#what the fuck is wrong with him!!!! i need him dissected

[panncakes]

ming is such a fucking loser, absolute pathetic piece of specimen; i want ten more of him

[i3utterflyeffect]

hmmmm. i'm thinking abt the fact that we've never seen c!alan apologize for what happened when he first met the CG again. do you think he still thinks about it but just isn't sure how to bring it up. do you think he sometimes just remembers it when he sees the others flinch when he gets angry. do you think about it. i do

[mystxmomo]

I need to study him in a jar like a captured bug. Maybe shake the jar a little while I'm at it.

[melonkittii]

montrose pretty

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

man. theres just something abt cult leader geto huh

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[eveningdawn222]

something about how "wholesome" batfam aus where jason and bruce have a good relationship inherently require jason to be portrayed as overreacting and hysterical when he returns. something about how the lazarus pit madness trope gives people an excuse to make this palatable. of course he wasn't in his right mind when he did those things, but he's all better now :) it's so silly how angry he was :)

something about how jason has to grovel for forgiveness at tims feet "oh im sooo sorry for trying to kill you (lmao) i was sooo crazy" and tim can then be magnanimous and forgive him because he wasn't in the right state of mind. tim is such a vulnerable little kid (at most 2 years younger than jason) and jason is a grown ass man (was in a comatose state for a couple of those years but who cares) so obviously tim is gonna be soooo traumatized and he's gonna flinch when the big bad man comes near him :( he's a badass vigilante who is smarter and better than everyone but he's also a traumatized little baby who everyone needs to be super nice to :(

something about how tim gets to be a kid, how tim gets to be a victim, how tim gets an apology and groveling and guilt and jason gets -

what? bruce telling him he loved him? a hug and a moment of vulnerability and jason having to split himself open to be dissected by the whole family. jason having to laugh at jokes about his death, jason having to be the one to reach out and admit he was wrong and crazy and totally out of his mind, while bruce can just grunt and give him a hug.

people want bruce to be a good dad because it doesn't feel good for him to be abusive. but by shoving him into these roles, jason's own story becomes unmoored. what would jason have to be angry about? bruce is trying his best! jason is being unreasonable, he's destroying this family, he just needs to realize that while bruce isn't always perfect, he's in the right and jason just needs to -

isn't it funny? how it's never your fathers fault? how it's always on the child when the relationship sours? isn't it funny, how you can slit your child's throat, and it'll be okay after you apologize?

something about how jason todd is a woman and a child and a victim and a son and a brother and a monster.

something about how the only thing jason todd ever did right was die. and how much it must fucking hurt to sit at a dinner table and laugh when someone makes a joke about it.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 2)

Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff

A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!

__________

Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.

You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room. He straightened in his seat, pausing a beat. “So. What’s this long story?”

Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”

Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing. 

“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.

“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving.

“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”

“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”

“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.

But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…

Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.

“Do you like your job?” he asked. 

“S’complicated,” you whispered.

“How complicated?”

“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”

Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”

“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”

“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”

“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”

Late Evening

Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.

“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.

“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.

“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.

“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”

“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”

“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”

“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”

“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”

Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap. 

“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle. 

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves. 

“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.

“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”

“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.

“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment. 

“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”

You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”

“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”

He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”

“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.

“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”

You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.

“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”

“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.

“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”

“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”

“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”

“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”

Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”

“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”

“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”

“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”

“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.

“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”

“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”

“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”

Four Hours Later

“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV. 

“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”

You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.

“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.” 

“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”

“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.

“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest. 

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped. 

“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee. 

“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer. 

A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.

You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie. 

“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.

“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.

“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”

“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds. 

“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”

“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.

“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.

“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”

“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”

“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”

Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second. 

“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.

“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within. 

“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”

“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.” 

“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”

“I’m good at reading people is all.”

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.

“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”

“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”

You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.

Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington

“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”

“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark. 

Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.

Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.

“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”

“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.

Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people. 

“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by. 

If only it were that simple.

It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion. 

“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”

“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground. 

“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”

“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”

“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”

“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”

“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“How-”

“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”

You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.

Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.

Russ

P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed. 

Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.

No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.

“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.

He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.

And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.

Fuck.

__________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Want my prompt to shake the table a bit, see a pairing that I almost never see alone:

Ghost/Gaz. Something sweet, something feral; a nice mixture. Your call but I trust your judgment.

