, arms snaking around his midsection. His grip tightens once he realizes that you’re not going to protest, resting his chin on top of your head. 

You strangely find yourself hoping that he doesn’t let go. Until now, you didn’t realize how badly you craved this kind of comfort. It feels foreign to you, but your walls have been broken down enough that you welcome it eagerly. 

“You’re still here,” he murmurs. “After everything they’ve done.”

You don’t respond. 

“You keep getting up. You keep fighting,” he continues. “That’s what a runner does.”

All you can do is nod. 

After that, the two of you only grow closer. 

You constantly find comfort in each other's arms, especially after the hard days. It felt strange at first, but now it just feels routine. 

It was especially necessary after WCKD moved you to the Last City. 

On the journey there, you realized that Minho was right. Thomas and the rest of the Gladers did come for you. You could hear them pounding on the metal of the box car of the train, shouting Minho’s name. 

And you were hopeful, until WCKD pulled you and Minho from the box car and moved you to a different one before the Gladers could take off with it. 

You understood why they moved Minho, but why they moved you, you weren’t sure. 

Fury flooded through you while you watched Janson walk around from your spot in the dirt, asking how many they took. He approached the two of you with a smug look on his face that you wish you could’ve wiped right off of him. 

“We’re searching the area, but they’re probably long gone by now,” one of the men had said to Janson. 

The Rat Man looked down on the two of you with a sneer, like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on his shoe. “Oh no they’re not going anywhere. He didn’t get what he really wanted,” he had said. 

When you reach the Last City, the two of you are thrown in a room once again. 

This one is smaller, more confined. It’s narrow, with bunks on both sides of the wall, though it’s only the two of you in there. 

You’d be lying if being in the Last City didn’t make you nervous. The facility is huge, and you can’t imagine what their plans might be bringing you here. 

As it turns out, especially with the threat of Thomas looming, they want to extract the cure faster than ever before. 

The simulations are horrible and cruel. 

It’s strange, the way your mind and body are constantly in fight or flight. More so your mind, because almost every test or simulation they bring you to, you’re sedated. 

The first time they put you and Minho into your respective simulations, they bring you to the same room. It was unusual for them to do so, and that’s what makes you nervous. It isn’t a huge room, but it still has that sterile, white feel to it that you’ve become accustomed to. There’s a large window overlooking the room, which you can only assume is for onlookers to watch you. The thought makes you shudder. 

There are two tables awaiting the two of you, directly across from each other. While you’re used to restraints at this point, you notice something a little different about these ones. Large harnesses, almost like ones you would see on a rollercoaster, with what looked like a headpiece attached to them. 

You share a worried glance with Minho. However, if he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. You wish you could say the same about yourself.

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out why they’d brought you in together. 

You’re both strapped down to your individual tables, and they’re tilted up until you’re upright. Now the harness makes sense.

WCKD doctors and technicians waste no time. They grab supplies, moving around you and Minho, poking and prodding with needles–nothing unusual. But then you see the large, dialysis looking machine next to you whir to life, and your heart drops. 

Your panic only rises as they attach more tubing to you. Then, one of the technicians hits a button on the machine. 

Minho’s chest tightens, watching as dark red begins to move through the clear tubing. It flows quickly, cycling through the machine, moving through the other tube back into your body.

He meets your wide eyes, panic written all over your face in a way he truly hasn’t seen before. Not like this. Not when you can usually hide it behind sarcasm or anger or jabs. This was different. It was raw, unbridled fear.

“Minho,” you swallow hard. “Minho, what are they doing?

He can’t give you a clear answer to that. Instead, he pulls hard against his restraints. “I don’t know,” he says, voice tight. “Just–hey, look at me.”

You do. Your breathing is uneven now, chest rising and falling too fast against the harness across it. Personnel adjust the contraption on your head to their liking, wires and electrodes attached to your forehead. You try to glance sideways at them, just to get a glimpse at what they’re doing.

“Look at me.” Minho’s voice snaps you back to him.

Your eyes flicker back to him, trying to focus on his face and his face only.

“There you go,” he says, softer now. “You’re good. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” you choke out. Never in a million years would you have admitted that to anyone in the past, but you don’t care anymore. You don’t care. You’re terrified.

“Yes, you are.”

You appreciate the effort of him trying to be reassuring, but it hardly works. Especially when a doctor steps closer to you, large syringe in hand.

“Minho.” Your voice is smaller now, quieter. “I don’t want to..” you trail off.

Minho swallows. “I know.”

“I don’t want to go under again–”

“I know,” he repeats, voice strained.

Your eyes stay locked onto his. For a moment, everything else disappears. The machines, the guards, the doctors. It’s just you and him.

“Stay with me,” he says.

You shake your head weakly. “I’m trying. I’m scared, Minho.”

Those words coming from your mouth hit him harder than anything else. He leans forward as much as his restraints will allow. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

The only thing you can give him in response is a weak nod, before the syringe is plunged into your skin. Your body tenses sharply momentarily, hands curling into tight fists. Then, your movements falter. The sedative works quickly, and your eyes roll into the back of your head seconds later no matter how hard you try to fight it.

When the machines beside you beep steadily, indicating stable vitals, they move onto Minho. They hook him up in the same exact fashion as you, yet he hardly notices. His focus is solely fixed on you.

“Simulation initiated,” someone calls out from behind a computer.

Minho’s eyes narrow, still looking at you. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary happening quite yet.

Suddenly, just as they’re about to put him under, your body jerks against the restraints. Minho involuntarily flinches, not expecting the movement. Your chest rises and falls quicker, sweat forming a thin sheen on your forehead.

The needle hovers over his skin, but is not yet injected.

A scream tears itself from your throat, loud and terrified.  

He thrashes against his restraints. “What the hell?! Stop it!” he shouts, but it falls on deaf ears. 

His heart thuds against his ribcage. Horrifyingly, he can’t look away. Can’t stop hearing it echo in his ears. You’re screaming like you’re being torn apart, and they’re making him watch.

That’s when he realizes what they’re doing. This is purposeful—maybe even punishment. Control. 

Break one, break the other.

With despair, Minho remembers that WCKD has been watching. Your whole time here, they’ve been watching through the cameras placed in the corners of your rooms. They’ve been watching your relationship develop.

And now, they're using it to their advantage.

The needle finally pierces his skin. As he slips into his own unconsciousness, the last thing he hears is your screams. And the last thing he realizes is that WCKD makes sure of it.

-

Your simulations are filled with the Maze. Being hunted by Grievers. By Cranks in the Scorch. 

Your friends, paired with one of your biggest fears: not being able to save them. Not being strong enough. 

Then, Minho is there, strangely enough. 

And you get to watch him die, over and over again, in a dream that you have no control over and can’t voluntarily wake up from.

-

When the two of you are returned to your room, barely conscious and dragged in, it’s silent. What is there to say, really? You both had just been through one of the most traumatizing things you can remember, and it topped the Maze by a long shot. For you, at least.

You drag yourself to your bunk, climbing in, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your head still feels heavy from the sedatives, and when you lay down, it feels like your brain is rattling around in your skull. You figure with how tired your body feels, sleep will come easily.

It doesn’t. 

Every time you close your eyes, all you see are flashes of memories. Memories that aren’t real, and you know they aren’t real, but they haunt you just the same.

Over the next few days, it dawns on you quickly that the simulations are the quickest method of extracting the serum in large quantities, and the method that’s closest to the Maze. Serum extraction of this nature requires stimulation of neural pathways, you had heard one of the doctors say.

They don’t take you together anymore. Once WCKD made sure that Minho saw what they wanted him to see, it didn't matter anymore. They just wanted to make sure you both knew that they were using your relationship to their advantage; that they knew you weren’t just enemies anymore. You figure that’s precisely why the two of you were roomed together all this time, why WCKD took you off the train with Minho. It’s cruel, but that’s all WCKD knows how to be.

The next time Minho comes back from having more serum sucked from his body, you almost think he’s dead for a moment.

You don’t look up right away when the door opens. Your gaze is fixed on a small, insignificant crack in the wall opposite to you, like you could memorize it if you try hard enough. That has become your thing lately. Anything to stay grounded.

The sound of boots dragging against the floor makes you blink. You turn your head, and still. Minho is being dragged into the room, completely deadweight. The guards drop him carelessly onto his bunk, then leave as quickly as they came. 

For a second, you think they might’ve killed him. He’s so still, laying on his side, eyes unfocused. Your chest tightens. “Minho?”

No response.

You push yourself to your feet, despite your legs protesting. Ignoring it, you cross the room and crouch beside him.

“Minho?”

Still nothing. 

He’s breathing, though. Shallow and uneven, but there. Relief hits you like a truck. You hesitate for a moment, then reach out, hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Nothing. No snarky comment, no annoyed response, no anything. Just silence.

You swallow. “Okay…” 

Your stomach twists. You don’t like this at all. Trying again, your voice comes out softer. “Minho.”

His gaze doesn’t move, doesn’t shift towards you. He doesn’t acknowledge you at all. You stand there for a moment, unsure. This is new. Not the exhaustion or the silence, but the emptiness. Like whatever they’d done to him had scraped something out and hadn’t bothered putting it back. 

You rub your hands together, suddenly restless. Your chest feels tight. 

Then, you move before you can think about it too much. You climb onto the bunk beside him, careful, slow. 

He doesn’t react at first.

You hesitate for half a second, then you shift closer, laying down beside him. You’re facing him, looking into his eyes, though he doesn’t meet yours. “...You’re kinda freaking me out,” you mutter. 

No response, again. You exhale shakily. “Great. Cool. Love that.” You look at him again, and something in your chest feels like it cracks a little. “Okay. We’re not doing this.”

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for him. One of your arms snakes around him, hand feeling the warmth of his back through his shirt. You hesitate again, but your hand trails up and down his back in what you hope is a soothing motion.

“Minho,” you whisper after a while, after he still hasn’t reacted to your presence. “You’re here, right?”

Silence.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Don’t do this,” you murmur. “Don’t..not be here.” You never thought you’d say it, but you miss him arguing with you right about now. You miss his sassy remarks, miss him being the one to not give up. There’s a part of you that wishes he would shove you off of the bunk right now, just so you’d have something to yell at him about.

“You can’t shut down on me like this. I can’t do this alone,” you say suddenly, quietly, not really meaning to. But it’s the truth, whether you like it or not. You can’t do this without him. 

And then, a shift. Minho’s muscles shift under your hands, and you can hear a sharp intake of breath as his breath hitches. You freeze for a moment.

Then he pulls you in hard. A startled noise tumbles from your lips as his arms wrap around you, pulling you fully against him. Tight. Almost too tight. Like if he let go, you’d disappear.

“Minho–” you squeak out, but his grip only tightens, crushing and desperate. 

His face buries into your neck, breathing uneven. “I’m here,” he rasps. “I’m here, I’m here–”

You almost sag in relief at the sound of his voice. You don’t hesitate, clinging back just as tight, hands fisting into his shirt. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

He shifts, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. His arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten again like he needs to convince himself that you’re real. That he’s real, and that everything about this is real.

His mouth opens, as if he’s going to say something, but he falters. He starts to speak, but he cuts himself off as if he can’t bear to finish the thought.

You don’t push. You just shake your head, shushing him. “Minho, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

He only nods, one of his hands sliding up to the back of your neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of your neck. It slides down after a moment, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. The other stays locked across your back, keeping you anchored to him.

The two of you stay like that. Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heart still hammer against his rib cage. His hand shifts slightly against your back, not loosening, just adjusting like he needs to make sure you’re still there. Still his to hold onto.

You don’t move away, don’t even consider it. “I’m not going anywhere,” you finally say quietly.

Minho lets out a shaky breath at that. “Good.” His voice was softer now. He peers down at you finally, you can feel it. You look up to meet his eyes. 

That must’ve been all he needed to see, because he pulls you back into him. Not as frantic this time, but still tight and still close. 

He wasn’t trying to stop himself from falling apart and unraveling anymore. He was just trying to hold onto something that kept him together.

And you were doing the exact same thing. 

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ would try his luck. you and him were in a thursday and friday class, and he'd use his every waking opportunity to grab your attention. flirts, charms, everything infuriating in between. he caught you in town once, rushing to get to campus and of course, offered you a ride.

“c'mon babydoll. is being late to class really better than takin' a ride with me?” he'd grin.

you'd flip him off. hiss another rejection. you knew about guys like him. you saw him in the hallways. loud, boisterous, flirting with any pair of pretty eyes that looked his way.

it confused you though. why'd he only flirt with you on thursdays and fridays? also where were his glasses?

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ would go on to be your enemy of the semester. ever since your altercation in class, he's made it his personal life goal to hate you with his entire being. unfortunately for him, you were also smart. but a bit too confident for your own good, it seemed. did you really think you could compete with him? and so began the most fiery academic rivalry in history.

you'd be neck in neck. fighting for first place as professor's pet and battling it out on the grade scoreboards.

he'd get an assignment back with a stellar 99%, only to look over at your measly 94%. he'd grin, like an asshole. “must be hard being such a loser, huh?”

only to crumple his next assignment into tight fists when you managed to get just one percentage higher than him.

he'd exchange banter with you. debate you in class. call you a brat when you tried to prove him wrong and challenge him.

you were brilliant and unfortunately, beautiful. satoru didn't know what was happening to him. it slowly became something that wasn't just academics. and that terrified him.

as for you? you were in the same boat. the last thing you wanted was to fall in love with this asshole. but you had to admit, he looked cuter when he decided to wear his glasses and tone down the fuckboy act every monday and tuesday.

why'd he switch so drastically through the week? what a weirdo.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ listened to his brother rant about the irritating girl that was his astrophysics desk partner. about how she was so unnecessarily rude and even more audacious. satoshi couldn't help but grin. was satoru, his loser of a brother, actually finding love? and when he found out that the girl in question was you? he couldn't blame him. he's been trying for months to get your number, let alone get up your skirt. he dubbed it as competitiveness. he's never had a girl reject him and thus— it's made him a little obsessed. he couldn't stop thinking about you. in bed, in the shower, hell, seeing you walk around campus and not even look at him was torture.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated himself for the way he turned out. he's not sure how it happened. just one day after a heated debate with you, he'd stormed off back to his dorm. collapsed in his desk. shoved his glasses into his hair. and soon, angry scribbling in his notes became desperate jerks of his hand as he fucked his fist. to the thought of you. that grating voice, that beautifully sharp mind. everything. he hated himself. hated that he was thinking about this. he wasn't satoshi. he didn't want girls like this— he sure as hell didn't fuck his fist this needy to one either. and yet when he spurted all over his hand, panting hard and whispering your name, it felt oddly right. it scared him.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ dragged satoru out at the end of semester to a party. told himself he was being a good brother. might as well try to get along, right? but satoru was so boring. he didn't drink, didn't chat, just sat in some corner with his headset on and scrolled through his phone. and satoshi? he was all over the place. bouncing and bubbling, bumping and grinding. a red solo cup in his hand. keeping as far as fucking away from his twin as possible. fuck. why'd he even bring him here?

his irritation washed away the second he saw you, however. dolled up, dangerous, looking like both sin and sugar. he left behind his friends, ignored whatever girl tried to come his way.

he found you at the drinks table. propped his forearm on it and grinned at your little glare.

“this isn't really your scene, babydoll. tagged along with someone?”

“a few friends.”

“wow. so she can be polite.”

you rolled your eyes and noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. seemed that the fuckboy persona was on for the night. you bit back your questions and swirled your drink in your cup.

“you never give up, do you?” you mulled.

his head took a charming curve as he sipped his drink.

“not when I want something, no.” those blue eyes raked down your frame. tracing every curve. familiarising every inch.

he dared to lean closer. white lashes batting as his grin sets into a stunning smile.

“especially when that something is as a pretty as you.”

your heart fluttered. you shouldn't have talked to him. shouldn't have kept talking to him.

you're not sure how it happened. maybe finally accepting his flirts. maybe after months of touching yourself to the academic rivalry. this heated push and pull between the both of you.

you should have known better, but— you did it. you let satoshi take you to his dorm.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ has been around the block. his touch dripped with experience. he unclasped your bra with ease. barely missed a beat in kisses. large hands roaming your sweet body he's been dreaming about since the start of semester. not an inch of hesitance in his fingertips as he slipped under your dress and dragged your damp panties down. “such a pretty girl,” he crooned to your ear. how many girls had he said that to? how many did he mean it?

he's been after you for months. chasing, wanting— yearning. satoshi never yearned. he got everything he ever wanted in life.

maybe that's why he loved having to work for you. for your smooth body on his bed, opened up and so soaked for him. maybe that's why he actually took his time. mouthing on your skin. burying his face in your cunt.

he only ever ate women out as a way to get them ready. courtesy, if anything. but now? fuck, he's never actually feasted on a girl. with his hands, calloused from endless hours on his bike, dragging your thighs over. trapping you. mouth messily moving on your slit. slurping, sucking, shaking his head and nudging his nose into your clit.

he fucked you on his tongue. made you cum on it more than any girl ever has. and as you gripped his hair and whined for him? not some prissy comment or attitude? he almost came in his pants.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't even care less if you didn't suck him off. he didn't even want you to. he needed to be inside of you. needed to hold you down and fuck you into his sheets. make the girl who was so unattainable finally his.

the second he was buried to the hilt inside your welcoming pussy— he couldn't breathe. you were hot, tight, suffocating him with your dripping slick and clenching cunt. he's had many girls in this position before. but no one looked up at him with those eyes. no one sounded this sweet. made him lose his fucking mind.

satoshi wasn't gentle. he couldn't be. the second his tip smooched your cervix, his hands clamped on your waist as his hips started snapping. hard, controlled. an experienced rhythm that stuffed all his inches deep into your gooey heat and meshed your clit with his pelvis.

“fuuckk, babydoll,” he groaned from the back of his throat. hunching over you. one hand gripped your hip while the other slipped around to cup the back of your head.

he was losing himself. losing his fucking mind. the bed creaked. headboard tapped. but your pretty moans were all he was focused on. your sweet whimpers and little whines as he alternated rhythms. rolled his hips. went from grinding to humping to thrusting, until your toes curled and your back lurched off of the bed.

pretty nails down his back. teary doll eyes on him as your slick dripped down his balls and splattered all over his thighs with each firm thrust.

your lips parted. eyes glossed. he saw it. cradled your head close and slipped a thumb to your clit. he knew what it meant. saw his name on your tongue.

a groan built on his. thrusts surging into wet, rushed slaps pounding against your ass.

“say it for me baby. c'mon, say my name.”

“s-sat— sato—. . .” your eyes fluttered. head thrown back. loud and needy, your moan broke into the air.

“satoru!”

and broke satoshi's mind.

you didn't know any better. they're both reffered to as “gojo” in class and you've only heard one other person refer to one of them as “satoru”. you thought that was his name. thought they were one person.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ frozen. stiffened mid thrust as the last syllables stung his ear. satoru. satoru. his twin brother? did you really just fucking call for his twin while he's balls deep inside of you. making your cunt cream and cry for him. making you— wait.

didn't satoru say you were rude to him for no reason at all?

satoshi's mind worked fast. piecing the puzzle and timeline together. you confused satoru for him back then. he didn't know whether to be amused or angry.

amused because, how in the hell did you think they were the same person?

angry because, he's the one who's been working his ass off for you attention— and it's his brother's name that you call instead?

either way, he grinned. halfway a threat and a taunt. “oh?” he crooned, bucking his hips hard into yours so that his fully seathed cock dragged on all of your sweet spots.

he leaned over you. white hair dusting over icy blues. your jaw trapped in his strong hand.

“you want toru baby? want me to go get him for you?”

your confused look almost had him cackling. before he slammed! into you again. hands bundling your thighs. grin turned sharp. he yanked you down to choke your cunt on his cock and jerked forward. pounding you into the mattress and snapping the headboard into the wall as your moans pitched into cries.

“sato—!”

he gripped your jaw tight. shoved two fingers on your tongue before you said his name again and made satoshi fuck you until you were a limp cumdump.

“satoshi.” he corrected with a pointed sneer. his rabid pace not once letting up. frustration pulsed into every vein of his ramming cock.

“satoshi. satoshi.” he grit, punctuating each repeat of his name with a rough thrust.

“satoshi's the one fucking you. not satoru. satoru's my fuckin' twin. I'm the one fucking this pretty cunt stupid. I'm the one you should be calling for.”

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't give you time to process the fact that you'd thought he and his brother were one person. egged on from the frustration of wanting someone more than he's ever wanted anyone— only to have them moan out his twin's name— spurred his mind feral.

he pounded you into his sheets. pummeling your poor pussy until you squirted all over him. again, and again, and again— until you were saying his name. whining his name. sobbing his name.

he's not sure how many rounds he fucked you through. three? four? he pushed and pulled you into whatever position he could think of. threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked you until your eyes crossed. shoved you onto your stomach and pounded against your ass until your drool stained his pillow.

he couldn't care about finally having you anymore. if you wanted to act dumb— he'd fuck you stupid. fuck his silly girl who couldn't tell the obvious difference between him and his brother who actively despises him.

he made sure it was his name you knew. made sure you knew it was him inside of you. his cock making you cum. his hands holding you through it. and for extra measure? he sucked his name in hickeys on your collarbone.

TOSHI in blushing bruises.

he made sure to cum inside. creampie you nice and full until it was dripping. then snatched your panties and wiped the mess clean with them. he stashed them away for later.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ stirred the next morning to you shuffling out of his arms. he tried to pull you in, kiss your head, but you were up and frantic. he cracked an eye open, watching as you shuffled out of bed and searched for your clothes. you looked almost panicked. he couldn't help but grin at the sight of your nude body prancing around his room, littered in all the marks he'd given you.

he propped his head onto one of his hands, brow arched and grin audacious. “something wrong, babydoll?”

oh, there's that glare he loved. only now you looked utterly embarrassed. flushed face and glossy eyes as you clumsily pulled on your clothes.

“shut up.” you mumbled, but made the mistake of looking in the mirror. you saw it. hickies spelling out his name. the night crashed back into you.

right. you thought the twins were one fucking person.

satoshi could only grin. tilting his head and pouting. as if he felt sorry for you.

“awww baby, embarrassed? 's okay. it was cute.” he sat up, raking his eyes that grew progressively darker down your wrecked frame.

“just a reminder. that it wasn't toru fucking that sweet cunt. toshi bruised those pretty thighs up, kay?”

he snickered as you tossed a pillow at him. still called you babydoll as you called him creep.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ texted his brother the same day.