Gaz tries to give Ghost what he asked for but it's too much.

cw: failed scene, Dom drop.

"You sick bastard, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be wanting to tell me everything," Gaz murmured close to Ghost's mask, circling the end of the riding crop around one pale nipple. It pebbled eagerly, a flurry of goosebumps running over Ghost's shoulders as he watched Gaz sneer. "I'll need a gag to shut you up."

Ghost hummed low in his throat and spread his knees out, testing the rope cuffs securing his wrists behind the chair. His cock strained against the confines of his keks and he wanted nothing more than to feed it between those pretty lips. Gaz was in control through, which set Ghost's fuckin' blood on fire.

The first strike stung. A firm lash across his chest that caught a nipple. His head fell back and he grunted, eyes fluttering as the welt prickled and throbbed in the aftermath. A second fell right next to the first, precise, measured, and Ghost's mouth fell open under the mask; the third punched a low groan, his shoulders rolling, wrists straining against the rope.

There wasn't a fourth.

Ghost looked up, examining Gaz through lidded eyes. It took him a moment to surface through the fog in his head created by sting of the riding crop, but when he did, the pinched expression on Gaz's face set his teeth on edge.

"Sir," Ghost tried. Nothing. He kicked his boot against the floor to get Gaz's attention before the pit opening in his head swallowed him whole. "Kyle, colour."

Gaz blinked. "Huh?" He looked washed out, hollow, his eyes distant. The crop dangled in one hand, his shoulders hunched.

"'m red, we're done," Ghost said.

"Shit, was it... Did I do something wrong? Si, I'm sorry, I..."

"Ya gonna untie me before I pop my bleedin' thumbs to get out?"

"Don't do that, you crazy arsehole," Gaz cast the crop aside and ran around the back, picking the knot open until it fell away. Ghost heard him hiss, and then in the next moment his fingertips were stroking the friction burns around Ghost's wrists. "Fuck, shit, look at... I'll get the... I'll get the stuff."

Ghost watched him scuttle over to the chest of drawers at the far wall and find the Savlon. It was a nice chest of drawers. Not like the IKEA shit in Ghost's gaff, but one of those oak numbers from Oak Furnitureland. Ghost had half expected Gaz to still live at home, to have to shove a t-shirt in his mouth as they fumbled in his childhood bed with Thomas the Tank Engine bedsheets.

But, like in many things, Gaz had surprised him. The flat was tidy. Nice little bolt hole in northern Kent where he was just close enough to visit his parents in London, but just far outside enough to be able to afford to eat when he was on leave. Ghost didn't miss the sergeant's salary.

Gaz approached tentatively. "Give me your wrists," he said, trying for the commanding tone he has used in the scene, that he used so effortlessly in the field, but missing the mark. His voice wavered and that pinched expression was still on his face.

Ghost patted two hands on his lap, drawing his knees together enough to create a platform, and then opened his hands. Gaz didn't need a second invite and sank gratefully onto Ghost's thighs, his own either side. "Wrists," he insisted, and Ghost lifted them up for inspection.

"Gonna tell me what happened?"

"It's nothing," Gaz said, squeezing out a little bit of cream onto his forefinger and then carefully rubbing it against the burn. Ghost knew this part of it was important. Gaz cared. He cared a lot, fuck knows why. Ghost didn't pretend to understand how his mind worked; Gaz was good, you know, proper, and rather than try to dissect that and risk driving it off, Ghost has decided to throw himself heart first into earning it.

"We won't be goin' anywhere 'til you do."

"Oh yeah? What if I kick you out on your arse?"

"I'd climb back in the window."

'We're on the seventh floor."

"Yeah."

"Fuckin' nutcase," Gaz breathed through a chuckle, and then moved to Ghost's second wrist. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I couldn't... I couldn't give you what you needed."

"What did I need?"

Gaz fixed him with a quizzical look and Ghost gazed back placidly. "You needed me to beat you, right? Like I would in a fucking interrogation." There it was. Ghost could feel the sharp edge of it, like running his fingers over a soft blanket and finding a razor sticking out of it; the hurt biting into Gaz's skin.

"Ya didn't hurt me, Kyle."

"Yeah? Wos all this then?" He gestured at Ghost's wrists, his chest, pressing his lips together.

"Pleasure."

"What?"

"Told ya when we started. I like it, makes me feel good, makes the next part when I fuck ya even better."

Gaz got that sheepish look on his face and Ghost knew if he kissed him, Gaz's cheeks would be warm beneath his lips.

"I'm sorry, it... It was too much like... Look, I can do better next time, I can get my head on right, and.."

Ghost hummed, hooking a thumb beneath his bally to pull it off. Gaz's pupils blew wide. Ghost liked that, the way Gaz looked at his unmasked face; with want and affection. He took Gaz's chin and pulled him down for a kiss, teasing his lips open, keeping it gentle. He scooped a hand behind Kyle's arse and scooted him forward until the warm seat of his sweats sat over the hard bulge in the front of Ghost's belted combats. He needed to feel; to be grounded in the reality, rather than the fiction he'd created in his head, of what he'd done.

Gaz moaned softly into Ghost's mouth, a muffled 'Simon' tried to slip out, his hands splaying on Ghost's chest, trapping the cold tin of the tube against his skin. When Ghost drew away, still with one arm to keep Gaz against him, he tilted his head. "There are plenty more ways ya can make me beg."

Gaz rolled his lower lip between his teeth, one eyebrow raised. "I thought you liked the pain..."

"I like to be pushed to my limits. Pain's the easiest way."

"Yeah, looks it..." Gaz said dryly, eyeing the reddened stripes on Ghost's pale chest. He stroked down the edge of one with his fingertips, grimacing. "Alright. What are the other ways? Not gonna lie, Si. It wasn't doing much for me."

"Ya could shove a big vibrator up my arse and edge me 'til I cry."

Gaz choked on air. "What?"

He liked it though. The sound of it. His hips gave a little twitch, the first squirm of arousal.

"Ya could make me do push ups until I can't, then punish me by not letting me cum 'til I beg you."

Oh, he really liked that. Ghost's eyes dropped to Gaz's lap, head tilted, to admire the curve of his cock pushing through the grey flannel. "What else?" Gaz asked, his voice low.

"I could warm ya prick while ya watch footie. Cuff me so I can't touch myself, maybe put a remote control vibrator in my arse."

Gaz licked his lips. "Yeah, I... I like these ones better."

"Soft touch."

"Ah, fuck off, mate. I..." Gaz sighed, running a hand through Ghost's scruff of blonde hair. "I want to make you feel good, I do, but the whip just feels like I'm bringing work into our bedroom. Makes me feel sick, you know?"

"Thanks," Ghost said, "for tellin' me. I wouldn't have been as brave."

Gaz studied him for a long moment, his thumb brushing over the faint lines at the corner of his eye, then down the knife scarring over his jaw and lip. "You sure it's not the pain you want, Si? Don't lie to me."

Ghost considered his answer carefully. "I like it. But I don't need it. I need you," he said. "No point in it if ya in your head when we fuck after. I ain't selfish, Kyle. Not with shit like this."

He was selfish in other ways. Hoarding Kyle's time on leave for one. He knew, realistically, he had to go and see his mum tomorrow or face her wrath, but that didn't stop Ghost resenting the absence slightly. Their time was precious, finite. Ghost didn't like sharing.

His answer appeared to appease Gaz, who sat back to smooth some more Savlon over the welts on Ghost's chest. While he worked, Ghost's hands wandered, the one behind slid into the crease between his legs to find the heavy, warm weight of his balls, while the other caressed over his abdomen, backs of his fingers playing in the soft trail of hair down the middle. "Oi, let me finish before you get handsy," Gaz grunted.

"No." Ghost went to Gaz's chest and thumbed over a nipple, savouring the gasp like the first sip of bourbon after a long op. It didn't take him long to get Gaz hard, ignoring his protests when he stood and carried him to the bed, pushing those sweats off to the floor so he was gloriously naked against his crisp sheets.

Ghost sat up, spreading his knees open between Gaz's legs, leaving him on display to be admired. Gaz knew how good looking he was, with his sculpted arms above his head, his body chiselled from bloody marble, his Hollywood good looks, his perfect cock arched up from groomed pubic hair, and the perfect furl of his hole. He writhed, twitching his hips up in needy little thrusts as he basked in his arousal. "Hng, Si," Gaz moaned, lower lip rolling between his teeth.