“the fuck did you dip to? could have told me.”

he nearly broke his phone at the reply.

“sorry. your little rival was all over me. had to take care of her.”

satoru stared at his phone. telling himself it was fine. that he shouldn't be mad. he didn't feel a fucking thing for you— why should he care?

maybe because satoshi always got the girls.

maybe because he hated him.

he shoved his phone into his pocket. got up and went to class. you weren't looking at him. guilt riddled in your stare that remained forward.

fucking. great. of course you were just like every other girl on this campus.

he was in a mood all day. avoided his brother like he always did and kept to himself. all he wanted was to get to his dorm, kick off his shoes, study, maybe read some manga, play on his switch.

so imagine his surprise when he found a crumpled pair of cum-filled panties strewn over his bed and heard the familiar engine rev from outside his window?

it didn't take a genius to know whose those were.

his hands trembled. glasses fogged and slipped down his nose. red swarmed his vision.

satoru didn't quite know how to throw a punch, but he's never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

ᝰ.☆ enjoyed this piece? consider supporting or commissioning me <3 part two coming soon!

Oh.

You’re jerking your head up to meet his eyes, clearing not expecting of the man you knew not to be a social butterfly. And he’s looking away from you just as quickly—“I-I mean-” There was the socially awkward mess you’d forcefully introduced yourself to tonight. “Forget I said anything- there must have been a miscalculation on my part, I didn’t…”

Though you can’t help but notice that Toji’s ears were…bright red. Redder than even his flannel jacket. 

Oh. 

You knew he wasn’t the type to flirt around.

You knew he wasn’t the type to even get approached- though not for a lack of anything, Toji Fushiguro was hot. To say the least.

Shaggy black bangs that covered part of his glasses. Large hands made to carry numerous books (and perhaps something else…should you let your mind wander).

He towered above most of the campus, with shoulders for daaaaays—no matter how much he hunched them, Toji couldn’t hide just how sculpted they were. And not to mention, the way his biceps would flex any time he raised his hand to answer a question (which was…for every question) made it such a treat to sit behind him during Professor Yaga’s lectures. Beauty and brains?

Somehow, it seems that half the campus had decided that that was a deadly combination, and they could only admire from so close before they suffered from heart palpitations. And the other half had decided that perhaps such a combination really was fatal- and were much too intimidated to try and talk to the man.

And so he waded through the throngs of people, unknowing or perhaps uncaring of their silent admiration. 

Not that his quietly intense demeanor gave off many welcoming vibes, either way.

Toji Fushiguro had one love, and one love only: his books.

Ultimately, it meant that the three seats upon the left and right of Toji were consistently empty for whichever class he sat in.

And you felt for him - you really did. So you tried to sit next to him in whichever classes you shared, though you were yet to have the man make any attempts at friendship. 

And neither had you.

So you’d been content.

Until tonight, that is.

When you’re finding yourself dragging this tall, buff nerd into the frathouse bathroom - it was your luck that there wasn’t a line. Because you don’t think either one of you could wait. Pushing him inside-

Right before the door slams shut and you’re finding the roles fucking reversed.

And you’re finding yourself manhandled in the direction of the sink - front shoved against the porcelain surface, Toji’s weight pinning you down from behind. Panting. Ravenous. He steadies himself with a hand on your hips. 

His other hand reaching in front of you and stuffin’ into your panties. His raging erection pressing against your ass cheeks.

Toji’s calloused finger swipe up your glossy slit and he moans- “A-are you this fuckin’ wet for me—?” Voice breathy as though he couldn’t believe it himself.

And you can only nod. “Who else would it be for, Toji?”

“Well…” He doesn’t answer - he can’t. Because at that very moment, Toji Fushiguro is given the privilege to feel just how sinfully your cunt can clench ‘round his thick fingertips—and his brain goes into overdrive wondering just how cutely you’d squeeze his aching cock.

Before long, he’s hooking a hand underneath your left knee and guiding it up onto the sink. Letting you perch there- “Now—easy f’me, girl.” Toji’s rasps ruffle the sequins on your dress- one that you’re finding hitched up from your lower half. In fact—he’s baring you all the way until your panties. Moving them aside with a finger just the barest inch-

Enough for the bespectacled man to catch side of your glistening wet pussy and groan-

“Neither of us are making it out of this alive.”

And it doesn’t take long before you’re feeling Toji’s long, luuuscious shaft start to sandwich between your pussylips. Honed tip. Bawling divot. They were just so puckered and sensitive- even the barest lines of his veins leaving you gasping. “Fuck-”

“Easy there-” That familiar tone of his echoes, sounding even more out-of-breath inside this bathroom. Toji hooks his chin into the crook of your neck, “Easy—” His swollen, reddened tip starts circling your entrance- and your head spins at how he probes into you. “Easy there- now- breathe-”

“What do you…oh, fuck.” Mewls shattering in your throat- you feel the sheer streeeeetch of Toji’s incredible length.

Just so thick. Just so heated.

You knew that it was always the quiet ones…but fuck.

It felt as though he was melting your walls around him - feeling every throb he was letting out at the top of your head. Your teeth were on edge, and your body was torn between wanting to take him even deeper and bouncing away into safety. For your mere sanity—could he even fit?

“O-of course, I can.” Toji’s guttural answer comes - and it’s only then that you’re truly realizing that you’d said that out loud. Fuck- had you been so dumbified by his mere size? That you were now babbling away as Toji sunk inside—

And he’s ruthless in his swipes- hard, technical. “It’s gonna fit.” It felt as though Toji Fushiguro had already studied every single inch of you, and he was now hurtlin’ away his rock-hard tip straight into where you needed him the most. “It will fit.”

He sounded so sure of himself - as easy as passing every finals exam with flying colors.

Toji pushes his glasses up his nosebridge and angles his cock even more viciously. He rubs that bawling divot of his against the roof of your cunt- messing around some of those tender sweet spots that you’d always kept hidden. And then glide-glide-gliiiiding down to purposefully massaging every nook n’ cranny of your walls against those prominent veins of his-

“Fuck—” In absolutely no time- he’s managed to locate your pulsing g-spot. As though drawn in by a magnet, Toji’s then following the shivers of your body to target that exact spot. Ramming and ramming his heavy cockhead between your pussylips. “H-how are you even-”

“Hmmm?” Nearly purring, Toji grazes his cheek down the column of your throat. “Speak up, doll.”

“How-”

“Actually…” You could hear the smile in his tone. “-raise your hand to speak.”

You gape. And that rebellious streak within you makes you open your mouth with a protest- but soon enough Toji’s darting his tip away from your g-spot to start thumpin’ at your cervix.

Lengthy glides that end up swabbing your sweetest spots, before thrashing straight to your womb.

It was as if he was teaching you exactly what you’d be missing if it weren’t for him and fuck- if that wasn’t a compelling argument…

Belatedly, you raise your hand. “How are you even this good, Toji?”

And that makes him raise a dark brow- “This good?” He asks - mostly to himself - and the utter botched breath in his tone makes shivers sprint down your spine. Toji watches his plump tip disappear in and out of your cunt a few times- before suddenly he’s letting out a startled laugh. “This good?”

Before you can do anything about it, Toji lifts his hand off of your waist and ends up smushing your cheeks together. There was nothing gentle about it - Toji was mean. Toji was trying to leave marks.

So that everyone who sees the two of you walk out of the bathroom together can look at your pretty face and know that that was him. That pretty set of lips- both ones.

He’s holding your face up to the sink mirror, his eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface. You’re realizing with a jolt that Toji’s eyes were the most intense shade of emerald green - and they were currently narrowing down at you—“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Wh-what?” You’re managing to sputter out.

His grip slightly tightens- and his cock starts hitting you twofold. “See it?” Those handsome features of his are just irresistible, making it so difficult for you to tear your eyes away from him. “Feel it?” And his other hand loosens from your clit to glide down your tummy - where you felt utterly bloated with all his bulging, massive inches. Throbbing. “Feel it?”

And you can only nod and nod-

“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”

“Y-you—”

And in that very moment, his fat cock bottoms out with a lecherous slurp!

“That’s what I thought.” Toji sounds so content with himself- slightly slurring at the ends of his sentence. “And what’s my name?”

“Toji-” You’re gasping out. Your cries were echoing so loud inside the bathroom that you’re sure some of the bystanders outside were hearing - but you didn’t care. Not when Toji was reeling his sloppy hips back and stutterin’ a few direct hits to your bruised g-spot—“Toji Fushiguro—!”

“And who said a nerd can’t fuck?”

He snickers to himself.

Right before he’s starting to fuck into you like a damn animal- spotting every ounce of space inside you with his dribbling pre. The length of his cock was nearly a blur between your legs, and Toji was just drunk on the thought of having you. 

On the thought of wanting to have you for so long now-

“I studied, y’know?” Toji whispers against the shell of your ear, words clammy. “I studied every inch of the human anatomy-” He presses a kiss—then a bite. “I studied eeeeevery nook and cranny-” Swirlin’ his rude cockhead around just in time, “Every nerve in the clitorourethrovaginal complex and every crevice-”

“F-fuuuuck-”

“Every statistic for the Gräfenberg spot, and every spot where it couldn’t be-” He pinches your clit. He’s thrashin’ his hips against yours so hard that it sends your heels flying off of the cool tile. “Every stretch of your rugae and every little clench-”

As if on cue, you’re clenching around him. Embracing him with your puckered pussylips until Toji himself sees white- “Toji, it feels so-”

“Good.” He’s furiously pushing his glasses up, not daring to miss a single second or squeeze of your cunt. “Because I know this pussy in and out—” The nerdy man lands a few more sloppy strokes, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to hold back a whimper. Locking eyes with you through the mirror- “And who’s fucking you?”

“You, Toji—” Your eyes scrunch shut as you’re crashing into a sudden high- taking your entire body by surprise. Those white-hot bolts of pleasure start up where he was plunging into you, before building up through the rest of your body.

Your toes curl. You’re seeing white.

So strong that it leaves you nearly numb.

Nearly stupid- unable to do anything but grip onto the sink and bounce your hips back down. Right as Toji was fucking you through peak after peak- “Toji—fuck, Toji-”

And your ears are still ringing by the time the bathroom door clicks open.

Too late, you’re sloppily swivelling around to face the faux-blond man standing at the doorway. Not that you had anything against people that dyed their hair - but you did have something against Naoya Zenin.

Your jaw drops, “You-”

His furious eyes dart between you and Toji. “You two-”

“Take a hike, fucker.” Toji’s gruff tone echoes from behind, and you’re noticing that he doesn’t slow down for a single second as he talks to Naoya. In fact, the bespectacled man plants a sudden spank on the side of your ass and speeds up—“You’ll see enough of her soon at family functions- as my girlfriend, of course.”

Fuming, Naoya doesn’t speak a word before the door slams shut.

And it takes the tremble inside the bathroom for you to speak- “Wait…family functions? Do you know him or something?”

And Toji looks at you squarely. “We’re related.”

Oh.

“And don’t think that I was b-bluffing about the girlfriend part.”

Oh.

He stutters at that?

.

.

.

After a considerable few years of teaching, Masamichi Yaga has learned not to be surprised. 

It was inevitable, of course—the same old campus, the same old syllables, the same old faces that inevitably get replaced by those rather similar. All bored and slightly hungover.

Though that’s not to say that Yaga doesn’t love teaching or his students - in fact, he can empathize with those that aren’t exactly the keenest on learning Veterinary Science at 8AM. He empathizes - really - and he does his best to keep the process as pain-free as possible until they’ve earned their credits for the semester. 

And then again, that’s also not to say that there aren’t a few students who always…stand out. Not in terms of looks or aesthetic, but rather in the work they do.

In the questions they answer- and the questions they ask.

In the hours they put in.

In the textbooks they keep as close as their hearts.

And who better to illustrate this point than Toji Fushiguro? Though it was such a shame that he wasn’t the social types - these stand-out students often didn’t tend to be - in fact, there was only ever one student that dared sit next to him—ah! There you were.

Yaga admits he takes no small pleasure in watching this small interaction everyday.

Namely how Toji would duck his head and pretend he didn’t see you- except…except today, Toji wasn’t ducking his head at all. Not at all.

Instead, the black-haired man looks straight at you and whispers something in your ear.

Something that…that - judging by the gaping expression on your face, and the smug one on his - was a sentence not meant for Yaga’s ears. Something dirty.

And oh goodness…

He doesn’t know what happened since last class, but if he has to watch the two of you flirt everyday from hereon after then…

He might just have to request a course change.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lesson #1

“So like—” It doesn’t surprise Nanami Kento - TA to Professor Yaga’s History class, the star student in the entire department, the man infamous for having even his dorm walls covered in academic accolades and awards - when you lean over his desk.

Palms planted almost on his side. The neckline of your loose satin blouse dipping.

Dipping.

Enough to give him a gooood look at what was underneath- he catches just the slightest glimpse of baby pink before he has enough sense to look away. Lingerie? You’d worn fucking lingerie to come get tutored by him?

But alright—say that was understandable. Say that Nanami has enough experience as a TA by now to know that certain students might attempt to gain favors through…non-academic means. 

Perhaps one could chalk that up to human sensibilities (or lack thereof) - Nanami Kento was never that type of man. In fact, most of the department would harp on ballads about what a romantic the blond-haired TA is- much to his obliviousness.

However, what actually stuns him is the way you’re tucking a finger into your blouse’s neckline- and how you have the audacity to actually tug down on it.

You’re humming, “What do I have to do to get an A in this class?”

Nanami balks. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

He knows your type- more accurately, he knows you. He knows you’re the type of student surrounded by others, always invited to the most exclusive parties, always with a phone blowing up, always at the center of attention—always in his line of sight. Though that’s because he knows you’re not above cheating to pass this class…of course. That’s the only reason.

Short skirt. Seemingly getting shorter everyday- sat front and center whenever he assisted with class.

Legs slightly ajar.

It made him lose track of his thoughts whenever he happened to glance your way. Happened to. 

To Nanami Kento, history is what he lives and breathes- but to you, he knows it’s nothing but a credit you need to get your degree. And though he wouldn’t necessarily fault anyone for that, he can’t deny that it’d sent a thrill up his spine once you’d cornered him yesterday asking for tutoring.

He’d said yes faster than he would’ve liked.

And thus, here he was.

Nanami Kento tries to keep his composure by reminding himself of your absolutely abysmal naming of Japanese shoguns from the 14th century, but just when he thinks he’s getting a grip on himself—

He darts a look down your blouse and his voice cracks.

You smile as though you’ve got him already - you’ve seen the way he looks at you during lectures.

“I-I think that would be highly inappropriate-” Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up frantically.

To which you’re only leaning closer- “Oh? What would be inappropriate? I was asking about what extra assignments I could take to make up for my last test score…” 

You cock your head in the picture of perfect innocence.

But he knows your games- he fucking knows it. And almost as much as his ears were burning, his cock does the same between his legs, too. “Perhaps re-taking that test- and the last five.” Nanami grits out. “And perhaps a long reading list—”

“You say that as if you’re disappointed.” Smiling - a snare.

“You say that as if you didn’t plan to re-take any tests at all.” Nanami counters. Somehow, his perfectly slicked-back hair was mussed up - he doesn’t know how, but he always did seem to lose his cool when it came to you. Every part of him.

“What can I say?” You’re shrugging, “I love a hot fuckin’ nerd.”

Nanami gulps. Tightening his tie- before he thinks better of it and all but rips it off of his neck.

Perfectly pressed pants. Perfectly buttoned-up shirt. Sleeves sometimes pushed up to his elbows. Golden cufflinks. Tie. 

Everyone who has seen Nanami Kento striding about campus, has commented on his formal clothes in one way or the other - but mostly about how there was not a single crease in them, not even at the end of the day. And it really was true. You’re feeling them pressed up against your front right now—

With Nanami taking only a few split-seconds to tug you from the other side of the table - easily, as you were all but on top of it by now. He’s grabbing ahold of your wrist and easily manhandling you to his side.

Splaying you back out on the table. Back against the cool surface.

His muscular core weighing you down- and fuck, your mouth waters as you feel all the chiselled abs he was hiding away beneath his button-ups.

The calm, collected nerd had somehow snapped-

Nanami’s intense brown eyes peek up at you as he nears- and you can only nod.

It’s the only confirmation you need before that infamously handsome tie of his ends up ‘round your wrists—tied together. You’re delighting at just how rough he was being with you thereafter- flipping up your slutty skirt, barely pushing aside your panties.

Nanami’s all the way through taking out his heated, ravaging cock - so thick - and tappin’ his blushin’ red tip between your pussylips—before he takes a look at your heaving just and gapes.

“Oh.”

And before you know it, your blouse is being ripped straight down- buttons flying to the floor.

“Sh-shit-” You’re gasping at the shockwave of cool air that greets you. Your body arches up into his touch as Nanami leans down and draaaags his face across your tits, lapping his tongue all over the swell of your breasts and smelling you. So sweet. “Shit- just fuck me already, Kento-”

And the first thing you’re registering is the sound—thwack!

Before you’re registering the actual understanding that Nanami Gentleman Kento had just rovered his right hand down and spanked your puckered pussylips.

Hard. 

You’re so sensitive that the action sends you seeing stars, and you buck up into his touch-

Thwack!

“The first lesson we’re going to learn tonight-” He twiddles his thumb between your folds, smearin’ them open and taking a nice look at your cute hole. Wet. No matter how much self control the man might have, he can’t stop himself from leaning down and spitting—

A gentle wad of spit that falls vertically between your legs.

The TA hums at the splatter, running his thumb purposefully down your clit. “-patience.”

You begin to whine. “Now that’s just unfair-”

Thwack!

He looks up at you with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “What was that, darling?”

“N-nothing…” You’re forced to admit. And it takes every shred of willpower in you to stop from humping up into his touch so needily—and Nanami doesn’t utter a word as you take control over yourself. He merely leans back and enjoys the show.

Let you be the one to dictate how far he teaches tonight. He’s a patient man.

“Good.” Nanami announces once you’re finally stock-still, having contained your desperation. It was cute how you think you could mask those tiny squirms of your hips, but he lets it go as your first lesson…“Second lesson-”

You’re shivering at the thought.

And he spits between your pussylips once more.

“If you aren’t wet enough to fucking drench me- then I fear you won’t get me, my love.”

“P-please—” And you really were wet enough to drench him- you’re perking your hips up slightly so that he can see. Leaving a sheen of gleaming sap down the front of Nanami’s crotch, “I am I am-”

“Then…” His lips quirk up meanly. He’s sandwiching his ruddied cockhead between your pussylips and fucking- just between your pussylips. “Show your working.”

Show your working?

Show your working?!

It seems you have no choice but to spreeeead apart your legs even further- letting your gooey cunt gush out a few sploshes of slick. Nanami cocks his head down and takes you in, “Hm…good, good.”

And you’ve never felt more shy in your life. “A-and the third lesson, Kento?”

He fits his pointed cockhead between your ready folds.

“Good girls take it all.” 

Did that mean—

Soon enough, you’re throwing your head back- voicebox shattering with a spiel of moans. Mewls. Whines. Any and every noise that possibly couldn’t describe the sheer raw sensation of Nanami’s hot, giiiirthy cock entering your cunt.

He was stretching you out so wide.

Wider than you ever thought possible.

He’s placing a hand down on your front and press-press-preeeeessing down on your stomach as his cock sinks in- fat cockhead opening up your channel. Fucking you like an utter madman. It didn’t matter how composed his reputation stated him to be- because right now Nanami had his blond bangs falling across his forehead, his jaw clenched at the sensations, and his glasses nearly slipping off his face as he tuuuugs you down his cock.

His reddened divot weeping into even the tiniest of nooks and crannies inside you, his cock so large that it could almost be felt from the outside—

“Feel me right in there?” Nanami’s deep baritone echoes out into the room, echoing against all four corners. Five thick fingers of his splay out across your core- “Right there-”

You shiver as he locates the exact spot where he was easing in - another few inches pushed inside. His swollen tip was swirling about your insides and push-push-puuuushing inside, past those restraints and that tight muscle of your hole. “Yes.”

“Feel me openin’ that pussy of yours up?” He grumbles out in a gravelly tone. And it makes the hair on your body stand at attention to realize that this was him speaking like this. This was him pushing his glasses further up his perspired nose, this was him pounding his heated cock into you in short, jerky thrusts. “Feel me teaching her the shape of my hah- cock? Feel me teaching her to take me—”

“Y-yes—” To be quite honest, it felt as though you could feel him in your very throat. “But are you really…”

“Hm?”

And you’re trailing off simply because you’re so awestruck - Nanami’s cock was looooong and bloated. Decorated in a few veins down his sides—they were red and irritated. Thick. Throbbing so much that you swear you could count them from where you were spread apart on his table-

His cock is enough to render you so honest. “Are you sure it even can fit in?” 

And that makes Nanami pause.

“Can it fit?” He breathes out - his voice taking on an airy tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s startling enough to make you look right into his eyes, and the inkling of something…dark in them is enough for you to jolt. “Can it fit?” 

And before you can repeat - before you can even ask him what’s wrong…Nanami reaches up to grab the tied restraints around your wrists.

And don’t mistake him- he isn’t about to set you free.

He’s using that tie as leverage to haul your body down—“You’re asking if it can fit?” Your blond-haired TA grunts out hoarsely, breaths coming out ragged. He hisses when you clench your sopping wet walls around him- “Good girls take it all.”

“Y-yes, fuck-”

“And you’re my good girl, right?” Staring passionately into your eyes whilst he hits every hidden spot inside you in long, lecherous strikes.

His sheer expression - the way you had the Nanami Kento - so ruffled is so compelling that you can’t help but nod your head. “Of course.” And your legs are tightening evermore against his toned waist, interrupted only by Nanami himself.

He uses one hand to throw both of your legs over his shoulders- one each. And before you know it, the big, buff nerd is bending down to fold you in half.

His fat cock reaching the end of your pussy.

“Fourth lesson-” And you’re barely even hearing it above the constant thrashes and thuds at your cervix, the stars you’re seeing. “-repeat all those back to me…”

And just then, the round edge of his tip was grazing right across your g-spot.

“-or you don’t get to cum.”

.

.

.

“How odd…” Professor Yaga’s bushy brows furrow above his shades - it might not be quite professional for a professor to wear such a thing to campus, but to be fair, students showed up in their pajamas half the time. Besides, they helped mask his expressions rather well.