"You fockin' tease," Ghost growled, undoing his belt with one hand and whipping it out as he popped his fly with the other. He got his keks halfway down his thighs before he leaned forward and sank into a kiss, hands stroking up Gaz's biceps to lace their fingers together.

They'd fuck all afternoon, like they always did in the first few days of leave; hot, heavy, frantic, sometimes tender. They would emerge later to eat and play FIFA on Gaz's PS4 with some beers, before falling asleep in a heap on the sofa. In the morning, it would be the gym, then some bedroom cardio, before mooching about a local town, back to the bedroom, rinse and repeat. Boring for some, maybe. It was the first time in Ghost's life he'd ever looked forward to his annual leave.

[robinvomit]

†  all the flags : tim.

⋆˙⟡ “i'm not.. emotionally unavailable. i'm emotionally encrypted. you're just not running the right program.”

⋆˙⟡ request: kal, im gonna need to see the green red and beige flags for your v1 boy ↦ kalico note: ♡ being colorblind is perfectly fine.

↦ GREEN FLAGS. "Christ, I'm in love with a problem."

says "be careful" every time you walk out the door.

gifted you a flashdrive and a note saying "if anything happens to me" and it's just a bunch of surprisingly well written love letters.

your likes, dislikes, soft spots, fears, etc. are all just locked away in his brain.

remembers your first birthday: what you wore, what the weather was like, what music was playing - the moment he realized he fucked up and actually liked you.

has a bunch of playlists inspired by you but won't actively tell you.

asks things like "what's your favorite book?" or "dream vacation?" during patrols.

has your routine down better than you.

stays up all night researching things you've mentioned in passing.

doesn't say 'i love you' but makes it clear in a thousand quiet, understandable, obsessive ways.

knows your go-to orders everywhere.

has a backup plan for all of your backup plans.

he treats your secrets like ancient, sacred knowledge.

respects your boundaries like they're the law.

doesn't offer unsolicited advice, despite wanting to, and waits for you to ask ( aka, need him. )

he's never forgetting a single thing you've told him. even things you don't even remember.

fixes things without being asked.

protects you like his life depends on it.

let's you play with his hair.

holds your wrist when out in public.

won't let you walk near the outside of the sidewalk.

slides you a snack or cup of tea when he notices your upset.

he knows all of your allergies, disorders, health issues, etc. and knows how to handle it if something goes wrong.

he has 100% broken into a vending machine for you.

defends you over the smallest things when you aren't around to hear it.

keeps a photo of you with him at all times - no, you have never seen it.

will never ask you to change. ever. for any reason.

can and will show up at your house at 2am.

can and will break into said house to be there when you get home.

has a box of every single receipt, ticket, note, letter, etc. you've ever given him and/or he acquired while with you.

he keeps the first voicemail you ever said 'i love you' in on his phone, seven different drives, backed up in several places like it could save the world someday.

tugs you by your shirt and kisses the top of your head when you get upset over something he said that wasn't meant to upset you.

he's not great at it and it only works about 20% of the time, but he attempts to watch how he sees things.

does not let you pay for food.

leaves a shirt or hoodie behind for you to find later on.

routinely messages "good morning." every single day.

will not, at any point, let either of you sleep until a fight or argument is resolved. even if he won't admit he's wrong.

↦ RED FLAGS. "God, if I say that's attractive, I probably need therapy."

he will absolutely repress his feelings into oblivion before asking for help.

he doesn't lie to you, per se, but he will omit like.. 87% of the truth.

would rather lose you than ever let you get hurt because of him.

every single person in his life is traumatized because that's simply who he lets in. ( it's red bc it's not always healthy. )

has days where he struggles with who he is outside of the mask.

he has no clue how to deal with unconditional love without dissecting it and giving you reasons to not love him.

believes in hope and redemption for everyone but himself.

he's got a file - mental, but it's still there - of everyone, including you.

copes with sarcasm and cruel comments.

deflects hurt by hurting others.

apologizing is barely something that crosses his mind and when it does, he's shit at doing it to your face.

he solves his problems by disappearing for a week.

texts after that week "what's up" like you weren't thinking he was dead 8 hours ago.

he's not going to tell you he's hurt until you find him stitching or bandaging or wrapping something.

he knows if you lie to him, and yes - he will be a hypocrite and call you out on it.

he has and will emotionally manipulate people for the greater good, even if it hurts the person.

he's not going to fight you if you want to walk away - he'll just nod, let you go, and deal with how he feels on his own.

however, sometimes, he makes it easy. silence, distance, emotional retreat.

if he feels like you're pulling away, he's going to do it first.

there is 100% a tracker on you that you have no idea about.

thinks protection involves keeping you in the dark.

his idea of opening up, early on, is brushing everything off and telling you he's fine and not to worry about it.

will ignore you if he's bothered by something. ( bothered, not mad. )

he's going to apologize more for stupid shit like burdening you or dragging you down before he apologizes for something he did wrong.

he has trained himself to not need comfort. ( he thinks it worked until you come along. )

he thinks he's expendable. which is why he can be reckless if it means protecting someone.

sleep is optional if he has work to do.

he will, at no point in his existence, admin he's jealous. but he will make someone else's life a living hell for it. behind your back.

if he sees you reciprocating anything like flirting, even leaning too close when you laugh, he's gonna up and vanish. for hours.

he does not want to be considered needy, jealous, etc. so, he just won't tell you how any of these things make him feel.

god help if you're in danger and one of the others gets to you first - he will be very quick to cut them off and take over.

self sabotage is burned into his soul.

does have deeply personal information on all of your friends, ex friends, ex lovers, etc.

↦ BEIGE FLAGS. "You're so fucking weird.."

will use outdated slang for shits and giggles - he's said "jazzed" so many times.

all of his electronics have names. yes, he expects you to use them.

you've caught him eating cereal, half asleep, with a fork.

can pick any lock, get through any firewall, dismantle any security system - but lord help if he needs to open a bag of chips or a can of biscuits.

will ghost you - then show up two days later with your favorite take out and a not-really-an-apology apology.

can skate like a pro but will trip over his own feet. ( please look into his early robin training days, it's hilarious. )

he has two forms of flirting:

blunt, straight to the point.

fighting over detective work until you're red in the face and want to strangle him.

buys you flowers often but does not give them to you, just leaves them on a counter or table.

told you he loved you on a mission once, then pretended it never happened.

corrects you, feels bad for the next week.

he has a color-coded sheet for your communication quirks.

will stare you. will blush when caught. will call you crazy if you mention it.

the type to correct things when watching a movie.

will let himself get torn to shreds if it means petting a street cat.

goes nonverbal for hours on end for absolutely no reason. just existing. nodding when needed.

disassociates on the balcony at 3am.

according to him, after being called cute, he's "statistically speaking, i'm not." aka, you're wrong but thanks.

genuinely knows this because of his time looking at data on facial symmetry, global average, basic attractive features, etc.

don't tell him you miss him because he'll never say it back, just glance to the side then be like "i'm right here."

he has mugs, silverware, specific shirts, and jackets that you are not allowed to touch. because they are his.

he will send you a total of 9 paragraphs in a text at one in the morning about something interesting he found.

like everyone else, he has favorite rooftops and spots in gotham; he will get offended if someone else is using it.

makes you watch documentaries with him.

he sent you a cute little thing for your anniversary once. it was labeled "sentiment.archive" - it was a very, very organized timeline of photos and memories.

↦ BONUS. reacting.

i love you. "okay. well.. uh, noted."

you're cute. "do you mean that in a romantic human way, or the manipulative way because you want something?"

i missed you. "i never turned the comms off?"

why do you love me? "because you looked at all the broken, beat down bullshit and still said 'that's mine.'"

your happiness is important to me. "let's settle on functional unless you plan to redefine happiness."

you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. "please aim higher."

i don't want to lose you. ( i'll be nice here- ) v1: "both of us already have. bits, pieces - parts of me. a long time ago." v2: "you're not losing me.. you won't. unless you decide it's time to go."

you cry in front of him. "hey, tell me what you need - little slower. i'm listening, i'm right here."

you reach for his hand. "hold on too tight and i might not let go."

i hate you, said during a fight. "…okay…. okay."

[rockrosethistle]

I actually fucking hate Mr. Jägerman here's why

Mr. Jägerman is a character in the Hatchetfield universe who is never onstage and only mentioned in 1 (one) line. This was enough to ignite my rage.

It's because in this one line, so much is revealed about Max's character. So let's dissect that.