Like right now.

Though Nanami Kento - his ever-loyal TA - could sense that what was upon Professor Yaga’s face was nothing but pure, unabashed surprise. He says your name—“I don’t remember her getting A++’s a single time this semester- and now you’re telling me it’s all that she’s been getting?” The professor squints at his screen, in the middle of doing his customary check-ins before a lecture.

Nanami coughs, “I-I’ve been tutoring her lately…”

Professor Yaga looks to Nanami in surprise - he knew that his blond-haired student would much rather hug a porcupine than a person. Let alone spend his precious hours tutoring one. “Is…is that so?”

Nanami nods silently.

The older man clears his throat - if there was anyone capable enough to bring your History grades up to such an extent, then it could only be Nanami Kento. At this rate, you might be giving his star student a run for his money- “And how has that been?”

“Well it’s been quite- ah, illuminating, sir.”

Professor Yaga raises a brow in question- but before he can ask anything further—the students start trickling in.

Class has started.

To everyone including Professor Yaga, Nanami Kento- and you. 

Winking blatantly at his TA as you waltz up to your chair, skirt shorter than ever, hips swaying…

The professor just barely manages to catch the way Nanami’s eyes…follow you.

And it dawns upon him.

The slight wobble in your saunter.

The strange bruises peeking out above Nanami’s collar.

The traitorous blush upon his face.

Professor Yaga has never searched up course change forms faster.

♡ GETO SUGURU - “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And that…is precisely what makes you pause.

It’s what makes you s-sputter. It’s what makes you shoot a glare at perhaps the most infuriating man you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting- and that’s saying a lot. 

Though, he always did manage to surprise you—ever since Professor Yaga’s Philosophy Class 101, you’d been haunted by the thorn that was Geto Suguru.

You recall that first meeting like it was yesterday.

The nervous shuffling of seats. Professor Yaga was notorious for hand-picking only the best of the best for his classes, and you remember the glee that’d shot up your spine at the email of confirmation. You’d been picked. Similarly, adrenaline wafted off the other students in waves around you, burning its sour aftertaste into the atmosphere. Though at that moment, nothing had been sweeter.

Especially once the professor had finally - finally - asked a broad question about the theory of knowledge—

And your hand had shot up.

Right along with the boy’s beside you.

Long black hair. Longer limbs.

Draped across the chair so carelessly, his grey turtleneck hugged him in a way that made your eyes dart away.

Gold-rimmed glasses.

He had the most feline smirk across his face as his eyes met yours- smug. He raised his hand higher. 

And from that day onwards, you knew that Geto Suguru was your sworn enemy.

Rival, more like.

Throughout the semester, you’d answer one of Professor Yaga’s questions, and Geto would be sure to disagree. You’d top the grades in class, and Geto would break your streak on the next one. You’d try not to bash his head in, and Geto would only urge you to more.

He infuriated you. If not by whatever sharp quip comes to his tongue - seemingly always in competition with yours - then by whatever sly wink or smirk he’d throw your way. He was shameless. 

And you were sure Professor Yaga wasn’t paid enough for this.

So being paired together for the biggest project of the semester certainly hadn’t been on your radar. No matter how much predictivism you’d been taught.

And it was by sheer miracle that you two hadn’t strangled each other already-

“M-make you?” You ask. Geto adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair, arms crossing.

“Make me.” He repeats, and you’re sure by now that you weren’t mishearing things. “You’ve spent this whole semester running that mouth- I’m starting to wonder whether that’s all it does.”

The slight arch of his brow makes you bristle. “You fucker-”

“No need to lower yourself to insults, gorgeous, I’m just stating the facts. Diogenes always did seek an honest man.” He hums, all faux innocence. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application. Besides…” Geto shrugs those broad shoulders of his, snug in yet another too-expensive turtleneck. Cashmere, you bet. He looks straight at you as he speaks—“-there’s nothing little about me, either.”

And then you pause.

And then you’re standing in the middle of Geto Suguru’s bedroom- because of course the bastard had suggested his dorm room for your project meeting.

“Prove it then.”

His pink lips part. “What?”

“Prove it.” You repeat. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application.”

“Maybe I will. Socrates said to be is to do.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I—” And of course, you have to be the one to make the first move. You have to be the one to drag Geto Suguru in by his stupid turtleneck, pressing your lips to his. Stupidly sweet.

He’s lapping at you like a man in the depths of hunger, licking his tongue between your gloss-covered lips and moaning- “Fuck.” He rasps out through honed canines. “Fuck.” Dragging himself off of the floor where your poster boards were spread out-

“Sit.” And without a single warning, you’re pressing the heel of your foot between Geto’s meaty thighs. You’re locating where his rock-hard cock is and puuuuuush-

“N-ngh…” He shivers. He blushes at the broken noise that escapes him. “Tha’s all you got?”

You raise a brow and crush his thickening length harder. 

Geto bucks- but he pulls himself together. “Still all you got?”

And so you’re narrowing your eyes n’ grabbing onto him- tearing through Geto Suguru’s stupid, pretentious layers like you’ve always wanted to.

Tugging off his neat pants. Pulling on his tight Aristotle-patterned boxers.

Spitting straight between his lips once he opens his mouth-

And Geto’s bulbous red tip twitches at the sensation of your wet dollop of saliva. He nods with a blush as you’re lowering your naked cunt down on him—“Yes.” Breathing out. Feeling a little dizzy at the sudden warmth of your swollen pussylips, swallowing him up- “Yes- fuuuuck-”

Before he knows it, your hand is around him. “Shut up.” 

“Fuck, that’s makin’ me even harder-” As if to prove his point, his flared tip throbs inside of you.

“I said shut up.” Those pretty fingers of yours claim his pale neck- digging the curves of your nails into his skin. It makes him gulp. “If someone walks in or if the dorm RA catches us, then my reputation will be affected-”

“You mean my reputation- fuh-fuck.” He can barely even get the sentence out before you’re tightening your grip. Perkin’ your pretty hips up juuuust a little before gulping down his thick length.

Inch after inch.

Fat and pulsing inside of you with need.

He was so veiny that each tiny slip n’ slide caressed Geto’s prominent veins against your sweet insides. And he’s throwing his head back at the sensation as though he’s seeing the pearly gates themselves.

Letting out such a guttural groan- “Oh fuck.” Choked-up at the back of his throat. Those milky thighs of his shake as he reaches them upwards to chase your wettened cunt, bashin’ in the roundness of his cockhead. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck-”

“What was that about running one’s mouth?” You scoff. “Seems like you’re all talk- what? Can’t even handle a little pussy?”

“Maybe I just can’t handle your pussy.” He bites back. With yet another soft sound leaving him once your fingers dig against his throat.

“I doubt you’ve ever seen a real pussy in your life.” And when he opens his mouth, you’re quick to interrupt. “Don’t lie.”

Geto’s mouth shuts again. Having you be so stern with him like this…fuck. It makes some strangely carnal part of himself that he didn’t even know he had awakened- and the black-haired man merely ruts up into you a few times. A line of drool dragging down the side of his lips the more n’ more he’s feeling your soft clenches. Just one hard cleeeench.

He was gone for.

His cadence grows stuttered. His glasses slip down his face. And he finally nods in admittance—a virgin. And, listen, you didn’t have anything against virgins- but the fact that he could talk so big and yet get driven so wild by a mere drag of your sloppy walls down his cock- and still not admit to it?

“Pathetic.”

The dribblin’ and irritated crown of his shaft grows even bigger inside of you. Geto’s head plummets forwards, and he’s whispering something inaudible.

“What was that?” You raise a brow- an expression that he raises his eyes to meet and jolts. As if electrocuted. 

“I-I said I didn’t hear you.” He counters. Bucking into you like an animal. “Pythagoras said-”

And you don’t hesitate to emphasize every single syllable. “Pa-the-tic.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said you’re path—oh.”

Rutting into you even harder—fuck. It didn’t even matter that his massive, inexperienced cock wasn’t fitting all the way- because Geto was digging his rounded crown around your most delicate insides.

He somehow locates your g-spot in a few swipes, brows furrowed as though he’d memorized this particular spot through years of reading (he has, all for this very moment…) 

Such a delicious curve that you feel in your very throat, tastebuds sizzlin’ with a lacquer of saliva the moment his cockhead strikes your sweet spot. Your favorite. And more than your low profanities, the way you’re tilting your head down and glaring at him makes Geto Suguru splosh out in more lewd slick. “Watch it, Suguru.”

“Mmm—” He shivers. Hands coming up ‘round your back and tugging you further against his toned front- you never realized that the nerd you sat next to was so ripped. “S-say that again.”

And you swear now you’re beginning to grow a little concerned- he surely couldn’t be that pussydrunk, could he? “I said watch it-”

“No-” Geto cuts you off. “In that tone.”

That tone? And it dawns upon you slow and sensual—like the toyin’ rubs that he was granting on your g-spot now. Though you were the one most in control, letting his swollen cock stir up your insides at a thorough pace - now all the way from the tufts of black at his base to his puckered, drooling tip. “Suguru…” And your hand locks around his neck even tighter- and just as you’d suspected, he’s drenchin’ out even more syrupy sap that leaks out of your hole. Gets fucked back in. “You fucking like being degraded, don’t you?”

A blush rises to his face. His glare targets you even through his foggy glasses, “Th-that’s prepost-”

“You like me yelling at you.” And this time, it’s not a question. You already know—and you’re grinding your hips down onto his toned v-line at a frenzied pace, wrenching those words away from his husky throat before they can even formulate. “You like me calling you pathetic.” This time reaching up and tugging on a stray lock of his hair- “You like me fucking you like a little bitch.”

And his rude, reddened cock - ever the culprit - fills out your insides so much it’s as if you were fit to burst. He empties out his wadded webs inside you- 

“Isn’t that true?” You coo down at him. Poor Geto Suguru, spit-glossed lips and quivering at the feeling of your pussy- “You’ve always wanted to be fucked by me like this, huh?”

And he nods.

He fucking nods.

Eyes glazed. Brows furrowed.

Hips shivering every time they rammed into yours.

And that’s right before one of his tremblin’ hands reaches up to grab your own dominant set - lifting them off of his sweaty scalp. For a second there, you think that perhaps Geto is particularly cagey over his pretty hair- but then he’s opening up your palm and smacking the side of his even prettier face with your hand.

Not hard enough to harm. Not soft enough to not leave a print of your digits across his blushing cheeks.

You’re surging up with questions when-

“Ahhh…” He exhales, eyes fluttering shut at the sting. Once Geto opens them again, you’re noticing that they look clearer than ever now. “That’s better.” He pushes up his drifted glasses.

Rapidly and ravenously, he’s back in control with his sloppy cadence. Globular edge of his cockhead swervin’ apart your folds to tickle your g-spot—then reaching all the way towards the back of your womb-

Again and again.

“D-don’t think m’never gonna catch up, gorgeous.” Geto gnaws down on his lower lip as if to hold back a moan. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the start of semester- you didn’t think m’just gonna let you win, huh? Plato said that the first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just—oh.” You’re out of breath from his sheer thrashes, the ridges of his veins massaging spots you didn’t even know you had. “-weren’t just putty in my hands.”

“Ah- and about hands…” Like he’d just remembered- like he’d been so gone on the feeling of your sopping wet walls that he didn’t even realize what had just transpired, Geto shoots a look down at your hand. Still in his grip. Still prickling with the slap from earlier.

He bites his lip and blushes.

“Slap me again.”

You fucking knew it.

.

.

.

The next time you’re attending Professor Yaga’s class, you have a lot of explaining to do - first of all about why you’d sent him an urgent email in the middle of the night, requesting an extension for the project.

And second of all, why you and Geto Suguru walked into the next class holding hands.

“So that’s what happened.” He doesn’t even need to hear your excuses to know. From here he can already see the bite marks on your neck, the limp in your walk, the way that Geto looked much too happy with himself.

The older man pushes up his shades and sighs-

“Professor-”

“I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - XXXreads.

“I r-really can’t thank you enough for helping me.” Choso’s sweet, sweet voice flutters out at you—almost inaudible past the mountain of books in his hands. They were as tall as him when set down on the floor, and being held up they nearly grazed the arch of the doorway. “Really. I didn’t know how many trips I’d have to take otherwise.”

You giggle, “Don’t worry about it, Choso.”

“No but- really.” And somehow - perhaps through years of practice, perhaps because of those muscles you always suspected he hid underneath soft fluffy sweaters - Choso’s letting go of his towering pile to push his glasses up. “N-no one really offered…no one talks to me anyways but-” 

He looks at you in slight panic, as though fearful he’s scared you off.

“But really, thank you.”

And you feel your heart clench for the poor boy—it was true, after all. No one in class ever quite spoke to the nerdy Choso Kamo, always with his face close against the pages, always with his hand raised in the air.

He lived more in the world of books than he did with people.

Which was no surprise- not when the people in most of your lectures weren’t exactly the nicest. Despite it being university, it seems people still did pick on him for being a little…bookish. Tittering to themselves as he passed. Throwing scrunched up paper balls at his head. Speaking to him just for the laughs.

And that’s where you came in- there was absolutely nothing wrong with being bookish, or studious, or smart.

In fact, out of everyone in Professor Yaga’s English Lit lectures, you think that Choso was the best one there. The most…handsome, too. But that was neither here nor there!

And so you did your best to divert their attention, to prevent your classmates from taking out their slouched midterm grades and bad hangovers on the nerdy boy. Which included spotting his form (or at least the little you could make out of him) in the corridor, struggling to balance countless books, and stopping to help him.

And you’re nodding at the librarian as you enter- slipping in Choso’s multiple borrowed books through the book drop slot. Soon enough, you’re finding yourself free of all the weight of his books and Choso—holding onto merely one.

“What’s that one, Choso?” You ask in curiosity. 

His voice cracks. Holding the book against his chest, Choso’s handsome face tints red as he looks at you. “Th-this one? Nothing-”

And as you attempt to take a peek at it, he swerves away slightly. Hm… 

Pushing his glasses up his clammy face, “N-nothing at all. This is just one that I have to…to return personally.”

“Personally?” You squint. “Like put on the shelf yourself? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Yes—” With a final squeak, he’s darting into the depths of the library as though his feet were on fire. As though, perhaps, you yourself were fire - and he hunches away from you slightly when you’re following him. 

All the way past the science section.

“A-and thank you so much for your help- again. I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer.” He pants.

All the way past the literary fiction section.

“Really- I wouldn’t want to bother you. I promise you can leave.”

All the way into a darkened corner of the library that you don’t think you’ve ever been in before- where the tables were sparse and the students were even more sparse. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in sight there.

“Please.”

And Choso ducks into a barren corner of an aisle.

One that you look up at—

And right there on the shelf marker atop the shelf. Right there in laminated plastic. Right there in printed script that could not be erased.

Erotica.

He’d borrowed an erotica book.

And judging by Choso’s familiarity with the section, this wasn’t the first time. Nor would it be the last.

In just a few seconds- you’re walking up to him. And knowing that he was cornered, Choso Kamo can do nothing but bow his head in shame when you reach out for the book—something by some author named Tony with a glitzy, glossy x-rated cover. You’re glancing at the brief summary on the back. 

You catch a few key words.

Nerd.

Bullied.

Class. 

The hot girl who’s the only one to treat him with kindess—and the one to take his virginity. 

.

.

.

“Fuck.” And Choso Kamo’s tone comes out hurried- it comes out harrowed. It comes out hushed—nothing but a low, trembling tone against the shell of your ears. It shakes, just like the rest of his half-naked body as he tucks his fat tip between your pussylips.

Pants pulled down just enough to free his raging erection. 

His plump, reddish crown swipes down your crevice and straight inside your hole. Jerking his hips sloppily back and forth a few times-

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” Choso’s voice cracks in your eardrums, entire body feverish as he glues himself to your behind. Your front against the ridged bookshelf, his toned body against yours. 

“Shhhhh, baby.”

He nods, “Shhhh.”

The towering man fucks you like an utter animal- hips pinned to yours and making the wooden furniture underneath creak. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize his own strength, his own girth - how could he? When he hasn’t had the experience to before…

And just the act of putting it in is enough to leave Choso a stuttering, strangled mess. A single tear tracks down his cheek, “Fuh-fuck, it feels even b-better than in the books, baby-”

“Thought about me a lot while reading, hm?” Turning your face around- you meet his flushed one with a grin.

“Well…”

You clench and his breath hitches- “Did you touch yourself to those thinking about me?”

It’s a tone that’s making him shiver - the tips of Choso’s ears burn bright red, and his lips wobble cutely. He nods—he fucking nods away drunkenly before he’s registering it. The look of glee on your face is enough to make the nerdy man choke. “D-don’t tease me, baby.” He quietly whispers out, hand dragging down the side of your upright body. He’s managing to slip his slender fingertips between your legs n’ massage those treacly pussylips of yours—just like his books had taught him. “Though you- I mean- the character in the books did, too.”

“Oh?” One of your brows raises interest. “And what else did this character do, baby?”

Choso whines, his flushed cockhead emptying out the most adorable lines of slick into your deepest depths. He pulls out a little just to watch those ribbons of sap cling onto your cunt- “F-fuck back into me…”

“Hm?”

“The character- I mean.” He gasps out. And a line of sweat glides down the side of his temple as he starts ruttin’ into you even harder, the round edge of his cock opening up spots you didn’t even know you had—Choso was fucking massive. “Would fuck back into me- the nerd.”

And so you’re gripping onto the firm wooden planks of the book shelf, using it as leverage to raise your hips. Up and down. Up and down. “Shit—” Your walls glide down his swollen cock, the patterns of his veins just so prominent. “And what else, baby?”

He’s whimpering at the sound of that pretty pet name on your tongue- so much so that Choso leans over to suck on your tongue. “And then- and then-”

“This is how you kiss, Cho…” You angle your head to kiss him back - so sloppy. Who’d have thought that the lovely, quiet nerd in your lectures was just so…

“And then she’d start t-to clench.” He admits, oglin’ down with big brown eyes at the glistening circle of your cunt. “I don’t really know what that means, baby, or what you have to do to cl—fuck.”

And you’re hearing the exact moment it hits him- the exact moment that the cute hug of your walls leaves him a broken man. Choso shudders upwards as though he’s just been jolted by electricity, and he probes his red, round tip against your spongy cervix- bottoming-out. Barely even starting to pull away from your sultry womb as he fucks inwards.

Held hostage by your cunt—he pants. He shakes. “And then-” Spittle dribbling down the sides of his lips, they twitch with delight. “Just like that—j-just like that…harder.”

And so you do. Fluttering your lashes, “Like this?”

“Harder.”

“Like this-”

“Hard-” Cutting his own words off, the nerdy man reaches his quiverin’ fingers from your slit—and before you know it, he’s pinching your puffy pussylips together. Tight. Ruthless. Making you see stars behind your shuttered lids at the sheer pressure- “Like this. And then in the end she’d beg-”

“Beg for what, Cho?” You ask.

“She’d beg…” The raw draaaags of his flared mushroom tip leave your knees weak. And Choso has to keep a hand constantly looped around your right thigh to keep you from collapsing. Perking your ass up against his ramming v-line, he utters—“You’d beg for my cum…”

Your mouth drops into a pretty circle. “Oh.”

And almost instantly, he seems to regret the filthy words spewing out of his mouth. “B-but that’s just a fantasy and-”

“Well…” This time, you’re the one interrupting him. And it’s done so with the realization that- hey, he was fucking you raw anyways. “Why don’t you go ahead then?”

And he doesn’t even need to hear that entire sentence- he doesn’t even need to hear the middle of it. He merely slaps a hand on top of your gaped maw - effectively shutting you up in such a mean way - and rams his slam-reddened hips against yours. Choso all but fucking collapses his muscular body against your back as he scours his tip into your deepest spot.

The circumference of his girth ending off at your womb.

Before you’re feeling the slow, sensual trickle of his cum filling you up from the inside. It starts off with a few shy dribbles- before soon, the bespectacled man has to gnaw his canines down on your neck to stop himself from making too much noise.

Chasing your hips as you don’t know whether to fuck back or lean against the library- shoving and smearin’ his leaky tip into every orifice. Every nook. Every cranny.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his slick glaaaaaazing you from the inside, frothing out near your entrance. “Sh-shit there’s so much, Cho.” You murmur out. “You’ve never cum inside anything but your fist, huh? Shit- been savin’ this all up, hm?”

Biting back a groan as your words make his seed shoot just a few more spurts—“Yes.” To your absolute surprise. “Been saving it up for you, baby.”

And a shiver runs down your spine.

Both at Choso’s words-

And at the sudden knocking upon one of the bookshelves- almost as though someone was making their entrance known upon a front door.

Both of you whip your heads up in a panic - with Choso still not moving away from your cunt. All honeyed and driiiipping with his ivory sap. 

And the sight before you two makes the nerdy man wrap his arms around you possessively.

Because standing there—tall, tattooed, dark hair that reached his shoulders. A bright blue jersey with the infamous emblem of Delta Jujutsu Pi - it was none other than Chisato Kamo. 

His twin brother.

A man that shared the same face as the one fucking you, but just about none of his interests.

Well, none of his interests other than you that is…and perhaps that’s why in a few minutes the older brother of the two is being pushed aside so that Chisato can ram his rugged, red tip into you rudely. Scoffing at the way your pussy quivered and clenched around him—

“Cheh…shut up, girlie.” He plasters a palm over your mouth, just as Choso had done so earlier. “Honestly, are ya even my brother? Look at her poor hole- she isn’t fucked even half as good as she should’ve been-”

Choso pipes up from where he’d been banished away from your pussy. “If you just gave me her again-”

“To cum in two pumps again?”

“She said I could- she’s mine.”

“She’s mine.”

.

.

.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Professor Yaga rubs at his throbbing temples—it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to see his star student, Choso Kamo, walk into the lecture hall with his head bowed low. Unspeaking even with him.

It wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary to see you clinging onto aforementioned Choso Kamo, talking his ear off about your day. And Choso would let you.

What was absolutely astounding was the way in which the aforementioned Choso Kamo’s younger brother - Chisato Kamo, member of Delta Jujutsu Pi, attended more ragers than study sessions, never attended this English Literature class a day in his entire life - was following behind…

Sauntering in as if he owned the place.

He throws an arm around you- and Choso immediately jerks up to smack it off of you.

He sees the two brothers glare at one another.

And Yaga decides that he definitely wasn’t paid enough to intervene with that…

He sighs and starts off attendance, and for the first time has the privilege of hearing. “Mister Chisato Kamo?”

“Here.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2-IN-1

“Isn’t she just…”

“Out of your league?”

“-gorgeous.”

Uraume can’t help but roll their eyes- well, mentally. They knew that their (unfortunate) best friend’s (unfortunate) resolve wasn’t nearly as strong to withstand such a thing, and so they have to settle for letting out a long sigh.

Bringing that red Solo cup to their lips, they hum. “Then why don’t you go there and talk to her-”

“Talk to her- ya must be fuckin’ joking.” Sukuna scoffs, staring down at his white-haired friend. Uraume had been attached to his side ever since their freshmen year rush for Jujutsu Delta Pi, and they’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through his wrestling lows and his professional contract. Through his best moments and…whatever this was.

His embarrassingly big crush on you. Ever since he’d seen you at one of his wrestling games, cheering him on- Uraume has heard far too much about you from him ever since.

He sighs at the sight of you dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

Before narrowing his eyes down at Uraume’s cup. “Seriously…has your fruity lil’ punch - and I know you don’t drink anything hard - been spiked with something? Talk to her- cheh, just imagine-”

“Ryomen Sukuna.” Cut off by the stern, supremely exhausted voice of his best friend. “If you don’t ask her to dance right now—” The smaller person looks up from their far shorter height, dead-set into Sukuna’s crimson eyes. “-then I’m telling the entire party about what a nerd you are.” A pause. “And showing them your Grimmjow figurine collection.”

“On it-”

And it was a dance- just a dance, right?

It’s not like Sukuna was going to ask you to marry him or- or to come up to his (geeky) bedroom or anything. It’s not like one dance would have him embarrassing himself. It’s not like one dance would have you finding out his true identity as a…nerd.

Right?

He was a Health Science major, for crying out loud!

Uraume drinks a shot of straight vodka.

.

.

.

“Fuck, I need ya.” Sukuna breathes out against your throat—one hand tilting your neck to the side for more access, the other gripped onto your hips. He kisses you maddeningly. 

Blindly, the two of you had made your way through the throng of meshed, musical madness and climbed those fraternity stairs up to Sukuna’s bedroom. Where he had your back pressed against- his mouth attacking you wildly—he groans. Licking a stripe up your sweet skin, “I need ya so badly—”

“All talk.” You tut. And before he can stop you - before his rational mind can get the better of him - you let your hand slip to the door handle.

Flinging it open and letting the two of you stumble inside. Door slamming shut.

You’re making it all the way to splay out on Sukuna’s massive king-sized bed before you turn on the lights and-

“Woah.” And your jaw drops at the vision before you. Surrounding you. Someplace you’d never thought to be…Ryomen Sukuna’s bedroom- anime posters, figurines, books upon books upon books, academic trophies as well as wrestling ones. 

And he panics- “This is-”

“You’re a-”

“A little fuckin’-”

“Nerd.”

“Nerdy.”

The both of you pause—before the clear urgency and embarrassment on Ryomen Sukuna’s face makes you smile. He looks away with a huff-

“Do you have glasses?”

Reluctantly - still staring off intensely into a poster of Ouran High School Host Club - he nods.

“Can you wear them while you fuck me?”

He looks back down with heated eyes.

And so he does.

Sukuna keeps his thin-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses on as he tears through your glittery dress. Sukuna keeps his glasses on as he tugs down his ripped jeans n’ swipes his thickened tip between your pussylips. Sukuna keeps his glasses on still as he fucks you in long, sloooooppy strokes through and through your multiple orgasms.

Once just from fingerin’ over your clit - with his fraternity ring still on. Once more just from eating you out. Two more times just from fucking deeeeep into the sponged softness of your cervix- feeling him fill you out like never before was maddening.

Just about tunneling you through your fifth- meanwhile he hasn’t even cum for the first time yet.

He leans his sweaty head down in a mating press - close enough that the thundering slams of his hips send little flecks of slick flying up to his glasses. Roverin’ reddened cockhead plunging between your pussylips and hitting dead-set on the back of your cunt—splattering both your slick and his own upwards.

Coating the frame and all the way down to the lens, Sukuna snickers as he fucks you even harder—“Better know that yer gonna pay for dirtying these glasses-” He pants between clenched canines. “Yer not getting off that easy, girlie.”

“A-and it’s my fault?” You’re squealing out in indignation. “I’m not the one that—fuck.”

“Fuck?” Sukuna hums. Expression turning into one of mocking thoughtfulness, “Why, yes, according to my calculations I am fucking you.” With that said, he’s dragging his veined cock all over your walls and pulling out—just to tap the swollen curve of his cockhead on top of your cut. Splashin’ away your slick, “Quite the astute observation, brat.”

Gurgling out between the force of his thrusts, “Th-thank you?”

“I was talking to this pussy.”

Your maw drops at his sheer audacity. “Y-you’re not even that kind of nerd-”

He cocks his head, soft pink curls following him. “And what fuckin’ kind of nerd am I, hm?”

“You’re not even the…” In punishment, his length drills into you even harder - as if he was trying to pound those insolent words back into your throat. Making you feel the lump of his girth there where your voicebox crackled- “-the scientific kind.”

Sukuna shoots a glance at the numerous academic accolades atop his shelves. “Right…”

“Because if you were then you’d have found my g-spot already!”

Right now you were blundering out whatever it was that you could say- which wasn’t much at all. Sukuna’s ravenous cock had left your mind nothing but mush, pounding and pounding and it felt as though your cunt was molded to his exact shade and size by now—making you arch up into him. He glides a hand underneath your spine to help you.

It was true, however.

Ryomen Sukuna had made you reach your sultry orgasm five times without even caressing your g-spot. And you weren’t sure whether it was inexperience, or ignorance, or whether he just didn’t care for it but-

But he lets out a deep, dark burst of laughter at your sentence.

The last thing he does before reelin’ his thickened cock back and hitting your womb in a hard slam- “Not the scientific kind?” Sukuna’s repeating to himself, through a slight chuckle. And there was something ragged in his tone that made you shiver—“Not the scientific kind?”

And if his first repetition sounded as though he was in disbelief, that last one sounded as though his brain just refused to fucking register this shit - couldn’t possibly. It’s almost enough to make you take back your statement, but thank goodness that you don’t.

Because within the next split-seconds, Sukuna has his middle finger pushing up his glasses- his eyes locking down above your front. His gaze then calculates the distance between where your swollen pussylips were gobbling him up, and where he could feel his rounded tip scrape your spongy depths. Your womb.

It takes him only mere moments- “The Gräfenberg spot is said to be on the anterior wall…” Accordingly, he stirs his erection deep inside of you. “About 1-3 inches deep as per average statistics…”

And you’re suddenly feeling his bawling divot trace that exact distance down your walls. Up and down. Up and dooooown—“Sh-shit, Kuna-”

“Directly behind the pubic bone- the inferior pubic ramus could…”

“Shit, Kuna- almost-”

“Considered part of the clitorourethrovaginal complex so-” And before you know it, his finger swipes down your pretty clit. Your body trembles, expectedly, and Sukuna’s bespectacled eyes follow that shiver riiiight up your cunt.

“P-please-” You cry out.

And he’s cracking a small snicker. “Tell me if the trials are successful, my lil’ lab helper.”

“Trials?” Climbing up onto your elbows in confusion—what trials? And you’re regretting the action almost as soon as it happens, because just then Sukuna lurches his hips back n’ gives a thorough smooch near your g-spot. 

Near it.

“Trial one…” That little lilt in his pitch lets you know that he’s waiting for your answer.

“F-failed.” Blubbering.

He pushes his glasses upwards and tries again- harder this time. “Trial two-”

“Failed-”

Even harder. 

Mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - he’s sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there. Round and ravenous. 

“And trial number…” Sukuna trails off. Dragging his swollen cock back aaaaaall the way until his tip was just chastely pecking your pussylips, and you could feel every single throb - and then dooooown until those scuffs of pink scrape your pussy. A carnal itch. “-three?”

“F—fuck.” You can’t answer.

Because with that final thrust, Sukuna’s swipin’ down your g-spot perfectly. Making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice- right before you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.

Stars behind your lids. Toes curling until it hurts.

You can’t stop your hips from thrashing upon the squeaky mattress—and Sukuna can’t stop from shovelling his throbbing inches just a little deeper. He grips onto your hips from one side. He locates the exact spot that made you shatter, and digs his rotund tip into even even further - not pulling away even if you were sobbing at the sheer overstimulation.

Just slow, staccato-ed pushes inside.

It made a small primitive part of Sukuna break to pull away- he just wanted to keep on kissin’ your cervix. And he grunts at the back of his throat, the nerd’s own high washing over him in waves.

Silky droplets of cum that end up pouring deeeeep into the back of your pussy—it’s such a goopy mess there. Splashin’ around every time that Sukuna fucked his hips inside, collecting where he kept on pressing at a constant pace - like a button - on your g-spot.

Being fucked through peak after peak.

Thrust after thrust that aaaaaall end up targeting your g-spot. He was proving to you that he knew where it was, that he was that type of scientific nerd. 

And the corners of his lips twitch in delight, “I take that as a success?” Though he wasn’t asking you - not at all - he leans his head down to peer at your pussy. Lens coating in spraying droplets of sap, “Why thank you for the help, my best assistant.”

“Y-you’re so…” Your legs tremble weakly.

And Sukuna pushes those tortoiseshell glasses up his nosebridge- you’re noticing just now that they have small horns in the corners. How fitting. 

He didn’t even bother wiping away the thick layers of your slick. Stuck onto him like a medal - the best, the shiniest out of all those upon the shelves.

“Now, have you ever heard about the A-spot?”

.

.

.

“Mister Ryomen Sukuna.” The man’s stern voice calls out - it was 8AM but Professor Yaga could make a sloth jump onto a racetrack with his tone. Not that it does that much to the star of the wrestling team, the notorious pink-haired member of Delta Jitsu Pi, and Yaga’s very own star student of Health Science.

Sukuna merely looks at him boredly. Lounging an arm around the back of your seat- right beside him.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was (secretly) topping all the exams, then Yaga wouldn’t even put up with all this.

“Please pay attention to the lecture.” Professor Yaga straightens out his papers, “If you have any personal conversation to be had, then please take it out of my classroom.”

“Aye aye, teach.” Sukuna sleazes out a grin. “I was just helping my girl here with the lesson, y’know.”

A chuckle spreads throughout class, little did they know that they were laughing at the smartest student between all of them - perhaps even between the whole year. 

“Then I suppose you don’t mind giving the entire class a briefing-” The professor starts boredly, before he catches the smug look on Sukuna’s face- and Yaga has to look behind himself. The PowerPoint slide he didn’t realize he was on—fuck, it makes him swear internally.

Erogenous zones: The Gräfenberg spot.

“I would be more than happy to give the class a briefing, teach.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Got webs?

With great power came great…responsibility. Sure. 

That was what Tony had briefed Ino Takuma on—meeting the Avengers and getting to speak with Iron Woman? Absolutely awesome. Meeting the Avengers and saving the world? No biggie. Fighting crime and putting his life on the line everyday? Pssssht-

Getting fucked by you?

Shit, he was about to cream his pants.

Ino Takuma was fucking terrified.

Not because of you, of course, because you were just as beautiful as all his dreams and even more so—but rather he was caught up in the fact that this…well, wasn’t a dream. Exactly that.

It’d all come not too long after he’d confessed to you that he was Spider-Man. Taking you on a romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant he’d had to beg his uncle to make a reservation for, followed by a moonlit walk downtown- and a little breaking into campus to watch the stars from the rooftop. It was perfect.

And the way you’d taken him being Spider-Man? Perfect. 

You were so sweet and loving- punching him in the shoulder (deserved) before taking him into your arms (Ino doesn’t know if he’d ever be deserving of being in the arms of an angel…but…he sure wasn’t complaining).

And afterwards, he’d taken you into his arms and used his webs to swing you all the way back to his apartment. It really was perfect.

And now he can’t lie, he’d taken you back to his apartment - landing neatly on his lil’ balcony ledge - without any ulterior motives. He promises! Ino Takuma is as pure as snow!

Ignore the fact that snow contains atmospheric pollutants and vehicle emissions…but other than that he swears he’s pure! He’d merely wanted to show you his vast Lego collection, perhaps his camera and all those pictures he’d taken recently (maybe not the ones he’d taken of you from afar, however…), and a few more of his nerdy Spider-Man gadgets!

So he swears that the little peck he’d placed upon you was innocent. And when that peck turned into something more…he swears that was innocent, too.

And when that turned into sprawling him out on his chemistry bedsheets, straddling his erect cock n’ sliding your soft pussy down it—fuck, he doesn’t know what’s innocent or not. Right now your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was trying not to pass out.

Pretty brown eyes scrunching closed at the cleeeench of your soft, sensual pussy- you were so sweet around him that it felt as if you were about to melt. Velvety and slippery. 

The winding zig-zags of his veins rubbin’ against your sides.

You’re letting off a sudden squelch! as you swallow up yet another inch of him - and Ino has to bite down on his lips to keep himself from whimpering. Fucking whimpering—“E-easy there, sweetness.” He’s grabbing onto either side of your waist, with the brilliant idea to control those sloppy bounces of yours- but instead he’s ending up merely…holding onto you for dear life. 

His limbs were weak n’ boneless.

His body was putty in your hands.

He was arching his hips ooooooff of the rickety single-bed- and he doesn’t have to even think before doing it. Body moving on pure instinct. Bulging tip yearning to hit your cervix—“Keep going like this n’ m’gonna cum already…”

“Awww, you poor boy.” You’re tittering- and shit, he knows it might be a little lecherously amusing to you. But does it really warrant enough for you to lean over and push his thick-framed glasses up his nosebridge? He swears he sees heaven itself. “Spider-Man can fight crime- but can’t handle a pussy?”

“I can’t handle your pussy.” Ino bites back, a blush upon his cheeks. “N-not that I ever have before…”

“Then maybe I should be deemed the strongest in the neighborhood, huh?” You hum.

“Y-you wish…” He’s bucking up into you at a frenzied pace- not even full thrusts. Mere, milking half-thrusts that have his precum pouring out in bucketloads—his balls were so heavy that they almost hurt.

“Oh yeah?” And you could feel the twitchin’ of his scouring tip with each one of your sentences - your syllables. Ino was growing only harder and harder at your egging on- “You’re stronger than me, baby?”

He stammers, “W-well…”

“Think you can take me down like you take down all those bad guys, baby?” Cooing- and that tone. Fuck, that tone…it left his flared, reddened tip scraping your insides at an even faster pace. “Think Spider-Man’s gonna win again?”

Ino shivers as you lean down to press your naked chest against his toned one, “Yes…I can—” And then you’re gripping at once of his biceps for balance, “I can-”

All for you to press a pretty peck on the side of his face- and then drag your tongue across where the attractive man was tearing up at the mere feeling of your pussy. So soft and hot. Sucking him up until he was seeing stars- “Then prove it, Taku—”

And it all happens in a split-second.

You don’t even realize it.

One second, you’re staring down at your boyfriend - with his chestnut hair splayed out upon the pillow like a halo, with a faint blush breezing across every inch of him (yes, every inch), with his entire body shaking n’ shivering underneath you. He seemed just so delicate.

Gone on your pussy.

Except…except for that little fire in his eyes that clued you in on something dark.

And the next second- you’re the one staring up at the ceiling. And right into Ino Takuma’s glazed, glittering peripherals. 

He was stimulated on your pussy until tears.

There was something stoic in him, however, as he reaches his right hand up somewhere above you. And you hear it before you see it- the splat! of something wet and clingy sticking onto your wrists. They’re both pushed against the headboard by the sheer force of…whatever that was.

And only when you go to pull away do you realize—oh fuck.

You were stuck.

You’re jerking your head up to glimpse at the pattern of white webs that restrain either hand against the sides of your headboard. Trapped.

And you’re peering up at Ino with a sheepish smile- “Baby?”

He pushes up his thick glasses, “Don’t ‘baby’ me—” And his ruddied tip finds its way between your pussylips in a split-second, jerkin’ in and out at a dizzying rate. Until his furious length was nearly nothing but a blur between your legs. “You wanted this- fuck, you’re gonna get it.”

“Yes-” You’re being manhandled back and forth- unable to do anything. Unable to even hold onto Ino’s locks of sweaty hair for balance, “Yes, yes, yes—please.”

“And you’re gonna fucking- hah, take as much as you’re given.” Ino emphasizes his point by slowing down, giving you loooong and luxurious licks of his puckered crown. “Only as much as you’re given- any complaint for more n’ I’m webbing that pretty mouth up, sweetness.”

“Oh, anything for you.” Fluttering your lashes up at him. It was just so cute how that made Ino immediately break out into a smile, “But what if I want you to cum inside m-”

“God- fuck.” And his wrist twitches as though he’s just about to make good on his promise. “Don’t even fucking…”

That aching cock of his just can’t stop pumping in and out, in and out, in and ouuuuuut.

And before he even knows it, he’s plunging straight into his high- deep and hot inside of you. “Thermodynamics—” And you’re almost sure you didn’t hear him right - spit-slicked lips repeating away as he pumped his hot wads into you - “Polarization functions.” His sweat-matted head dips into the crook of your neck, and he’s pinpointing each single orifice inside you with a dollop of his seed. “Orbitals- fuck, I love orbitals.”

Pouring and pouring out so much of his voluminous cum that it practically overflows.

“W-wait, why are you reciting formulae now, Taku?” You’re breathing out with the last inkling of your rationality, “You’ve already cum-”

“To stop me from losing my fucking mind, pretty.”

And he sounded damn serious.

Damn ruined.

Eyes wide. Voice pitched.

There’s nothing more for him to do but ruggedly hit his cock into every one of your delicate spots now- feeling those tender bundles of nerves with his tip. He slide-slide-sliiiiides down those particular areas—fucking and fucking and fucking you until you’re bursting into your wave of bliss.

“And don’t think we’re done yet, sweetness- maybe next we could get some use out of my camera…”

You’re not making it out of this alive.

Because it turns out that not only does Ino gain superpowers as Spider-Man, but he’s also earning extra…stamina. And he lasts until dawn breaks, he lasts until his fucking bed breaks- you have to tap out before you think he might just break you, too.

Wobbling your way downstairs- you can only clamor onto the walls and furniture for help. “I’m banning you from sex for a month-”

“A month?” Ino gasps, “I only just had my first time-”

“Two months.”

“Sweetness, just let me help you walk-”

You grumble, “Forever.”

And as Ino howls about how utterly unfair it was- and how you had actually been the one to start him up on his superpowers—you’re stumbling across…a figure in the kitchen. Hunched over the island. Coffee in hand.

It’s just then that you remember that Ino Takuma didn’t live alone- no. He lived with his uncle who was supposed to be away on a professor’s retreat tonight.

But it seems…

“Taku-” You elbow your ranting boyfriend, who still hadn’t looked up from his hands. He continues. “Taku-”

“I can handle a villain, but I can’t handle a damn se-”

“Taku.”

It’s only then that Ino looks up from his tear-stained (honestly, he’s so dramatic for the hell of it) palms and sees his uncle. Masamichi Yaga looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel.

Honestly, in all the semesters that you’ve seen the deadpan professor- you don’t think you remember a time when he didn’t look as though his students were bringing him to the precipice of an aneurysm. 

“H-hello, sir.” You’re the first one to speak, after far too long a silence from your boyfriend - guess Spider-Man has two weaknesses, huh? Yaga nods graciously at you in response, before fixating his eyes on his nephew once more.

“Uncle Yaga—” Ino jolts with yet another elbow at his side. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Yaga’s ‘World’s #1 Uncle’ cup chips in his hand.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Goonology.

“—and in this one he’s Frankenstein with a huuuuuge dick- heh.” Gojo titters as he pushes his glasses up, having slid down his face in excitement. He gestures to another file on-screen, “And in this one, they’re clan leaders that have to fuck for an heir. And in this one, he’s a rose toy that turns into a real man and she reeeeally likes that. And in this one, it’s an omegaverse- do you know what an omegaverse is? So basically it’s like those alpha wolf memes but with-”

“Uh-huh.” Nodding absent-mindedly - honestly, you’ve been doing it for so long by this point that it’s likely become a permanent fixture of your demeanour.

Perhaps you’ll go nodding away for the rest of your life.

Perhaps you’ll only nod when you think of Gojo Satoru, and the absolutely massive (concerning) hentai collection he was showing you. Files upon files all meticulously organized and named, with a spreadsheet to follow rating them on the basis of goon-ability.

You’re not sure how you got here, to be honest.

You’d become friends with the nerdy boy at the start of Professor Yaga’s physics course, assuming him to be one of your fellow intellectuals. And what you’d found out was that…Gojo Satoru is an intellectual (there was no denying that, he was the brightest amongst the department with a suspected job offer from JAXA straight out of university—even Yaga himself couldn’t deny it no matter how much the white-haired boy got on his nerves), but that he was also the ultimate…gooner.

The realization didn’t come instantly, of course.

It’d started off with long study nights and mornings spent early in the library, poring over thick physics books with Gojo. Then that acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. Which resulted in nights dragging Gojo to bars and parties, and helping the nerdy boy cut loose.

And then an even deeper friendship—

After which a few too many Jägerbombs (one, actually, he was a lightweight) ended up with Gojo confessing to you that he was a virgin. You’d guessed as much, to be quite honest.

But then he’d confessed to you that he’d never even had his first kiss before- hell, he’d never even held hands with an in-real-life woman before. And it’s that last comment that got you—what the hell did he mean by an ‘in-real-life’ woman? 

And Gojo Satoru had been more than happy to confess to you that although he might’ve never had contact with a woman in real life - you yourself were a miracle, and the first friend he’d had in…forever - he’d gotten into far too many bases in his virtual world. 

His video games. His manga. His body pillows. His hentai.

Anything and everything that had your jaw dropped in this cozy bar the two of you were at. Eventually, you’d both ended up getting kicked out once Gojo had (far too loudly) talked to you about his collection of personalized ahegao hoodies. And ‘would you like any recs?’

What the fuck…?

You’d gone home to sleep it off that night- but you couldn’t help yourself. Call it morbid curiosity, call it some part of you being a masochist—but you just had to call Gojo up the next day and tell him-

Yes, I would like some…recs. To know what he was into, if anything.