Max is mean. We know this. The very first thing established about him is how threatening he is. But I think his character often gets lost in the 'bully' identity, because just like every other Hatchetfield character, he is layered and complex.

We also find out two other things about him pretty much immediately: He has a crush on Grace (we'll come back to that) and he needs to feel in control.

There's a lot of evidence to support this. He repeatedly refers to himself as the 'god' of Hatchetfield High. He creates arbitrary rules around who his friends can date. He creates arbitrary rules around where the nerds are 'allowed' to go. And the moment someone implies he is not as powerful as he thinks he is, he retaliates violently.

This isn't just Max being a jerk. These are all signs of someone who is almost certainly deprived of control in their home life, which forces them to find it elsewhere. Max likely has little to no say in what happens to him at home. He's clinging to a sense of control wherever he can find it. And that line basically confirms that his home isn't a safe place for him.

Back to the crush on Grace, when you look objectively at the actions Max takes in the show, you'll find that he's not really a bad person, he's a mean person. He's a little shit that processes his need for control in the entirely wrong way, but people are shaped by their surroundings. The actions that come from him are different.

His crush on Grace only supports this. Every other bully in every piece of media sees the girl they like and whistle and say "yo lemme hit that." And if the girl rejects them, they resort to "tease bitch." Not Max. The first thing he does is start a conversation with her, laughs at (what he thinks is) a joke, then offers to carry her books. Like, I wish my highschool bullies were that nice to their own girlfriends.

When she rejects him, it's true that he continues to pursue her and calls her "dirty girl," but that once again comes back to his need to feel in control. But he doesn't get aggressive, he doesn't do anything that screams 'bully.'

We don't get a lot of scenes with pre-ghost Max. But when we do, they're interesting to analyze. Like, have you ever noticed that when he finds Steph in the Waylon Place, his very first instinct is to tell her, "Get behind me, I'll protect you" from, as far as he knows, actual ghosts? He feels like his life is in danger, but he's still putting Steph's safety first, despite having no interest in her romantically. That's huge.

There's even some evidence to support that Max terrorizing the nerds is, from his perspective, not so one-sided. When he finds out they were the ones who pulled the pranks, he says "I thought you guys hated me."

And he's open to change. He's not stubborn, he's not brutal. He doesn't continue hating the nerds just because it is what it is. Moments before his death, he is showing signs of opening up to them, and actually seems like he's coming around.

And none of this is meant as trying to defend Max's actions. I know he's the antagonist. I know he treats people unfairly. But all of this has to come from somewhere. I'm trying to say that there was clearly a foundation of a good person underneath all that cruelty. So what toughened his shell?

Mr. Jägerman. Max reveals in that one line that if he were to go back home from the 'party', his dad would call him a 'little cuck.' "can't even fight off one lousy skele'uhn." In this, he reveals his dad is demeaning to him. He's the kind of man who would hear that his son was in a life-or-death situation, and instead of comforting him, he would have made fun of him.

What must that do to a person? As someone who grew up in a home where Dad wasn't always a safe person to be around, I know that when I was younger, a lot of my bad bad behaviours were something I learned from him.

The prank meant to scare Max was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

I think a lot of what happens in NPMD is indirectly Mr. Jägerman's fault. "Knowledge is knowing Frankenstein is the doctor, wisdom is knowing Frankenstein is the monster" type of shit. It is directly because of his actions and the way he treated his own child that any of this happened.

or maybe I'm reading too much into this. But I fucking hate Max's dad so much.

[nekropsii]

hey um

sorry if this ask is a little odd or just flat out wrong but i need unbiased facts here

ive always assumed cronus was written not just to be the worst but also to say "this is NOT how you write eridan. ever."

is that true?

and also. im planning on making a beforus trolls story arc rewrite (flat out rewriting the characters) should i leave cronus as he is or dissect him fully?

No. He was partially a response to fanon!Eridan - particularly the genre of fanon!Eridan invented by Avid Eridan Haters where he's a noxious super-predator - but not that kind of response. The Alpha Trolls, when responding to fanon versions of the Beta Trolls - something that is really not as common as most would lead you to believe - are not really "corrective" in their commentary. They're more mocking, than anything. There's no intent to be productive, in the same way there is no intent to be productive with the Beta Trolls' embodiments of archetypes of Internet Guy.

I'm not sure what you intend with the notion of a "Cronus dissection". Keep as many of his traits as you can or else it's just not going to be Cronus. Cronus is intended to be entirely unsympathetic and a fully negative force. But it is important to note that the kind of guy that Cronus is isn't uncommon. Cronus is not special. There's several million of him in the Americas alone. It's best to always keep in mind how fucking rancid he is and to never change the fact that he's rancid, but it's equally important to never overdramatize it. It really isn't fantastical at all. He's intentionally irredeemable, intentionally impossible to sympathize with, but so is every privileged, entitled, hyper-bigoted rapist in this world.

[phoebastria-albatrus]

i need to make a post on why i draw 3/4 of the pd nonwhite can i trust the jrwi fandom 2 be normal. awesome. lots of posts today lesgo (this got really long so under the cut)

vyncent is like canonically vaguely asian whatever the fuck that means but he is just generically mixed SEAsian king 2 me. he cannot name any part of his heritage and he’s real 4 that. anyhoo. i think his actual like straight up immigrant allegory is smth more people should think about!!! people are thinking your weird for not knowing what something is??? holy fuck!!! social fumbles??? fuck!!! yeah!! anyway. and the assumption of a dumb immigrant and how people perceive him as that and are actually confused when he can stand his ground and say stop talking at me. yeah. anyway asian king and the feeling of being stuck in someone’s perception of you is something imma bring up w dakota too so.

dakota. yeah. i usually draw him Black or mixed and i think this is important regarding his backstoryyyyy. poc and esp Black families aren’t given the same support sometimes in grieving and that Can lead to drug abuse moreoften so. that happens with alaska. and dakota is in this place of i need to be strong because people will pick on me if im weak and alaska needs me. that’s basically canon but boy if you imagine it in a poc way. 100 damage. so you look outwardly strong to everyone else but like!! you’re just a kid!!! and adultification!! ur a 16 year old boy and you just want to be silly!!! and then people still see you like this and you think but that’s not me!!! but you can’t drop this now either. so you’re stuck between being seen as weird by white peers and weak by poc peers.

mixed latina-white for our girl ashe and it Is important that she doesn’t remember anything she might’ve learned from her mother. her brain made space for the demon language by shoving out her other language or smth. but yeah so you kill your mother and a couple years later you realise oh, i have nothing from my culture and my father can’t help me with this. he doesn’t know how to help keep my hair healthy or what those words mean or how to throw a quince. so ashe spends her time in online school clubs and internet forums but somethings still missing. she finds tutorials for her hair and starts doing language courses but there’s still Something missing. because she’s being taught this by someone she doesn’t know or who’s just a face behind a screen and. yeah. the disconnect from her culture is something vyncent Kind of gets but she’s alone in this. so yeah ashe is someone who became moreeee. timid. in physical spaces. to keep eyes off of her and not dissect whatever is wrong with her. why she doesn’t pronounce that correctly or why she walks around with a white father.

anyway. thats it. dont kill me.

[idkhowtomakethis]

Now presenting:

The Ghosts of Amity Park

Part 1

Tucker and Sam stood in front of the Fenton's house, daring the other to finally knock on the door.

Two weeks had passed since the- incident.

Danny was rightfully upset, but Sam was starting to get impatient.

"It can't be that bad!" She exclaimed.

"For the record, I blame you," Tucker frowned.

"Me!? You're the one that started trying to dissect would could have been wrong with the damn thing!" Sam stomped her foot furiously.

"Yeah but you just HAD to see the lab and what knew stuff his parents were cooking up!" Tucker threw up one of his hands dramatically, "why can't you just boycott like a normal person!?"

"Ectoplasmic radiation is a fascinating energy source that has proven to be both environmentally friendly and efficient, it would be irresponsible for us as a society if we didn't explore all of its capabilities!" Sam snapped, "Its not just about big money and corporate greed!"

"What the hell are you two doing?" The distinct voice of their friend cut through Sam and Tucker's argument and they turned to him in shock.

To say Danny looked like hell was an understatement.

Neither Sam nor Tucker could remember the last time they'd seen Danny without his bracelets or his gloves or even one of his jackets.

It felt wrong, he looked blank. Just a plain white t-shirt Sam never knew he owned a regular pair of washed out blue jeans.