Totally nothing to do with the fact that you were maybe-kinda-sorta nursing a massive crush on the pretty, perfect (other than…perhaps this) white-haired nerd. His blue eyes. His shyness. Those dimples at the edge of his smile. Oh…and perhaps you had to know whether he was actually crazy or not, alright?!

And thus, here you were.

Doing your very best to ignore the body pillow that was splayed out upon his bed, with an original character of his own that looked suspiciously like…

“Me?” You’re blurting out without meaning to.

And Gojo glances over at you in response- fixing those cutely thick glasses of his. “Yes?”

“Why do they all…” Come to think of it…you’re taking a closer look at his glaring computer screen. And the expression of glee upon Gojo’s face at your sudden interest quickly morphs into one of absolute horror at the analytical look in your eyes.

He darts forward to cover his screen. “Wait-”

“They all look like me.” Snatching the computer mouse from his hand, you’re scrolling through the numerous MP4 files. Rows upon rows. Thumbnail upon thumbnail. Each one gave you a brief flash of an animated woman that looked like you, coupled up and being absolutely pummeled by a man with…blue eyes. Rows upon rows. “Satoru…”

And you’re looking at him in silence. He’s silent back.

“Do you like-”

“Yes.” Adrenaline runs through your body. 

And now he looked a bit more like the shy, bookish man that he usually was. Fiddling with the hem of his Digimon t-shirt, that aroused blush upon his face getting replaced by something a bit more innocent.

And by looking at his slender, pretty hands- you’re accidentally sneaking a look at the bulge in his pants. “And do you…” At his questioning gaze, you gesture at his crotch.

“Y-yes.” He admits.

Your eyes widen, “Even—” Looking at the body pillow on the bed.

He huffs and tugs down the hemline of his t-shirt to cover his erection. “Yes.”

And as the silence grows longer, Gojo fidgets more upon his squeaky chair. Restless. Ravenous but…he couldn’t quite browse through his collection with you in here, could he?

Before finally you say-

“And what about the real one?”

.

.

.

“Oh fuck—ngh~” Gojo’s gaze was wide and dilated- the blackness of his pupils almost entirely engulfing his irises. There was a slight glowing glaze on top of his eyes, as though he was drunk - and the way he’s babblin’ away certainly didn’t help his case. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

The very crown of his tip was tremblin’ nearly as much as his tone was- and the nerdy man pushes his hips up into yours like an animal.

Claiming the tiniest of orifices inside you as though he’s running out of time.

Splashing around his glittery white cum- because of course he’d ended up cumming just as soon as he’d put it in. 

Stirring around his thiiiick cock until a ring of white forms at your entrance. “Oh fuck, it fuh-feels—” Cute pink lips tremoring. He’s fluttering those long lashes up at you, from where you were straddling his cushioned chair. “It feels so- ngh- much better than it looked in the hentai, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” You titter to yourself. And it’s an action that makes the nerdy man pout, “That good?”

“Yes—” Gojo’s mouth drops, as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that you were asking him this - as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that such a question like this existed. And with his back arching off of the chair slightly, he ruts up into you- again and again. With no rhythm nor rhyme other than the urge to absolutely pound-pound-pound his hot, needy cock into your perfect pussy. “Yes- why the fuck wouldn’t it feel good? Do you know how fucking good you feel?”

And then you clench and it’s enough to send him throwing his back through tears-

“It should be fucking illegal for your pussy to feel this good.”

He sounded dead-serious - and you almost found it cute just how pussydrunk Gojo had gotten after only a few vicious strokes. “I dunno…you had ah- omegaverse and all in your hentai, Toru.”

“My hentai had omegaverse, but I have you…” He’s blubbering out. And it would’ve been the most romantic things he’s said…perhaps, had it not been for what he says next. “And y-you even feel better than my PocketPussy3000…”

Arching one of your brows, “I don’t think I want to know what that is—oh, fuck.”

He gives a sudden swipe, dragging that metallic sensation across every one of your hidden sweet spots.

Oh, how could you have forgotten to mention?

Gojo Satoru - nerd galore, the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met - has a fucking Jacob’s Ladder piercing. A line of ruthless metal barbells that pierced his lengthy shaft, that stuck out lewdly - creating a texture that made your eyes absolutely roooooll to the back of your skull.

Their delicate orbs were rubbin’ coldly against your walls, were molding his interesting shape against your channel. And you find yourself speeding up your bounces just to feel his sensual piercings. 

Just to feel the rub-a-dub of them pushing apart your snug cunt- clinging onto any tiny crevice.

Gojo’s giving an inexperienced slam against the back of your womb and you cry out—“Shit, how can it feel so good-” Holding onto his broad shoulders to keep yourself from falling off of his lap, “You’re really a virgin, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up smugly. “That, I am.” Feeling more confident now, he’s grabbing onto either side of your hips- if this was one of his hentai, then he’d probably use his alpha powers to induce you into heat. Then probably pound you with his cum until you’re bloated…that last one, he could still do. He gives you a few rough thrusts, “And because I’ve got the power of gooning and hentai on my side-”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Why not?” There was that smug bastard you knew and loved in class- so sure he was right. Gojo cocks his head defiantly to the side, sure he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock, more like.

But just then you’re clenchin’ your fluttering cunt around his cock—making the overconfident nerd stutter, making him blush, making him jerk his hips up into yours and splat! out another wad of cum. Adding onto the puddled mess upon your cervix, slick and heavy with syrup. “What was that, Toru?”

You’re keeping him absolutely hostage.

And it felt so good for you, too, with the nooks and ridges of his Jacob’s Ladder driving you absolutely wiiiiiild. Especially the orbs at the end of his barbells that slipped easily into your walls.

Again.

And again.

And again-

He’s staring up at you through his lashes, words sputtering. “I-I meant-”

“Hm?” Yet another clench- a mere clench. And that round, reddened tip of Gojo’s ends up swervin’ straight against the door to your womb—the nerd’s mouth waters as he thinks of all the possibilities…

“I just meant that m’thankful, sweetheart.” Gojo’s crooning up at you. He loops his arms around your papping! waist and brings you deeper against his toned chest, probin’ your spots even deeper. “I’m so thankful to get to- hck! fuck a pussy like this- so, so thankful…”

“Mhmmm?”

“There’s a reason I cried a little when I first put it in, y’know? A loser like me could never have even imagined- fuck.” Answering, he keeps on drilling his hips up into you - sloppily. Semi-thrusts that leave your entire body on edge from how fast n’ frenzied they were becoming. “And no hentai nor manga nor bodypillow in the world could ever compare to you—” 

“Fuck-” You whisper. It was only making his mazing tip, his massaging piercings, do their magic even harder inside your slippery channel.

And Gojo whispers - mostly to himself. “I got those just because they looked like you, anyways…”

But you’re hearing him perfectly.

And it takes only a few more swerves n’ grinds of your hips to draaaaag yet another orgasm out of Gojo Satoru—you’ve lost count which one it was for the night. But it’s enough that your walls feel slightly inflated with the sheer volume of seed pumped into you, the clingy wads n’ webs stuffing you so full.

Part of it sprays between your legs and glues the backs of your thighs to his waistline. 

And you’re only tightening them ‘round him deeper- ready to ride him maddeningly through another burst of euphoria.

But the surprise comes when Gojo pushes his foggy glasses up in determination - it comes when he peeks down at your pussy through his sweaty bangs. Pinkish tongue sticking between his teeth, the nerdy man locates your neglected clit in a few seconds and starts rollin’ over it with his thumb like a machine. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do - but he knew from those sultry mewls leaving you that it felt good. And so he’s alternating between slow hearts n’ rapid stripes drawn down your puffy nub.

Every drag of his digit sending sparks to your brain. Overheated.

“Shit-” You’re somehow managing to choke out. And it takes only one-two-three more twists n’ turns of his wrist to get you to start trembling. “Shit, shit—Toru. That feels so-”

To get you to cum.

And so you do-except…you weren’t just cumming.

You were squirting—glittering, hot splashes of sap escaping between your pussylips. They splatter all over Gojo’s slender waist, drenching him all the way down to his chair- and he doesn’t care. 

Fuck, he’s having the girl of his dreams soak his cock with her pussy—and you think he’d care about something like that?

Barely paying attention to his own orgasm, Gojo balances you on top of him n’ drags you through your high. Such strong, sudden zaps of bliss going from his roverin’ tip and straight up to your muddled mind—just a few hungry hammers, and you’re already babbling with pleasure. The knobs of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging your sweetest spots, only elongating that wave of euphoria even further.

It shatters through your body until you’re a mess.

You’re dripping between your legs- and from your eyes. Sobbing into Gojo’s shoulder, “Sa-Satoru, that feels so good—fuck, that felt so good.” Perking your hips up n’ down his swollen shaft—even the area ‘round his pelvis was reddening with impact. “You did good, baby.”

“I d-did?” Gojo asks.

And you can only nod. “You have to delete that insane collection of yours, though.”

“W-well of course, I will…” He smugly pushes his glasses further up his nosebridge- and the sudden improved vision lets him see the dark patch you’d squirted all over his favorite Digimon t-shirt. 

And Gojo can’t help himself from tugging up that hemline and fucking sniffing your sweet, sweet juices-

“Now how about I introduce you to my PocketPussy3000…that I named after you?”

.

.

.

Professor Yaga is just about reconsidering his resignation plans- it’s been a while without any…incident involving his students pushing him to the verge of an aneurysm, he hasn’t had any problems with grading, he hasn’t had any problems with the other staff.

Overall, life has been good.

The problem comes when Gojo Satoru comes to class looking as though he’d come to the very same conclusion.

That morning, he decides that the bespectacled man - his star student in Physics class - looks blissed out…too blissed out. His skin was glowing. His eyes seemed sparklier than ever. He was practically hovering into class.

And Yaga’s eternal conundrum is put to rest when you walk in right after, looking (perhaps not as dramatic) equally happy.

Ah…he connects the dots. And he catches the way the two of you look at each other as though you wished the rest of the class didn’t exist-

Yaga shudders. He reconsiders reconsidering his resignation plans.

He splits the two of you up during seating.

Gojo’s loud cries sound like music to his ears.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mr. Mr.

“Fuck…” Higuruma Hiromi finds his head pressed against the polished mahogany of his desk yet again, breathing out his woes into it as though it could hear him.

It always was his most avid listener, these days.

He ignores the newest paper that’d landed on his desk - Higuruma wasn’t above taking cases that interested him anymore. But then again, most cases required attention—and that was exactly what he was lacking right now. These days.

And who else was to blame for such a transgression by Tokyo’s best law professor but you? 

You. You. You. You.

Ever since you’d walked into his lecture hall at the start of semester- your pencil skirt sharp, your mouth even sharper. Higuruma would be lying if he said he wasn’t drawn in by the sheer breadth of your knowledge—even to a man like him who lived and breathed law itself.

He was stunned.

And you were stunning.

Both in your beauty and your brains- and everything else in-between that Higuruma Hiromi just couldn’t stop fucking thinking about-

It was driving him crazy.

He thinks he might be going crazy.

He can’t spend a single class without his eyes drifting towards you—as though drawn in by magnets, even though he didn’t really have a point to emphasize nor any question to ask. He can’t grade your papers without fearing that he might just subconsciously slip in an extra point or two - not because you need it, but because he’s a weak man. He’s a weak, weak man. 

And Higuruma always ends up loaning off your papers to some other attorney friend of his - it always does make him breathe easier when he finds out that you’re always given top marks regardless.

Even the clock has found itself inutile ever since your entrance into his life—no longer is it a device to display time, but rather a countdown for when he might see you next.

The next class. The next orchestrated bump in the hallways. 

The next time he sees your beautiful, beautiful smile.

If Higuruma isn’t in class with you, he’s spending his time counting down the hours until he does. And that’s what he was doing at this very moment—that’s what he was attempting to stop right now.

“I must have gone mad.” He runs a hand through his thick, black hair - usually parted to perfection, but it usually seems to unravel whenever he thinks of you. As does every other part of him. And Higuruma whispers his confession into the late hours- with no one in the vicinity right now.

Class had just ended, and he was still reeling from the vision of you in that short, short skirt. So short…

Higuruma’s breath hitches at the mere memory of it, like a dying man. He’s always been the type of man to prioritize his career - and that means he’s never quite…felt anything like this before. He’s never quite looked out of his books long enough to take interest. Perhaps he’s been in a maddened haze—“That must be it.” He declares, “I really must have gone mad-”

He stands abruptly. Slightly teetering.

“Because I can’t—” You were a university student. You were a decade his junior. You were the beautiful face he got to see everyday- and yet, he wasn’t supposed to notice just how beautiful you were. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t be done. I really can’t-”

“Professor?”

“My law student of all things-”

“Professor?”

“And yet- fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone so desperately-”

“Professor.”

Higuruma feels his blood grow cold. Without a speck of sense in him, still, he’s whirling around to face you - he’d recognize your voice above thousands.

You were standing at the edge of the doorway, tip-toeing slightly inside as though unsure whether you should interrupt. One of your hands rest at your chest to feel your beating heart—and the other one slowly but surely closes the lecture hall door behind you.

“I came here to get a bag I’d left behind…” You’re starting off- and to Higuruma this doesn’t feel real. He’s falling into his chair—“But maybe I’ve left something a little more ah- important.”

And that smile of yours definitely doesn’t feel real.

“I-I beg of you to reconsider.” He starts off, nervously fiddling with his glasses frames.

“Motion denied.” You smile, stepping closer. And the way you’re looking at him—fuck, he feels his cock start to throb already.

“I’m much older than you, my angel.” Higuruma attempts to reason - but the thing is, he isn’t sure whether he’s attempting to reason with you or himself. Because you certainly had an air of finality about you- “And I’m your professor.”  He gulps. He has his books in his office- so, so many books. And yet, none that would help him find the words for right now. “Not to mention, there are so many other eligible bachelors who would be a better f-”

“Dismissal with prejudice.” You hum. Examining the older professor before you—dark circles, beautifully tragic, such a bookish air about him. “Anything else?”

He pushes his stern glasses up his nosebridge. “No…sentence accepted, Your Honor.”

.

.

.

And it’s not too long before you’re finding yourself spread flat across Higuruma’s desk - all polished, poised, formal. Not a speck of dirt or document out of line—except for the fact that you had your back against it and was currently being fucked dizzy on Higuruma’s fat, throbbing cock.

Throwing both legs on top of his shoulders. Pinning you down with a hand at your throat. 

He was giving you all that you were going to get- and all that you were getting were looooong swipes of his bulging tip. In and out. In and out.

Plummeting between your pussylips n’ tickling the deepest spots in the back of your pussy. The deepest—Higuruma makes you taste his rotund circumference at your throat, before he’s dragging his sloppy cock back out and repeating it all over again.

Reddened tip to the tiny curls at the base of his cock- and luckily for you, this was everything you’d been wanting since the second you walked through those hall doors.

Ever since you’d seen your hot, nerdy law professor. 

Higuruma pushes his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose, and you’re gulping at just how handsome he looks. A thin line of sweat tricklin’ down the side of his temple- “Shit-” He’s hissing between clenched teeth, voice higher as though he still couldn’t believe that this was real life. “Shit, you’re taking me so well.”

“A-anything for you—” You’re gasping out. His thrusts are hard enough that you swear you could feel him empty out his pre all the way in the back of your throat- and you swear you could taste it, too. That salted caramel flavor that clogged up your tastebuds—

“For me, huh?” Higuruma’s handsome nose crinkles, and he slams a set of his fingers down upon your clit. “Teacher’s pet.”

You’re whining at the stars that makes you see. “You have no idea.” It was only in the slight reprieves between his thrusts - when he’d pull back from your cervix and relieve the pressure on your womb - that you could manage to even speak. “You have no idea how fuck- how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

“That long, huh?” His dark eyes widen.

“So long.” And you’re not even sure why you’re being so honest - but you suspect it has something to do with just how stupid he’s making you with his textured length. Those zig-zagging veins and ridges upon his swollen cock—fuck. “You have no idea how many nights I spent- ngh, poring over textbooks. Just to memorize things n’ impress you.”

His achingly-hard cock grows even plumper inside of you. “You d-did that for me?”

“I wanted you to be proud of me—” You’re almost sheepishly admitting to him. You dare to hide your face behind your hands- but Higuruma stops you then and there to take in your full expression. “-sir.”

And that almost makes the stoic man…pause.

It almost makes his lungs heave out.

It almost makes his glasses slide completely off of his nose-

Something in him just snaps - perhaps his sanity, his restraint, his hips slamming into yours until your very mind jolts. Fuck…

And Higuruma has to stare at you - whilst his cock still shovels in at a rapid pace - for a few seconds just to register. He has to throw his head back—“Fuck. Substantive and procedural law, right and duties- liabilities.” Such an odd slew of words and concepts from your syllabus leave him, growing even more feverish the more fervent hush hips become. “Theory of legal positivism—”

“What are you…” You don’t even have the words to describe it.

But Higuruma looks down at you with such dark, depraved eyes - a slight glaze atop them that made you realize he was completely and utterly pussydrunk. “That’s to distract myself, angel.”

“Oh—fuck.”

And before you know it, he’s scooping your lower half even further into his body and bending deeper down. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Higuruma folds you until the cheeks of your ass aren’t even touching the polished wood of his desk, and his cock reaches in so deep that it makes your pupils cross-

“And that’s to remind you that big girls never hafta bow down- not to anyone.” A line of drool travels slowly down the side of his mouth - he kisses you. “So how about it—”

“You want me to call you-”

“I’ll be calling you-” He starts off. “-something very fitting, Your Honor.”

You shiver.

And he basks in his own glee - what else for his star student?

Higuruma’s poundin’ away at the gooey back of your pussy- all the way until it feels as though he wants to fuck you through his damn office desk. 

And you’re sure by now that a print in the shape of your two bodies has formulated on top of the varnished mahogany—and knowing Higuruma, he’d likely just admire it all day. And as if he was trying to make this dream a reality, his bludgeoning pace increases until that gluttonous cock of his was nothing more than a dark pinkish blur between your pussylips.

Thrashing and swiping.

Locating your sweetest spots.

Higuruma draws a particularly good stripe down your puckered g-spot and you moan- “Please- m’so close, s—”

“What was that?” He cuts through. Stern. 

You didn’t think you’d get anything past him, did you? There was a reason he was so damn famed in the courts of Tokyo.

Higuruma’s sharp eyes glint. Through slower, sensual draaaaags of his cock he asks- “What- was- that—”

“Nothing-”

“I believe there may be inaccuracies in that statement.” He hums. Thickened shaft plummeting once more to your womb—thud-thud-thudding. “Try again.”

“You must’ve heard me-”

“Hearsay.”

“I called you-” Ultimately, you’re left to cry out. Nothing left but to have Higuruma’s hazy peripherals staring intensely down at you, and his cock twitchin’ as he pumps you through your orgasm. “…sir.”

And he reels back in delight at having won.

Your body trembling. Your eyes welling up with tears.

It was such a startling wave of bliss- one that almost made it hard for his fattened cock to fuck deep into you - not with your walls clinging onto him like that. And he has to fight to keep himself from cumming right now, just wanting to let you bask in the simmering pleasure first.

Just rammin’ a bruise of his cockhead against your cervix. Again. And again.

Though his steamrollin’ cock fucks you through peak after peak, Higuruma’s smile stays as mean and merciless as ever. Tutting, “Someone deserves some punishment, sugar.”

You’re still shivering from the force of your euphoria- “R-request for a fast trial?”

Wordlessly, Higuruma then reaches somewhere behind you—and you don’t have to turn your head to know what it is. Because soon enough, he’s bringing his shiny gavel to your line of vision- and dragging the honed tip of it straight between your legs.

“My conditions are that you cum with just this-”

“And my punishment if I can’t?” You breathe.

That perfectly poised wooden tip is just starting to inch inside and graaaaaze down your tight walls.

Higuruma gruffs, “Then I sentence you to ride my face until you squirt.” 

He smiles.

.

.

.

“Hiromi—” Masamichi Yaga’s drawling tone echoes down the empty corridor- it’s been just a few hours since he’d last been in the Law Department. Not one of his usual haunts (and he was almost glad for it, law students just seemed so much more…intense), he felt awkward waddling down the barren place.

It was long after classes had ended, though it was a sure shot that Higuruma would be in his office.

If not for the little…task he’d sent his friend—then because of his workaholic nature. Yaga was sure that his friend would have that little letter typed out for him by now, Yaga was sure that by tomorrow he could walk up to the Dean and let them know that he was resigning. Officially.

And with such a formal letter to boot- his pension was going to be luxury!

He was sure of it…

So tell him why he’s wandering right up to Higuruma’s door and hearing the strangest…groaning noises from inside. Worried that perhaps his friend might have gotten into some trouble with his health, Yaga’s hands twist upon the door handle- one that would’ve been less easy to open than a safe.

It was firmly locked.

“What the…” His brows raise well above his shades, and Yaga can’t help himself- he really can’t. He was acting under the presumption that his close friend might have been hurt—alright! The older man leans down to the keyhole on the door and…peers inwards.

He knew that Higuruma was never the type to keep a key in a door- he preferred deadbolts and such. But oh, how Yaga was wishing it was the opposite as he snatches a glimpse.

And what he sees is his best friend- not suffering from any health complications or injuries as he could see. Instead, Higuruma seemed as healthy as ever as he arched you deeper into his front and fucked you - you - in a way that made Yaga blush.

He’s shooting upright as if burned.

Speedwalking down the corridor—fuck the letter, fuck the Law Department, fuck everyone around him.

Yaga was never resigning.

A/N. Got a little…carried away with this one whoops-

The café seems to come to a standstill around you. 

Servers, customers, even the new intern that’d been blatantly dozing off at the counter jerks his head up and throws a glance at your table—or more accurately to figure out the utterly inhuman voice that’d erupted from your table. 

It was deep. It was gravelly.

It sounded like - in its alien desperation to assimilate to this society - it’d meshed together as many human voices as it could possibly make, and in the end had come up with something that sounded like everything but.

And, of course, that voice had come from your boyfriend of three years.

Toji Fushiguro.

Though he was either ignorant or uncaring - knowing Toji, it was likely both - to the stares that were being thrown his way. He was far too busy fussing around this…symbiote and its separate thoughts and voices, batting around his head as though shooing away a particularly annoying fly. But you’d seen it—fuck, for the briefest second, you’d seen it…the way that this black, murky substance not quite of Earth-like matter had flickered over Toji’s handsome face for a second.

Slime-like skin.

Haunting white eyes.

A long, loooooooong tongue.

You shudder just imagining it.

“Sorry ‘bout that, doll.” Toji grits out- “His name’s Venom and he’s a real pain in the ass.”

You’re barely thinking twice before you utter, “And…how can we fix this?” 

Voice nothing more than a whisper. Though perhaps owing to those suddenly-honed senses of his, Toji can hear you perfectly. “According to my hypothesis, there should be one way in which once the symbiote is completely satiated of its more…base needs, then it parts peacefully with the host. But this is still unfounded- besides, I’d never fuckin’ ask you to-”

“I’ll do it.”

Toji pauses.

“Eh?”

And you’re meeting his shocked expression with one of pure steel, “I’ll do it.”

.

.

.

In almost no time, you’re back in Toji’s laboratory and bent over his desk—what had meant to be a trail run- what had meant to be a simple discussion with the symbiote to test Toji’s hypothesis had ended up with the most looooong, lecherous thrusts being pumped into the back of your cunt.

Your thighs clench together, moans echoing out and hitting the four corners of the walls.

Just the simplest plaps! of Toji’s ravenous hips comin’ down onto yours was enough to send your heels skittering- forced to stand up a little straighter. He’s cleanly lifting you off a few inches just with the probin’ thrusts of his cock—and as Toji bottoms out once more, he’s rushing you straight into your nth high of the night.

Peak after peak.

Thrust after thrust.

The seventh round that you were feeling his thick, throbbing cock piston you through—though according to Toji, they were called trials. 

Trials during which those waves of bliss shred through your core n’ straight up to your muddled head- one that’s immediately getting bombarded by that same gravely tone from before.

“Mmm, you smell sweeter when you cum.”

You startle, “Wh-what was that?”

“Fucked so stupid you can’t hear? Humans are so interesting…” As you’re tentatively turning your head over your shoulder, you’re seeing that Toji’s figure was suddenly taller…towering…covered in that black, goo-like substance from earlier—his face splits from cheek to cheek with a sharp-toothed smile, and suddenly he’s letting escape the most bone-chilling laugh. “I wonder how much sweeter you shall smell when I plant you with my seed-”

“Okay, that’s enough-” Toji’s struggling to gain dominance of the symbiote- though you still weren’t sure how exactly the system worked. You’d determined that it was a dual rule, of sorts, in which one could ‘fight’ the other for control of the body. 

And right now, your boyfriend was the clear winner.

Groaning as he’s winning back control—and with the regaining of his body, he’s bombarded with the sudden sensations of your hot cunt enclosing around his shaft. Sucking. Slurping. Just so thick and throbbing to be even deeper inside you- you’re unsure whether this was just your overstimulated brain talking, but you could’ve sworn that Toji felt even bigger than usual-

“You’re welcome for that, heh.”

You jump, “Wh-what was that?”

“You’re fuckin’ welcome.” The symbiote in Toji’s body utters, and you’re shivering at the sensation of Venom’s looooong lavish tongue dripping down the side of your throat. Licking. “Venom can change shape however we like, we can make ourselves bigger…”

And you can’t fucking give a response to that—you can’t. Because just then that mazin’ tip of Toji’s cock is expanding far beyond what you’re used to.

He’s shovelling in even more inches than you knew he possibly had- he’s thrashing against your cervix and digging in as though he’d probe even deeper if he could- he’s swelling up so much inside your tight walls that it honestly feels as though you’re about to be split down the middle—

“Mmmm, became even sweeter. Heh, you liked that.” Those honed teeth of his graze over your neck, easy enough for him to tear through. “How about curved?”

Immediately bendin’ in such a delicious curve- one that strikes the end of his shaft directly against your g-spot. He doesn’t even have to try. 

Your thighs quake as you feel his flared mushroom tip swabbing n’ stirring and messing up your insides with such an extreme shape. Plunging. Prodding around. The degrees of his curvature bent juuuuuust the right amount that it’d hit most of your tender spots-

“Or what about tentacles-”

“Wait-”

“That fuckin’ jerk.” Soon enough, Toji’s interrupting whatever lecherous plan the alien had for you, and instead using his original cock to pinpoint your insides.

Though Venom might have had the ability to change his shape- absolutely nothing could match Toji. Nothing could match the way he’d already memorized the locations of your sweetest bundles of nerves n’ how exactly you liked them stimulated—whether it was the quick, rapid strokes of just his very flared tip, or the achingly long strokes that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your back arches, and your moans crescendo louder than ever as your boyfriend reaches down to twiddle with your sensitive nub. “Right?”

Attempting to look back at him through your sobs, “Wh-what was that, baby?”

“I said—” Toji seethes out between haaaard strokes of his rugged cock- absolutely vicious. He wasn’t taking his time with you today, he was poundin’ your poor cervix raw with his tunneling tip. “Wasn’t he a fuckin’ jerk? Thinking that he’d be able to fuck my girl…”

“Y-yeah…” You’re acutely aware of the fact that Venom was hearing every single word being said. Likely simmering beneath. Likely attempting to regain control and make you spill the truth-

“Uh-huh?” But Toji was on a roll now. As the words spat between his scarred mouth grow faster, so do the ministrations on your pulsing clit. “Wasn’t he just delusional? Thinking that you’d like that alien cock- heh.”

Pathetically nodding along—unsure whether that was for the question or for just how good it felt. “Yeah, mmmm- fuck.”

“Right? And wasn’t he wrong?”

“Yeah-”

“Wasn’t he useless?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Wasn’t this pussy missin’ me?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

And what you’re faced with next wasn’t a question, an insult to Venom, or anything else that you might have expected- it was a sudden spank!

Right on top of your clit.

Right before Toji’s already-elongated cock swivels a few inches deeper than you remember him being able to before. Thicker. Meaner. The top of his shaft was swelling into a fatter circumference, and you swear you can hear the squelches of orifices you’ve never known being opened up—

His sharp canines gnaw down on the shell of your ear, and shivers run down your spine at the guttural tone of his voice. “Then why are you so fuckin’ wet, my little liar?”

“O-oh.”

Shit, he’d known.

He’d been able to hear you, too.

And now you were paying the price: you were feeling Toji’s relentless cadence but with Venom’s ability to bend and prolong his shaft as much as he wanted to. His tendrils of symbiote substance glissade down his cock and stretch out your walls just a bit more—wrapped just around where Toji’s already-massive length was.

And if you thought that that wasn’t enough- you’re damn near losing your mind at the feeling of those fingers twiddlin’ at your clit starting to tingle. Starting to transform.

Before you know it, they feel strangely…tentacle-like. They reminded you of Venom’s own tendrils, though with a sultry suctioning sensation to it that made your body wrack with pleasure- “Oh my god—fuck, Toji, how are you even-”

“You forget that Venom is a part of me now.” He murmurs through a grin, hips only accelerating. Cock only lengthening- fingers only suckling. “And you’re not getting out of this any time soon, doll. At least, not until we have our hypothesis.”

“Shit…”

“Hypothesis schmipothesis. I get to breed her after.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Superman.

“My love…” Just the way that Nanami uttered your sweet, sweet pet name…it was anything but. As though he was a man that’d worshipped every name, statue, and deity in the world—and the only one to answer his wretched prayers was you.

He whispers your name.

Lightning strikes.

Nanami was silhouetted against the tall floor-to-ceiling window of your apartment; his red-clad feet hovering just a few inches off the ground, chest emblazoning the famous ‘S’ of which you could only see the ghost-like outline. Like a faint memory. That long cape of his drapes behind his broad shoulders, flowing in a breezeless wind. His head was bowed. His face utterly expressionless. 

Moonlight falls upon him like a knighthood, but something more untoward.

The night was dark and so had been the day of fighting crime—or so you’d assumed. Usually, when your boyfriend arrived home it was with kisses to your cheek and bouquets of flowers. 

You had no idea what happened today, but…he doesn’t respond to a single one of your calls. Not a single one of your pleas. 

The only thing you can do is take a step forward-

And he jerks as though he’d just been shot by several of the lightning flares outside. A thousand bolts of electricity and even more, more, and more. Even though he had his gaze turned downwards, Nanami doesn’t need to see to sense you-

He already knew.

“My love.” He repeats, as though a broken CD. There was a wisp of something so carnal in his tone, something dark and drenched in…a desire that you couldn’t put your finger on. It was something that made shivers cascade across your body, however. “My love, don’t-”

“Don’t what, Kento?” You’re insisting, even though you fight yourself not to take another step forward as per his wishes. “I need to know what happened, baby.”

“You need to know.” He repeats once more—was he even capable of anything else? You’re starting to grow even more concerned and reconsider your internal pledge when- “I was injured.”

Concern pours over you like a bucket of cold water, “Injured? Where-”

“Not physically.” Nanami spits out through clenched teeth, every syllable difficult for him to enunciate as though coated in glue n’ sticking to the roof of his tongue. In the pale moonlight you could see that his skin was covered in a sort of perspiration - something almost feverish and flushed. “It’s- fuck, I need you to know-”

“Kento, I’m scared for-”

“I need to fuck you.”

And as he finally rushes out the confession, large exhales seep out of him like every bit of his remaining sanity—a weight had been lifted off. But little did he seem to realize that that weight was a keystone for a dam. 

And now he felt like he was about to fucking burst-

“Lex Luthor- latest invention—fuck.” Interrupting his own explanation with a rugged groan - not one that was quite pained, but not…not either. “None taken, no casualties.” Something crossed between rage and ecstasy. How very like Nanami to utter of other before himself- “But I was injected with- fuck—”

You take a step forward, “Kento-”

“-aphrodisiac.”

“Oh.” Heart stopping. Without even thinking, you’re taking a quick scan of his figure to make sure that he wasn’t bluffing about no physical wounds, and when all seems clear on his upper half, your eyes can’t help but drop to the area between Nanami’s chiselled legs - and your sweet boyfriend’s Superman outfit had always been particularly flattering on his body, but this—he looked about nine inches straight through his tight latex and throbbing. Aching. 

You can speak no longer, and him barely enough- “Stay away.”

Another step. “Kento.”

“Darling, I’m going to ruin you.”

And another. “I don’t mind.”

There isn’t the burst and then the frenzy of lips on lips, skin on skin, as you might’ve expected at first. No, not at all. Your words linger in the bedroom for a few more seconds - tight and tempting, just when you think that the tension in the air is going to stretch so taut that it might never snap—Nanami moves. 

Just the slightest action: he stops hovering. Setting his feet down on the windowsill for the first time - and it hits you just then why he hadn’t been touching any bit of your apartment for so long.

Because the moment that Nanami came in contact with any - any - part of you, he was going to go fucking insane. That is, if he didn’t have your pretty pussy to take it out on—in almost no time, you’re finding yourself pressed flat against your king-sized mattress and having your boyfriend’s thickened tip swirlin’ your insides. 

He was just so hot and needy.

Perhaps even greater in girth than you remember him - there was a vein down the middle of his length that stood out n’ massaged every inch of your insides. Throb-throb-throbbing away inside of you as the crowned edge of his shaft bottomed out- fuck, he doesn’t even spend the long, sensual hours of foreplay as he usually would.

Nanami merely throws your legs over his half-uniformed shoulder, merely clasps onto one side of your hips, merely tunnels his angry cock in and out—

In and out. In and out. You’re feeling him glide his handsome nosebridge down the column of your throat- stopping just where you were most sensitive, he’s twitchin’ in-between your puffy folds as he takes in your pheromones. Groaning, you swear you feel him grow even bigger inside of you—“My love—”

It’s that absolutely broken tone of his that makes you jerk your head in response. Blinking up tearily at the blond man, “K-Kento?”

His shaggy, golden bangs were curtained over his eyes n’ covering most of his gaze now - and you’re unsure whether you should be thankful or concerned that you couldn’t measure the sheer primal desire in them anymore. It was obscured from you—and all you’re getting revealed of him are the constant grunts whenever his ruddied cockhead hits the back of your pussy, his shivering hips, his mantra of your name. “I need to know…my love, I need to- fuck, are you okay?” 

“I am—” Strangely enough, it made your cunt grow even wetter to know that he’s caring so much about you even when he was in the depths of the effects of the aphrodisiac-

His mind was wiped clean of anything but his base needs- and yet, there was always a part of him that knew you were what’s most important. And the superhero reaches one roughened hand down to sweetly cup your face, dragging the tip of his thumb down to wipe away any beads of sweat- “Are you s-sure? I need you to be sure-”

“I am sure, Kento.” Insisting. And though you feel just a little awful for interrupting his well-meaning pleas—you also needed to feel his thick, textured cock hitting eeeeevery single inch of you. And though you’re at his complete and utter mercy, you can’t help but squirm your hips around to swivel more of his solid inches inside. “Please- fuck, I need more of you. Don’t hold back-”

“Fuh-fuuuuuuck—” A zig-zagging vein pops out on his forehead, freckled with sweat. “Don’t say that-”

“But I am saying that.” Wrangling your legs off of his sculptured shoulders- or at least, you’re attempting to. But Nanami only needs to drift a single hand up to keep you pliably in place—he’s locking both ankles behind his neck with one hand, long fingers holding them gently yet sternly. It’s all he needs to halt your restless hips as he hits a sensitive spot and ploughs iiiiiiin.

Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Every single one of them locates that cute target of your nerves- instantly, it was almost like magic. That deliciously curved end of his shaft manages to maze his way inside, spreadin’ apart your gluey walls and heading straight for that area—all he has to do is follow the channel of your cunt until he’s led straight to that spot he bashes nicely. 

Sloppily.

“Darling, you’re close.”

“I-I am?” Eyes shooting wide open- fuck, he’s right. It takes only one more thrust of his vein-covered cock for you to register the thrills of adrenaline shooting up your spine. You’re arching straight into his chiselled chest, “Oh, shit…I am.”

“My love didn’t know?” Nanami nearly titters. “S’okay…your Kento’s going to fuh-fuck you through it. Your Kento’s going to make you feel so good—ngh.”

And as he utters this, his cadence only grows sloppier.

“May I…” Just so cautious of the way you’re being jostled to n’ fro - of the way you’re nearly hitting the headboard, and the roundness of his balls smack! against your cunt. Nanami has enough clarity to feel almost…sheepish about the way that you’re clearly dumbed down on his cock. His greedy, greedy cock. “May I make you cum- oh, may I go…just a little harder?”

“Kento—” You’re pouting, “I want you to go harder-”

“I-”

“I want you to go the hardest.” And as he’s still half-uniformed, you’re able to reach up and twist your fist in the smooth fabric. Tugging him down, you snarl- “If you want me to cum, Kento, then you better not hold back.”

And Nanami doesn’t answer. He doesn’t utter a single syllable.

He’s merely slowing his hips down and reeling his hips back, back, backwards—he lets the rounded tip of his cock circle your hole for a few seconds. Just the slightest few seconds, before that pulsing length of his shoves deep inside- not even stopping at your g-spot, he’s heading straight for your womb. 

That soft, sopping womb of yours- “My love…” Just the last thing you’re hearing before you’re cumming, “My love, it’s going to take now.”

Blabbering, “Wh-what—”

“It’s going to take.”

And a thick, ropey warmth floods you deeeep from your core- spreadin’ into every nook, cranny, and crevice until you’re feeling a little lightheaded. “Did you really mean…” As your voice murmurs out in pure disbelief, those clingy wads of his cum get pinpointed into even the tiniest sweet spots inside of you—places that you weren’t even sure you had. He’s pressing his thickened tip against the sides of your walls and watching as your sweet, sweet juices get sprayed out. “You- you really didn’t mean…”

Nanami utters nothing but a few raspy groans, eyes locked on the forefront of your core as he shovels inside. Inside and inside. “I did.”

There was an intensity in his eyes that you swear you’re feeling against your skin- and you did. It burned. “Did it seriously—”

“It did.” And his round, reddened tip ends up sticking straight against your womb - fucking you through your own high, fucking you through his drivelling wads of seed. A final swat. “It did, my loves.”

And you’re noting the change of your pet name.

Because you already knew what he meant- it had taken. Nanami Kento was using his superhuman sight to peer through you, watching as his cum trickles into the deepest depths of your womb—and his mouth quirks up into a handsome grin as he notes that it’ll be…

A daughter. 

.

.

.

“Congratulations”

You gape at the screen.

And a quick glance at Nanami reveals that he was doing the very same- though perhaps in not such an outward manner. As soon as possible, you’re staring right back at the screen that showed a little bean of something your doctor was pointing towards and explaining—something that flows in one ear and out the other.

You were still registering that there was a little bean of something.

You don’t know when - it might be second, it might be minutes, it might be days later - but Nanami speaks. Something silent and barely-there, a breathless whisper as though he was afraid that it’d shatter the mirage shown on screen, “A-and…the…?”

He can’t complete his sentence. Though Dr. Shoko Ieri is a professional, and she picks up on what your husband means quite quickly.

He clasps your hand - newly-minuted gold wedding ring cold against your skin - and waits as she peers at the screen once more. Because he knows this—he knows this. He’s seen this with his superhuman vision. 

He’d told you a few months ago just then…

And yet, Nanami’s heart flips. 

She smiles warmly at the two of you, “It’s a girl.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Batman.

“It’s you.” Geto chuckles, “Why did I know that it would be you?”

The sound of his low, throaty laugh is enough to send shivers down your spine—-and…perhaps even lower. Though that’s not something you wanted to unpack right about now.

You had to remember where you were: the mansion of Geto Suguru, billionaire, playboy, mysterious down to the core. The mansion had been as expectedly gaudy and gilded as most rich people loved their homes, but what had drawn you to it the most had been the safe room, of course.

And so here you were standing with a couple gold bricks in your bag and a few more to be packed up- that shouldn’t take long, you assume. And with a careless sigh, you’re ignoring the man himself and getting back to loading them back in—“So? Happy to see me?”

“Oh, less than.” Geto replies. 

“Don’t lie~” Purring, the skin-tight latex of your suit twinkles underneath the rich yellow lighting as you’re turning back to him. You shoot a flirtatious wink his way, “I know this is going to be the source of your wet dreams for years after.”

“Nightmares, more like.” He hobbles a step closer. It puts you on edge.

“Then how about we keep some distance from our nightmares, hm?” You’re gathering up your large loot—much heavier than an average person would be able to carry, though you’re holding it daintily between your fingers with ease. “I come to rob you, you catch me robbing you, you let me go—it’s a win-win for everybody. I really wouldn’t want to use force…”

“And I wouldn’t want to use force either.” Geto smiles so pleasantly, “I don’t really care about the gold- but there’s a pearl necklace in there that used to belong to my mother. How about you leave that and be on your merry way, hm?” 

You pout, “But I liked the pearl necklace.”

And his gaze grows just a little sharper, “I’m afraid that can’t happen, kitty.”

“Oh, I loooove it when you call me that~” Fluttering your lashes at him.

He takes a step closer, “I know your games, Catwoman.”

“And yet you fall for them every time, Batman.”

Did you forget to mention that Geto Suguru - billionaire, playboy, mysterious and also perhaps the most attractive man you’ve ever set your eyes on - was also Batman? Despite that, you still had the most infamous crime-fighting vigilante wrapped around your finger as though he was nothing but a low-grade thief.

And he was trapped in your web now (what was the cat version of that, anyway?)

Leagues below you. He’s biting down on his plush, pretty lip to hold back a whimper as you’re reeling your hips aaaaaall the way back to squeeze his blushin’ tip—holding it there for a few seconds before you give the superhero a good bounce. 

Making him throw his head back with a groan- Geto lets out a slew of swears once you’re starting up the sloppiest cadence. Back and forth. “D-don’t get ahead of yourself, kitty…”

“What was that—?” Pretending to gasp, you’re teasingly leaning your body forwards in a mocking attempt to hear him better. “What was that, Bat? I didn’t hear you- was that a stutter I heard?”

“Fuck off-” Spitting between clenched teeth. Geto’s clasping onto either side of your naked hips, using that strength of his you loooooved being manhandled by to roll your hips in figure-eight motions - just drag-drag-dragging the outline of his cock along your sweet insides. You could feel every ridge n’ crevice of his veins decorating your walls, massaging them into something even softer he loved to fuck up into. 

The two of you were sitting - barely - on the luxurious armchair he had in his safe room. Creaking and ricketing with age every time that Geto arched his hips backwards and gave you a thorough probe—inside. And though you couldn’t say that you planned to end up here, you didn’t quite deny that you had plans to end up in his master bedroom - why else would you have gotten caught?

The both of you knew that if you’d actually wanted to steal something, then you would’ve been out of this damn mansion hours ago. 

Gritting his pearly white canines, Geto crushes your hips further down into his and ruts up into you—“Sh-shit….” 

“What was that about stuttering, gorgeous?”

“Fuck off—”

“I’m fucking you, actually.” He spits between clenched teeth, gyrating your hips around so that the cute nub of your clit rubs up against his fuzzy base. It’s such a carnal feeling to have those curls of jet-black massaging where you were most sensitive, getting more n’ more drenched by the second. By the motions of your dripping wet pussy. He’s snarling, “That’s fuckin’ right- wipe that smug look off of your face. I already know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?” And you’re just barely managing to scrounge up whatever’s left of your sanity together to respond. “And what is that, Monsieur Bat?”

“C’est l’homme chauve-souris.” Geto rolls his amethyst eyes, “And it’s that you think you have me- fuck, underneath your kitty toes.”

“Kinky~”

However, he’s learned not to entertain you with yet another outburst—instead, Geto’s pulling all his energy into inching his hips backwards and planting another thorough thrust deep into the depths of your cunt. So hard that you think he might just have left a mark.

So accomplished in his grin that you think he might’ve been aiming for it

You wouldn’t have been surprised to know that billionaire playboy Geto Suguru liked to let everyone know that he was fucking you- especially you. The hottest cat burglar in all of Gotham. 

The same one he’s been infatuated with since the first time he saw you.

But he was fucking you like he hated you.

The sweetest thing he’s doing yet is cascading a hand down your front- left fingertip teasingly pressing your pussylips apart. It doesn’t take him long - not long at all - to find your pretty clit and draw a few circular motions on top of it—watching as you buck and whine straight into his hands. 

And the meanest thing he’s done yet is reach his other hand behind you.

Because suddenly you’re feeling something cold and metallic click! into place.

You gasp.

You should’ve known that crime-fighting vigilantes often worked from the shadows; from a darkness of which even your feline eyes cannot piece through. You didn’t have eyes in the back of your head, did you? Although perhaps Batman had a gadget for that, too…

And although you already know that you’re fucked- it’s not until the jingle of handcuffs emanates from behind you that you’re really letting the situation sink in. It’s not that you’re afraid of Geto or anything he could do to you, but…it’s just that you’re afraid of what you might do given this forced proximity.

Something stupid like- like admit your feelings to the ever-elusive hero or something. Disgusting. 

On top of that, you’re unable to motion your hips as you were doing so previously. Stuck pathetically grinding back into thrusts that he was already planting onto your cunt, the fatness of his girth sending you to the edge- 

You’re whimpering are you can’t do anything you’d usually do like clasp onto his pretty throat or shove your fingers down his mouth. “Sugu…aw, c’mon—”

“Now I’m Sugu?” Geto snickers, “What happened to Bat? Or loser? Or fuck off? Or I never-want-to-see-you-again?”

Fluttering your lashes innocently, “You know I jest.” To no avail, you’re attempting to slip out of those handcuffs as you’d have done with any other normal ones - but you knew better than to underestimate Batman. As you expected, no matter how much you’re squeezing and molding your hands against that metal, it keeps on adjusting to your shape and restraining you. Keeping you hostage. Only one look at him and you already know that Geto’d spent a fortune creating these…perhaps just for you. “C’mon, baby, let me out of these~”

“No can do, kitty.” He chuckles. And the audacity of this man- he’s straying his right hand down your spine and groping your ass—“Next time we’re keeping the suit on because I wanna pull your tail.”

You scoff.

And he raises one dark brow. Thumb pressing down even harder on your clit, “What was that?”

“N-nothing…” You whimper, entire body wracking with shivers. It’s a few more sloppy thrusts before you can thrust yourself to speak without your voice cracking again—you didn’t want to give more ammunition for his entertainment. “Oh, Geto Suguru, when I get out of these handcuffs I’m going to fucking-”

“Kill me?” He smirks, “We can see you try.”

“You think I can’t?”

Geto shakes his head. “No, I expect it. Just make sure you kiss me first.”

And you can’t deny - neither to yourself or him - that that’s leaving you even wetter than you’d anticipated. The sheen of your arousal dripping through his dark happy trail, leading down to that perfectly chiselled six-pack of his. 

He merely cracks a grin and plants his right hand on one side of your waist—drilling into you even harder than before.

“You know I love you, Bat.” You’re grumbling out almost reluctantly past the clogged mess of whines and moans and tears in your throat. 

“Mmm, love you, too, kitty.”

.

.

.

“Mister Geto, I have collected those crime reports that you requested me to-” Miguel’s deep tone halts immediately at the sight before him. He’s standing by the edge of Geto Suguru’s sprawling master bedroom - the subject of countless features in architectural magazines, and the dreams of high-society alike - eyes widening at the dual figures of you and his employer, bundled up and clearly unclothed beneath the covers. 

Clinging onto one another.

The crime-fighting vigilante and his criminal lover.

Though it wasn’t necessarily a secret around these parts that no matter how many women and men Geto Suguru meets, there will always be a certain cat-eared crime-lover he goes back to…Geto himself wouldn’t appreciate it if such word spread now, would he? This wasn’t the first time he’d crawled right back to you and this won’t be the last- hold on. 

Were his sunglasses deceiving him or was his cold, uptight employer actually smiling in his sleep? Heavens above, this might just be the last time.

This might just. 

Miguel settles for the thought that he’d tease the billionaire about it over dinner—very, very late dinner by the looks of it. 

He leaves the report on the nearest desk - of which there were many, because this is Geto Suguru that we’re speaking about - and heads towards the door. 

Taking one last peak.

Yeah, this might just be the last time. He trusts his intuition, that he’ll be walking into this scene more often than not in the coming years.

Yeah, this might just be for good. 

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Nightwing.

“Who knew that the Nightwing…” You’re purring—smiling like the cat that’s got the cream - or more like the hero that’s just caught her rival. “-sex symbol of Gotham, hottest man of the year, wanted by men and women and everyone in-between…”

And Choso merely bucks weakly beneath you - his hips stutterin’ with every single fucking milimeter that he’s shovelling inside of you.

Choso was red and furiously hot between your legs—thick. Throbbing even harder as he feels his ruddied, red tip scrape the bottom of your pussy; his fat cock twitches there a few times as he registers the soft, spongy platform he was feeling—this was…Those beautiful, brown eyes of his widen as it sinks in. Gasping. Shaking.

And it takes merely two - two - seconds of being stuffed inside you for the famed hero to throw his head back and cum.

And you’re finally finishing your sentence, “-a virgin.”

How had this all happened? How did you end up here?

You could blame it all on the spiked punch, you could blame it all on the lavish ceremony - the highs and lows of the red carpet, ah, they always did tend to make you feel a little more reckless than usual—what’s that saying about all publicity is good publicity? Or perhaps it was the fault of the Hero Awards altogether.

Gathered here with the most elite of the elite, the best heroes from around the world; where they patted one another on their backs and paraded in designer. Reporters starved for the attention of the saviours as much as any competent villain.

Though you couldn’t say too much about them - you yourself were here, too.

But you told yourself that you were here solely for one award—and one award only. All those about best costume, best comeback during a fight, best fancam, best fistfight didn’t matter (though that wasn’t to say that you weren’t grateful, it’d been sweeping wins for all of which you’d teared up). 

You were here for Best Hero of the Year.

The best.

The strongest.

The most battle-savvy.

The most competent.

The best of the best.

Once that nomination letter had arrived, you’d held it to your chest - in pure disbelief - for a long hour afterwards. It was an honor to be nominated—the greatest honor. 

To win this award a panel of seasoned heroes would tally up all of your fights for this year, then grade them based on a variety of aspects such as difficulty, saves, assists, honor; the total would contribute towards a count that determined the winner. And though you’d been cautious about not winning - there were many other wonderful, more experienced heroes nominated - you just didn’t expect for the announcer to open up the golden cue card and read…

Fucking Nightwing.

Which is why you’d cornered him at the after-party - for a congratulations between you two that’d turned into passive aggressiveness, and passive-aggressiveness that’d turned into a proper argument you’re sure the reporters caught wind of, and an argument that ended up with you and Choso tangled up in your hotel room.

Pressing him down with your hips- you’re trembling at the feeling of his warm sap gushing out of you. It’s creating an ivory sheen down the inner sides of your thighs, smearin’ down Choso’s chiselled hips in a way that was just so lewd—and you’re more than happy to make an even bigger mess. 

To throw your head back and grind your hips down onto his.

Choso hiccups, his upper half attempting to surge upwards- only for you to press one pretty finger down on his shoulder. And just the softest push has him tumbling back into the plush pillows, “Shit- y-you can’t just…do that to me.”

“Do what, baby?” You smirk down at him. 

And right as he opens those cute, trembling lips of his to answer—you’re tightenin’ your thighs around his waist and jerking your hips even harder against his. His prominent v-lines massage where you were situated, and Choso groans as his blushin’ cocktip manages to push and pinpoint even the tiniest orifices inside you.

He’s still drooling out beads of cum, pooling at the base of his cock. So much of it- shit, was he still cumming?

Or was he cumming…again?

Unsure of what you were feeling, you’re veering your gaze down and attempting to get a better look. And sure as day- not only was it your translucent slick n’ his precum that was flooding you from the inside, but Choso’s ivory cum sprays out and and mixes into something so lewd-

“Fuck- fuck…” Your mouth waters at the feeling of being stuffed to the brim - so much of it that you’re wondering just how overworked his hefty balls must be. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, “You’re cumming again, Cho—”

“Th-this is exactly what I mean.” Choso sobs out, eyes glittering with tears, “You can’t just do that to me- you can’t make me feel so…stupid when you fuck me.”

Amused, “Stupid, huh? I don’t know if I have to try-”

“See, m’so gone that I’d agree—” That soft whine of his makes you so much wetter. Peering up at you with his half-lidded gaze - boring his dilated pupils into yours, hanging his jaw maddeningly. He presses a simple jerk of his ruddied cockhead into the deepest depths of your cunt - dead fucking serious. “I’d agree that m’stupid. I’d agree that m’pathetic.”

“Awwww…” Arching your back, he’s attempting this cute attempt at ruttin’ into you that you’re indulging in. You let him thrash his needy cockhead again and again and again-

“I-I’m nothing but a fuckin’ ngh, virgin that doesn’t deserve to fuck a pussy like this.” His lips wobble out- and you might have said something about him being too hard on himself…you might.

But the dirtier that Choso was speaking - the harder he was on himself - the harder he was getting.

Longer. Girthier—and his thorough thrusts were spearheading even faster by his tip. Taking out the tension in everything he was saying by ramming straight into your cervix - hard and fast. It twitches right at the very back of your spongy womb…and you’re swearing that a grin grows across Choso’s face as he registers that displeased expression on your face- who did he think he was to try and gain control over you?

“Now now—” You’re pressing both palms on top of his sweaty chest, and you can’t deny that they felt so toned and muscular underneath your touch. “Trying to be a big boy, Nightwing?”

“Only for you.” He croons.

“Cute.” You wrinkle your nose, “But that’d be a lot more smooth if you weren’t cumming- again.”

“Fuh-fuck.”

When was this? The third time? The fourth? Either way, all Choso knows is that he can’t stop those furious zaps of pleasure from coursing through his entire body—every inch and vessel and atom. It’s collecting at the mushroomy tip of his cock, red and swollen, then dribbling out as cum. 

Not even.

Choso barely manages a few pearly white droplets before he’s shooting fucking blanks-

Head throwing back. Gasps echoing out of him. Chest heaving and heaving as you’re riding his overstimulated cock craaaaaazy-

“What was that about Year’s Best Hero?” You’re tittering out, staring into Choso’s utterly pretty face as he’s cumming through tears. Spark upon spark. Strong enough to make his toes curl, and you’re ruthless in the way you’re wrapping your warm pussy around him and milking him dry-

His pinkish lips wobble, “Wh-what was that…”

“How’re you gonna fight crime if you can’t even- ngh, handle a pussy?” 

“W-well, I didn’t expect to be facing such a…formidable foe.” Blabbing out - utter nonsense at this point. He was pussydrunk—if only those at the Hero Award could see him like this. “You could take on a second job as a villain…j-just with that pussy…and also just f’me…”

“I take that as a…compliment?” 

“You’re welcome—ngh.” Choso whimpers out- before there’s a sudden twitch at the crown of his swollen shaft. And those brown brows of his furrow, “B-but don’t be nice to me, however, it’s gonna make me cum- again. Mmm.”

“Oh, Choso…”

.

.

.

The glitz. The glamour. The fans begging you to sign their tits. 

At the very next Hero Awards, there’s a buzz like never before. 

For several reasons, of course: first of all, the matching outfits between you and the famously handsome Nightwing (though you’d argue that yours is the one that looked better, secondly because some drama-lovers anticipated a rerun of the infamous fight between you and aforementioned handsome hero, and last but not least—because of the new category of awards you’d been nominated for.

Most Inspirational Hero Couple.

And it was no surprise that Choso had won this one, but at least this time—you’d won it, too.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Hulk.

It happened not when he was angry, or excited, or panicked.

The results of a top-secret experiment funded by The University of Tokyo, intended to create human super-soldiers: it had been a failure. And Dr. Ryomen Sukuna had known better than to get his hopes up for such a volatile test subject—he was an expert in the field, 7 PhDs in a variety of sciences from biochemistry to radiophysics, he knew that it could take months, years, even decades before they observed even a mere anomaly similar to what they’d been hoping for.

But fuck- Sukuna had really thought he’d done it. He’d made humans immune to gamma radiation.

At least, he’d thought he did.

Ryomen Sukuna blinked his eyes open after the sudden explosion of radiation, and at most he’d expected to see his laboratory wrecked, his data completely wiped. At most.

He didn’t expect to be seeing it from eight feet high.

He didn’t expect to be seeing it with four eyes.

He didn’t expect to wield four massive arms in an attempt to find any shattered piece of glass from which he may see himself from-

Two mouths let out simultaneous gasps. 

One of them slashed across his muscular stomach.

He was a monster.

It didn’t take a single one of his PhDs for Sukuna to know to flee the scene- not just the building, but Tokyo itself. Sirens loomed in the distance, and the acrid smell of radiation left him in waves- bystanders running to the rubble without realizing the danger. He knew you’d be alerted soon—you.

How could he ever face you like this?

Lo and behold he’d ended up at a squat village in Aogashima island; 358km away from Tokyo with only 160 residents. It was here, tucked behind sprawling mountainsides, that Sukuna had come to discover the little intricacies of his…condition. Through trial and error, through testing upon himself and attempting to control that four-armed version of him. Attempting. 

And so the question: what made him transform? 

He discovered that this monstrous state - which he dubbed to be a Curse state - was triggered by sudden increases of his heartbeat. Rarely anger, or excitement, or panic. What else might possibly raise the disgraced scientist’s heartrate well over 200 bpm?

Arousal.

Which is exactly what he’d been learning to control through his breathing techniques, his meditation, and his celibacy- not that he’d want anyone but you. But fuck…the dreams he’d have of you.

Nightmares, when he wakes up as the monstrous King of Curses. 

Heaven, when the exact source of his nightmares - and wettest dreams - comes knocking at his shunted door one sunny summer day. A furrow between your brows. A furious word or two slipping out at the first sight of him. 

Fuck.

.

.

.

One year, two months, and a few days since…the incident and you’d finally located where your ex-boyfriend (and former colleague) had disappeared. 

And you’d expected him to have sunken into his work in one way or another. 

You’d expected him to have holed himself away in some rural town—as he’d confessed to wanting to do on some nights, just with you. You’d even have expected him to have been working on some strange new project after the failure of his last one- he was the type to take it to heart. A little dramatic, but you expected this.

You just didn’t expect…his transformation.

Right before your very eyes.

Four arms. Four eyes. Two cocks that’d stayed twitchin’ in his baggy pants for a mere few minutes of your conversation- before you had your face pushed into pillows that smelled like him, legs struggling to keep you up, begging for more as Sukuna digs those two ruddied cockheads between your pussylips and sliiiiides in-

Just a few inches.

Just a few.

Before the resistance of your tight entrance gets too much- and Sukuna’s leaning back a bit to allow his cursed second mouth to spit down on your pussy. Hard.

The impact makes you shiver, sticky substance gluing your pussylips together. You swear you hear his second mouth snicker as he swabs that cloying texture with his cockheads, and uses his hands to manhandle you into pliable position - one hand cupping your abdomen and pulling you up- the other digging into the left side of your hips- the other reachin’ down to thumb apart your swollen folds and help him fuck his lengths inside. Thick and throbbing.

In short, slow semi-thrusts. He was just trying to fit inside. “Kuna—” Breathing out open-mouthed against the pillows. Needy.

“Needy brat.”

“Kuna.”

“Sh-shit.” And he wasn’t doing a single bit better than you. Sukuna was letting his head drop into the clammy crook of your neck, gnarled canines grazing on top of your skin- you feel the scowl across his face stretch even more as he pull-pull-puuuuuulls those hot erections backwards.

And then probes aaaaaaall the way back in - languidly. 

“Fuck-” You’re gasping out—seeing pure white behind your eyelids. You almost couldn’t believe it. Sukuna was already sizable- but in this form?

He had his round, reddened tips just barely lodging between your swollen folds. Just so big. Pulsing. Pushing apart your slick walls with his circumferences, throbbing away inside you. Rubbing back and forth a few times to savor the squeeze of your hole - like heaven - before he’s stuffin’ every single nook, cranny, and crevice like never before. 

And the carnal burn between your legs was only made sweeter by the way that Sukuna himself trembled on top of you. He’s letting out a coarse grunt-

Gasping. 

“Fuck—fuck, is this okay?”

And a part of you melts at the utter tenderness in his tone - mixing with a hint of fear. Of disbelief. Ryomen Sukuna was never the type to be vulnerable, not even when the two of you had been dating—but as you look over your shoulder right now, you see that those devilish red eyes of his were observing every minute expression as though searching for a hint of rejection. Of disgust.

A hint that he’d been right about his changed form.

He was inhuman in his physique now, and…and he understands if you’d been scared away at any point-

But you’re only arching your spine and veering your hips back into him- cutting off whatever whirlwind of thoughts was bound to consume him. You’re picking up the pace that he’d been unsurely slowly down, bouncin’ down onto those slick-glossed shafts. They filled you up deliciously. “You don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily again, are you?”

“I-”

“I’m more than okay, Kuna.” 

“And yet-”

“And yet, why won’t you fuck me even harder—” Huffing, you’re managing to get up onto your elbows and gain a bit more leverage. “Spent so long looking for you, y’know…”

“Tch.” The scientist grumbles, but you could feel the way those rotund tips of his twitch just a lil’ inside of you. “Should’ve known-” He’s matching your pace with his own, slamming the lines of his toned abs against the globes of your ass cheeks. “-that you’d be an utter slut for monster cock.”

“Cocks.” You correct.

Just then, the wetness of his second tongue trickles down your pussylips. Gathering up every wad of honeyed slick you were leaking out- he was glissading his tastebuds along every inch of you he could reach: your inner thighs, your cute ass, nearly reaching around to fuck your pretty pussy. “Don’t forget the tongue, too, girlie.”

“I c-could never…” You’re keening out.

“Oh?”

And with a grin, Sukuna second-guesses no longer—before he’s leaning his chiselled front over yours. The hard ridges and lines of his muscles massaging your back, he hooks his fourth muscular arm around your neck and pulls you into a damn headlock-

“Fuh-fuck-” Sukuna hisses through his canines - honed and longer and ready to bite. He ruts into you like a damn animal—“Shit, how I missed this…”

“Shouldn’t have run away then-”

“From the fuckin’ freak?” 

Just the slightest press against your throbbing g-spot - it’s like a trigger for the sweet, sweet squeeze of your walls- so warm n’ hungry for his cocks. And Sukuna jerks into urgent attention, 

And now he wasn’t fucking you slow- he wasn’t taking his time.

Ryomen Sukuna had his muscular hips arched n’ reluctant to part from yours. Probin’ those girthy inches of his inside—

You’re attempting to claw at the headboard for dear life- but his keen eyes immediately catch the sliver of action, and Sukuna wastes no time before tightening his headlock ‘round you until his biceps bulge against your throat, hauling you back into his vicious ploughs. “What?” He breathes, scalding hot against the side of your cheek. “Where are we going, girlie?”

“We?” 

“We. I could never forget her.” He’s rasping out against your skin, sending vibrations across every axiom of you. “Always thought of her—”

“A-and what did you think about?” You’re whimpering.

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. And you’re disappointed as you feel Sukuna take as much time as his heart desires, pulling out of your pussy with a cute pop! Before he swirls his ruddied tips to soften up your entrance once more, and gives you a thorough thrash- going even deeper than prior. He’s making the eyes roll to the back of your head- he’s finally bottoming out. “I thought about how she might take every inch of me…”

“Oh.”

The tip of his second tongue dips out as though to fuck your cunt simultaneously. 

.

.

.

When you’re accompanying Sukuna back to Tokyo, it’s hand-in-hand.

Large and warm against yours. There were more callouses on his fingers than you remember there being - not those of laboratory test tubes, and flasks, and flipping on centrifuges; but the hardship from the year you didn’t have him—and he didn’t have himself, either. 

But you’re tugging him into the airport, now.

Two tickets booked and a meeting at The University of Tokyo already planned - the two of you didn’t plan to let anyone know of his transformative abilities for now. Perhaps never. 

There were things that the two of you hadn’t sorted out yet: like how would Sukuna explain away his disappearance to the science board? How would you both stay in your cramped Tokyo apartment when he turned into his Curse mode? How would you manage to work on controlling it when…

But you knew the two of you would find a way - you always do.

As you’re standing at the terminal to your flight, the ones at the farthest end of the line, you’re turning around to a lilting voice calling out both your names. Your full names. Who knew such a thing…Faced with a grinning woman in a jet-black suit, tinted sunglasses, and the most accomplished grin across her face. She introduces herself as Tony- or as you may know her: Iron Woman.

And would you and your hulking boyfriend perhaps be interested in a little something called—

Sukuna’s breath hitches.

—The Avengers?

♡ INO TAKUMA - Flash.

“Mr. Flash- Mr. Flash! Just one more question, please…”

“Mr. Flash?” Ino gets a sheepish expression across his face at the esteemed title- one that makes the rest of his team roll their eyes. And he’s turning to the reporter that wastes no time shoving his mic in his face; camera already rolling, news headlines running.

All part of the job—it’s already been an hour since they’ve saved the city (yet again) and they’re still being interviewed, with no sign of it stopping anytime soon. 

And so Ino plasters his camera-ready smile on - the rest of the team might not be as savvy as he was with the media, but he was one of the most popular up-and-coming heroes for a reason. Hah. The people loved him, and he loved the people. He takes the mic from the reporter faster than he can blink, and the man startles out a laugh.

“Woah, did you get that?” He turns uncertainly to the cameraman, who nods though he himself wasn’t too sure. Turning back to the red-clad hero- “You sure are fast. Tell us, Mr. Flash, does this speed affect you in your normal life, too?”

Ino answers, “Well-”

“And what about in the more…intimate aspects?”

He’s somewhat taken aback, “What do you-”

“What about in bed?”

Ino’s jaw has never dropped faster—ironic, isn’t it?

And that reporter leans in with a smile that’s turned wicked - one that said he’s going to get paid a lot of money for this particular clip. “Tell us, Mr. Flash, do you last nothing but a flash in bed?” Those beady eyes then turn to you—not too far away and interviewing another one of his team - ever since the two of you started dating, you’d been careful to not let anything slip about it, going so far as to avoid interviewing him as you once did as a hero reporter.

Though you suppose that some whispers did let slip.

For the man was staring at you, though he asked the question from Ino. “Or perhaps there’s a certain…someone that might know the answer to this question?”

That clip of him open-mouthed and gaping takes over social media within a few minutes - it garnered some strange frenzy of amusement and morbid curiosity. Some defended him fervently against the intrusive reporter, some argued that if one was a hero then they should expect strange questions, others condemned such questions all together- where were the boundaries?

Everyone else argued back.

But most…oh, you could’ve already guessed that most couldn’t help but speculate the real answers for both questions: the bed situation and the ‘certain someone’.

Ino, of course, was bemoaning his haste.

Or at least he would-

But right now he had you splayed-out underneath him and letting him fuck you maddened—the slender length of his cock pistoning in and out of you at a frenzied pace.

“Fuh-fuck-” That pretty, pinkened mouth of his droops open with a wet gasp—and Ino shudders as the ruddied tip of his cock swerves around your insides. Stars burst behind his teary eyelids as he’s sprinklin’ out yet another few droplets of him, trickling it deeeep into the back of your womb as he’s fucking your wet channel through it.

He’s shuddering his hips forwards and locking his knots of seed against the softness of your womb- “Fuck, you’re making me c-cum again, pretty…” And it’s about the fifth time in the past hour that he’s repeating this, “B-but I’m really not a flash in bed, right…?”

Such doe-like eyes stare at you, those long lashes of his glittered in tears. And you can’t help but say, “Mhmmmm—you’re really not, Taku.”

“But then why do you sound like you’re making fun of me?” Those trembling fingertips of his take purchase upon either side of your hips, and Ino’s mahogany brows furrows as he concentrates. “This round- this round, m’gonna prove it to you.”

“Taku, baby, you’re pussydrunk-”

“Even better.”

It’s been hours.

Fucking hours.

And Ino hasn’t stopped ruttin’ himself into the warm wetness of your pussy- he can’t stop himself. 

It’s been too long - at this point he wouldn’t even be able to give you a number - since you’d successfully steered him away from that reporter and accompanied him to his penthouse. Since you’d reassured him that he totally wasn’t too fast in bed and that you definitely did think the sex lasted long enough. 

But still.

He didn’t last a flash in bed.

He really, really didn’t—which is why a young dawn was filtering through the curtains- but Ino Takuma still had his cock lodged thoroughly inside you and was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. He’s reaching down to wrap both your legs around his toned waist, folding you in half n’ kissing your sweaty forehead with his.

But his point was getting harder and harder to prove with every round that he’s fuckin’ you through - bottoming out deeply at the back of your womb, and letting out the prettiest shivers as he feels you clench. “Fuh…oh, fuck.” Uttering mere minutes after he’s started this round, “I-I think m’gonna…”

“What’s that, baby?” You’re reaching up to loop your arms around his neck, tugging the beautiful boy towards you. 

“Nothing.”

Batting your lashes up at him, “Awwww, c’mon- you know you can tell me anything, Taku.”

“I-it’s really nothing.” He insists.

“Hmmm, alright then…” But you knew- oh, you already knew. The more rounds that Ino was plunging you through, the more n’ more pussydrunk that he was growing—the shorter he lasted. Which wasn’t entirely anything bad- you honestly found it cute how it’d only take a few sweet slides down your tight pussy’s channel for Ino to utterly fall apart.

But he’s soon feeling that prickly sensation of his high, and he only starts tunneling between your sopping pussylips even harder. Brows knitting. Fingers digging into your flesh. “M’not gonna cum, sweetness-” He hiccups, “I-I’m not gonna cum, promise-”

“Mhm, I trust you.” You’re coaxing him, “I know you’re gonna last, baby.”

There’s a breathless note in his voice. He looks up at you in surprise, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I know you can handle it- hah.”

Fervently nodding, “Yeah- yeah, and m’gonna make you cum—”

“Mhm—” Lewdly smiling up at him. He’s just so entranced by that sinful expression upon your face that he doesn’t notice the way you’ve planted your feet firmly on the damp mattress- suddenly rolling your hips up into his own. “So why don’t I…help you, my hero?”

“H-help—oh.” Stunned. Cutting himself off with a groan. 

Ino’s eyes squeeze firmly shut, and he’s shaking viscerally at the sudden plap! of your skin hitting against his own. It’s a different kind of burn when it’s you who’s taking control - and even though he’s on top of you, it feels like he’s the one that should be squirmin’ and gasping.

It feels like he should be the one who’s cumming first-

“No—” Ino’s gritting out through clenched canines - there’s a low trundle of something in his tone that sounds like desperation. Before you know it, he’s increasing the speed of his hips—plap! plap! Plap!

That rounded, red tip of his finds the spot of your nerves just perfectly- and Ino doesn’t waste a single second before he’s starting to bludgeon it with his thrusts. So many times that it starts to feel a bit raw.

Pinning you down using the weight of his lower half, Ino digs his right hand instantly between your two trembly thighs. Brushin’ apart your pussylips with a singular swipe of his thumb- your head explodes in so many bursts of pleasure as he starts twiddlin’ with your pretty, plump clit. “No, no, no- don’t think that I don’t know what you’re hck! doing, sweetness.”

Fluttering your lashes innocently, “And what’s that, Taku?”

“D-don’t think that I don’t know you’re trying to make me—” Pausing to let his crowned shaft push into your womb with a resounding squelch! “-cum first.”

“So what if I am, hm?” You counter, “I just really, really love the way it feels when you’re filling me up-”

“I know what you’re doing there, too—” He’s snarling down at you- just so gone on your pussy by now that he likely doesn’t even realize he’s drooling. Those dilated pupils of his bore straight into your own as he angles his hips to constantly bash your poor g-spot, circlin’ every sensitive orifice. “I know what you’re doing- fuck, I know what you’re doing…”

And you can only squeal as the sheer pressure of his cadence increases-

“And I know what I’m doing, too.”

Because if you thought that was fast- then you weren’t ready for just how rapidly Ino’s fingers could make you fall apart. They were just so loooong and pretty, flexible enough to twist your nub in constant circular motions, flexible enough to make you sob.

It doesn’t matter how badly you’re attempting to buck away - Ino keeps his fingers firmly into the wettened crevice between your legs. Twisting his wrist into aaaall sorts of degrees just to see which one made you scream the most- 

“Please—” You’re bawling out after only a few minutes of this, legs shaking. “P-please, that’s unfair-”

“How so?” One amused brow raises. Perspired.

“B-because you’re gonna make me cum-” And to anyone else that would’ve sounded like a petulant complaint, it would’ve even sounded like a sore loser that couldn’t take on the challenge—but Ino knew. And you knew, too. “-using your powers—”

And the superhero can only grin, “So?”

Thrust after thrust.

Roll after sloppy roll of his glued fingertips - they were running your body taut. Without much effort, Ino’s able to make his blushin’ divot massage against your pussy at a rate where his hips almost looked like a blur—not even half of the Flash’s top speed. 

And the fact that he was going easy on you made you huff in complaint.

Without thinking much of it, you’re back to ruttin’ up into him - definitely unable to meet his cadence, but you knew you didn’t have to. 

You already had him wrapped around your little finger.

It takes only a few needy slams of your treacly pussy against his cock - all the way down to his thickened bottom - for Ino to throw his head back and groan. “You’re gonna…fuck, you’re gonna kill me, girl.‘

“Huh? But I didn’t do anything?” In a mock-innocent tone, “I certainly don’t have any powers to use.”

“Did you forget p-pussy power?”

You smirk.

And as he’s increasing his pace, you only have to whimper out his name for Ino to falter- for him to shake his head and continue. And as you’re attempting to gain the upper hand, he only has to buzz your throbbing nub with his electric speed for you to lose your mind. 

Eventually—you think you’re about to cum.

And before you can accept the thought of losing, you’re grabbin’ Ino by his pretty throat and dragging him down to kiss his lips. “C-cum inside me, Taku.”

It’s a tie.

You’re crashing into your high, and Ino’s crashing into his. 

Both the steaming hot pleasure of your orgasm flooding your core- and the few droplets that his overworked cock manages out. Creamy white sap. Thinner than usual—he was fighting not to merely cum blanks. Whimpering. Bucking. Fucking you like a damn animal…You’ve both experienced so many throughout the night that your current waves of bliss rip through you hard and fast.

Though Ino himself wastes no time bumpin’ his crowned cock into every tiny ridge of your wet channel. Scrape-scrape-scraping down the spots where you were most sensitive, and dragging it out for as long as he can.

You’re gasping as it leaves you numb from your toes, pulling his sweat chest against yours. “F-fuck, that feels so good…”

“Yes—fuck, yes.” And as the shudders of your high pass, you feel Ino’s cock grow just a little more limp inside of you- well…for a mere few seconds, that is. 

“T-tie-breaker?” He whines.

.

.

.

The next time the two of you are spotted out together, it’s for an interview. Of course.

In which you’d ‘cornered’ global superhero Flash after yet another one of his successful missions - before any of the other reporters could manage to get their claws on him - with the question they’ve all been asking—“Do you really last as quick as a flash in bed?”

You’re hearing the shocked gasps around you from the other reporters and bystanders. None had dared ask this question so directly since that clip had gone viral - and in the peripheries of your vision you could see that interviewer from before gnawing his teeth at the fact that you’d stolen his limelight. Surely thinking you’d have about as much luck as him, however…

But of course, Ino already knew you were about to ask this. 

His grin stretches underneath his mask as he turns to you, cameras rolling. “I should be asking you that, pretty. Dinner at 7?”

“There you have it, folks.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Spider-Man.

“S-so I guess what I’m trying to say is…” The masked intruder starts, his voice stuttering adorably through his lines. Though adorable as he may be, that doesn’t make you forget the fact that he was a man…tall…well-built…and clearly a crazed fanatic of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who’d broken into your dorm—“Uh…I come in peace?”

You’re raising the frying pan in your hands even higher, “I know how to hide a body-”

“O—okay, woah-” He’s immediately taking a few steps back, which you suppose you wouldn’t expect from a dangerous intruder. But then again, maybe he was just new to the job?

If so, he should probably have his pay docked - he was utterly failing at being intimidating. For he’s flattening himself against the window from which he’d entered just a few minutes ago, hands raised in surrender and the whites of his masked eyes widening. Damn, that costume was pretty good…

“I come in peace. I swear I come in peace- I’d just been running from a bad guy, and your dorm just happened to be…the first one I saw? Either way, I promise I’m no danger and I’ll just be on my way now so-” He immediately hastens, “Put…the frying pan…down.”

“Make me.” Raising it even higher, he flinches.

“Okay- oh my god, okay—” It really didn’t take much to make the man surrender at all, immediately giving up on any peace-keeping. He scrambles around the room and you’re worrying that he’s looking for something to challenge your frying pan with- but it seems that he’d just been brainstorming how best to go about with…whatever this is. Because in no time, you’re practically seeing a light bulb go off beside his head, and the man raises his palms as though to brace you.

And you can’t deny it, you found yourself a bit interested. “Um, yes?”

“Get ready- look—” He utters through the web-patterned mask covering his face. “Don’t faint but…”

“But?”

“I’m…Spider-Man.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

You’re assessing the man from head-to-toe—or at least what you could make out of him from the most elaborate cosplay of Spider-Man you’ve ever seen. It could honestly have been impressive if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in your fucking dorm.

But you digress.

“Okay, so do you want the frying pan- or I’ve also got a rolling pin-”

“What? No—no, listen.” The man insists, “I really am Spider-Man- it’s true! You’ve gotta believe me-” Though your deadpan expression gave away just about how much you believed the words that were falling from his masked mouth. And so he’s groaning in frustration, “Look- look, if I just showed you a few tricks would that work? Would that finally prove to you that I’m Spider-Man?”

Unimpressed, you cross your arms. “Go on, then.”

And then the first thing he does is shoot a clingy web from one hand, it launches at an incredible speed and sticks to your ceiling. That’s going to be hell to get out…

“Hm…” You narrow your eyes at him, “Impressive. But I’ve seen better at Party City.”

“That’s not fucking Party Cit- anyways.” He runs a hand down his weary face—or at least what you expect his face to look like beneath that mask. And as soon as you blink, you’re finding this…intruder(?) climbing up your walls. Literally.

All hands on there, glued to it with an invisible adhesive. 

You gape, “That’s not…”

“And how about this? This is even better—” Before you can refute that previous trick, too, this man jerks his head up (or was it considered down? You weren’t quite sure given the way he’d crawled all the way to your ceiling by this point) and basks in the silence for a split-second.

You wondered whether he was actually sensing something or just pulling your leg-

“My spider senses say that your vibrator’s plugged in but it isn’t charging.”

You almost want to throw the frying pan at him. However, you’re managing to tamper down the urge long enough to walk silently to your room and back—fuck it, he’d been completely right. You still sort of want to throw the frying pan at him.

But as though he’d sensed that, too, Spider-Man raises his hands up to cover his head.

So you’re setting it down on your table with a defeated sigh, “Alright, I believe you…Spider-Man. What’re you doing here?”

“Like I said-” He finally lets go of the ceiling and stands in front of you normally now, “-bad guy had been chasing me. That one was just a little…above my paygrade so I had to stall until Iron Woman could get here- which was about five minutes ago. The fight’s still going on, however, and I should probably lay low for now.”

Awkwardly shuffling, “So then…”

“So then if I could just stay here until then, um…”

“Um, sure.”

“Sure.” He twiddles his thumbs, “So- is there anything you’ve wanted to know in particular about Spider-Man?”

You smirk.

.

.

.

“Always wanted to know how—hah, big it is.” Biting down on your lower lip, you’re managing to hold back a pitchy whine as his solid tip enters your hole.

Puckered and plump.

Just the cutest pink- he was the perfect girth and size. 

Big enough to make your entrance quiver just feeling him kiss up against you, slender n’ smooth enough that he’s already starting to eagerly ease inside of you. And as you’re lowering yourself down on him, the superhero grabs onto either side of your ravenous hips like a lifeline—letting out a few ragged swears as he jerks his hips up and thrusts-

“Y-you should know…” He’s wincing at the feeling of your cunt - so hot and wet. Wasn’t this just heaven? 

Turning around to look at him- he’s rather glad you’d chosen a reverse cowgirl position. Because at least then you wouldn’t have seen the way he wiped away fucking tears—sobbing at just the feeling of being inside your wet pussy. “Mhm, spidey?”

“You should know that this is my first time.”

“Oh.”

And with that being said, he’s thumpin’ out the most thorough hit at the very bottom of your pussy. He doesn’t have the experience of just eeeeasing in his incredible length- he’s chasing the back of your cunt like a man starved. 

Like a man in unbearable pain every second he isn’t feeling the hotness of your cervix, the globes of your ass, the sensation of your walls squeezing around him like an embrace. So hot and wet. So sweet. So addictive-

“Addictive?” You’re giggling back at him, “Pussy talking already, huh?”

“I-I don’t even know what that is…” He’s babbling out, voice thicker than before.

And you can’t help but glide your palms down the smoothness of his exposed thighs, feeling every curve and divot of the corded muscle beneath. His body was just to die for - toned but not overly muscular. More like a sleeper build.

And you’re having soooo much fun moving your hips ‘round in all sorts of ways that made his muscles bulge—

“Fuck- fuck.” He’s stupid after just a few strokes. Bucking. Moaning. Hands tugging on the edge of the mask that found itself firmly upon his face, he’s attempting to loosen it and gasping for air-

“You should take that off, too.” You’re turning around and huffing at the sole scrap of fabric that kept you from seeing - what you assumed to be - Spider-Man’s pretty face. The only thing you could see of him were those stray curls of…white? Perhaps they were a super platinum blond? They wrapped around the nape of his neck and slightly leaned towards his jawline, drenched in sweat and flushed right down to his tone pecs.

The way that he’s squirmin’ and letting out the most unfairly erotic grunts every time you’re swallowing him up only left you so much more impatient. So much more impatient. “I s-swear I won’t tell anyone about who you are…fuck, and isn’t it getting super hot in there?”

“It is…” He murmurs, more to himself than anything. “But, what if—”

Peering back at him as he trails off, “What?”

“What if I don’t look how you expect?” 

“It’s the personality that matters.” Nodding in conviction, and then a sly smile stretches across your face at the way that makes his cockhead throb-throb-throb harder inside you. You’re wasting no time before increasing the speed of your hips until your hamstrings scream—“And the cock…heh.”

“S-so filthy.” The hero mutters, “But what if I’m…not your type?”

“Ugh—” Almost rolling your eyes- it was cute just how shy he was, really. But the first thing you’d wanted to do upon finding out that he was the real Spider-Man was to fuck him - so how much of a hint could you really give? “Baby, my type is loser heroes, and I think you fit the bill.”

“Thank y- hey.” 

Just a few more sloppy thrusts - just a few more - and the man beneath you finds himself completely n’ utterly gone from the force of your hips. The sweetness of your cunt. 

The way you’d tighten your legs around him any time he swabbed near your sweetest spots. And he was chasing that particular bundle of nerves with such fervour- he was gasping as he feels himself veering even soooo much closer to the throbbing of your deepest walls- he was reddening the skin ‘round his pelvis through sheer impact. 

And just as he thinks that he couldn’t get even more drunk on the texture of your pussy…

 You’re whimpering out a sweet lil’ echo of his hero name—

And the superhero beneath you lets his head loll behind into the pillows with a groooooan- mouth falling open at the feeling of your cunt surrounding him. Clenching. 

Clamping down, you’re holding him hostage better than any villain ever could.

His heavy balls were nearly full enough to burst- and he’s thinking that he’s gonna cum just as soon as he rams his blushin’ tip almost straight into the target of—

And then his spider senses tell him that your fingers are thinking of reaching for his mask.

But before you can even let the thought come into proper fruition in your mind, he’s taking nothing but a single split second to web your pretty wrists together and flip the two of you over. Just because he’s pussydrunk doesn’t mean he isn’t one of the world’s best superheroes, hm? 

Now fucking you with your face smushed into the pillows, your knees bracing on the mattress. His cock pounding out a single thrust between those sweet, sap-covered pussylips of yours- the hero hits your g-spot instantly.

And that’s all it takes for you to topple right into your high.

Pleasure rushing through your body in waves. Fingertips clenching at the sheer force of it. You’re seeing stars behind your eyes at the sensation- “Sh-shiiiiit—” Perhaps one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life- and not only was it wound up by a virgin, but the virgin was none other than Spider-Man?!

Jaw dropping open—though it was in slight shock, he’s taking the opportunity to lean and spit.

Making you moan as the gluey wad skids down your tastebuds, “Ohhh, you’re a secret freak, huh?” And though you’d meant it as a half-joke, the hero is leaning his chiselled body dooooown to whisper into the side of your ear. 

“Maybe.”

Then there’s the rustling of fabric.

Of masks being removed, perhaps? It takes your mind a few more moments of him slammin’ his rugged cock inside you to realize…

And then the white-hot feeling of your orgasm coursing through your veins is suddenly overtaken by the realization that Spider-Man - maskless and exposed - was right behind you. Looming. Looking for your reaction, you suppose…you feel a jolt go through your body as you realize that he was waiting for you to turn—bearing all of this for you.

And you wondered what he would look like.

Pretty, sure.

Slightly nerdy—perhaps, he never struck you as the jock type.

Someone sweet. Someone kind. 

Maybe that was just your wishful thinking.

You turn around and there he is - Gojo Satoru. You fucking knew him—he went to your university. The white-haired ace of the Physics Department; always roaming around campus with his textbooks or camera, always with his head buried and rarely meeting anyone’s eyes, always in the library to the extent that he might as well have been part of the furniture. 

Always with his camera lens pointed at you, though he doesn’t think you saw him enough to notice.

But of course, you saw him.

Of course, you saw him.

He’s the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year.

Gojo doesn’t meet your eyes now, either. He’s without his thick-rimmed glasses and has to squint just a little bit, looking self-consciously down at himself and fuck- you have to resist the urge to beg for missionary then and there just so that you can stare into his deep, azure eyes as he fucks you.

Instead, you just say- “Did you know that nerds are also my type?”

He beams brighter than the sun.

.

.

.

The next time you’re beside Gojo Satoru, it’s hand-in-hand and entering your next lecture. 

You could feel the stares, the gasps, the whispers.

The nerd of the physics department, and one of the most popular girls on campus- or at least, that’s what Gojo claimed. Professor Yaga himself lets his bushy brows raise just the slightest inch once he spots the two of you—and it makes your nerdy boyfriend blush right now to his ivory roots.

“Sweetheart—” He’s whispering to you, “How about we swing around the city today? Promise I’d never let you drop.”

You smile, “I’d love to, Toru.”

Oh, you can imagine that the Daily Bugle is going to go into haywire. 

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Daredevil.

“Do you trust me, angel?”

You can’t keep the smile off of your face, “Who would I trust if not the best lawyer in Tokyo? Maybe even the world?”

“Why only maybe?” Higuruma smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges—just barely visible past the frames of his sunglasses. Your boyfriend was just so handsome when he was in his work clothes: one amongst the many crisp suits he often wore to court, hair slicked back n’ not a single strand out of place, his cane by his side. But he continues, “You know how I’m a…lawyer of sorts?”

“Oh really? I had no idea.” You jest.

“How about we try something tonight, my angel…” And as you’re peering down at him in curiosity, Higuruma starts to loosen his tie just the slightest bit—and you’re suddenly understanding what he means. “How about a simulation of this aspect, though in a far lighter tone?”

Your jaw drops, “R-roleplay?”

.

.

.

“Denied.”

“Hiromi, baby—”

“The court finds you guilty on all counts of seduction.” Higuruma’s deep baritone rasps down at you, punctured only by the slamming of his gavel on his desk. Bang! Bang! Bang! Those pressurized vibrations send shockwaves down your own body, and the lawyer’s grin stretches as he watches you affected by such a thing.

How cute…he couldn’t stop but let your orgasm edge for the nth time tonight.

Edging you.

It’s later into the night, you’re spread out across Higuruma’s neat work desk- your back against the frigid texture of the mahogany, your front arching into his own. He presses his suit-clad front against your naked tits—the harsh texture of his heroic suit - as per your request - rubbin’ against your nipples n’ sending you into an absolute frenzy. 

He was such a tease.

Grinning as though he knew exactly what he was doing- even though the tone of his voice speaks of nothing but faux innocent. The lawyer speaks, “You’re moving around so much- something wrong, sugar?”

“A-absolutely nothing.” You’re managing to echo out.

“Good.” Higuruma utters, pure devilish desire in his tone. And he doesn’t need to say his next words for you to already know where this was heading- after all, one of his hands reaches for where his gavel was upon the table - using his radar sense - and the other presses down on your hips.

Right above where his thickened length was pressed between your pussylips—Higuruma feels his hand down upon your stomach as he sinks himself inside. The throbbing, cylindrical intrusion of his cock glissading inside- “Because we’re having a retrail.”

And then the gavel comes down right on top of the wooden desk.