He looked hollow, cheeks slightly sunken, eyes heavy, lips chapped- it felt as though if they were to reach out he would shatter under their touch.

"Danny?" Sam asked, almost convinced it wasn't him.

She knew it had to be.

They were dull, but those ghastly blue eyes still pierced through her very being, making her feel raw and vulnerable.

"Yes?" His voice was hoarse, and Sam wondered if he actually was sick.

"Dude- you uh-"

"I know. I got forced out by Jazz. She's worried," Danny replied blandly.

Oh. He was pissed.

Sam could feel it. The air was legitimately colder as he just stared at them, as though they had insulted him simply with their presence.

"Dude," Tucker sighed, extending his hand out to their friend.

"...asshole."

Tucker nodded, going to retract his hand, but Danny stopped him, latching onto to it weakly. Something akin to relief seemed to wash over Danny as he held onto Tucker's hand.

"We need to talk."

Danny's room was in disarray. Sure, it usually was, but this was different.

It was genuinely unorganized, like he'd pulled everything out while trying to search for something and gave up on putting things back in their original place.

"Whats going on man?" Tucker's voice interrupted the somber silence that had settled over them.

"Its easier to show you...I guess," Danny muttered, pushing himself off of his dresser and moving to the center of the room.

"Something is wrong with me...I think that energy conduit is more than that...like- like a different place," Danny stumbled over his words in effort tit articulate himself, "it changed me."

"What do you mean it changed you?" Sam scrunched her nose in confusion.

Danny looked over at her, but the eyes that glared were not the same blue she had grown accustomed to.

Danny's gaze had become a bright, vicious green that literally glowed like some kind of algae, the ceiling light began to flicker, the air became ice against Sam's skin. Her eyes darted over to Tucker, his gaze rested outside, where even the streetlights were starting to pulse.

"Holy shit."

"You haven't seen the half of it," Danny remarked. Slowly his feet lifted from the floor, and he leaned back slightly, sitting on thin air.

Tucker choked on nothing, "What the fuck!?"

Yeah. That summed it up pretty well actually.

But Sam decided to throw in, "How the fuck," just to get everyone up to speed.

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

Part 2

[uzurimisery]

chapter 4: the bluff. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, rough sex, he's still insane and possessive, PIV, unprotected sex (this guy is never wearing a condom ever), angry sex, he's not a good guy but he's hot, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

You slammed the dressing room door shut. “What the hell was that , Coriolanus?” pacing the length of the room, anger seeping out of you. “Did you forget what we were supposed to do? We were supposed to play it off, say we were too young. That was not playing it off! That was proposing!”

In your rage, you stumbled in your heels. He watched you curse under your breath, undoing the strap on them and throwing them across the room. Coriolanus didn’t move, cemented in his spot just past the door.

“Listen to me Y/N,” his tone was stern, like a parent scolding a child. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you did!” you interrupted your voice tinged with sarcasm. “You always do whatever you want, don’t you? Here, the gala, the dinner. Always regardless of the consequences!”

Your words were sharp, digging in the fact that whatever was going on between you two there was meant to be a unified front, a single storyline. You were meant to be partners in the power play, both of you using each other to further your positions. All the work that went into constructing the next five years of the act was undone in an instant.

“I thought we were on the same page, Coriolanus. There was a plan for what we were going to do, but you just fucked it up!” He was always hypercritical of himself, internal monologue pointing out his every mistake, but you doing the same set him off.

“Can you shut up for five seconds! Or are you so self-obsessed that you can't let anyone else get a word in.”

“How dare you try and talk to me about being self-obsessed you narcissistic, unthoughtful-”

“There you go! Proving my point. You can’t even get off your high horse for a minute so I can explain why I did that.”

“You want to explain? Fine then, explain.” you spat.

Coriolanus’ jaw clenched. You were so hot and cold with him. He could never gauge what you really wanted in all of this, and you would never just tell him either.

“I saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To play the part, to make the story so much better. Picture it, Coriolanus Snow, a man who has always been so organised and timely there are articles on how to put your life together like him, rushing into something. He’s so in love with his mentor’s daughter that he proposes to her on stage in front of all of Panem, and he doesn’t even have a ring on him because at that moment he realises that he can’t live without her.”

Your eyebrows were drawn, scanning over his face like you were looking for a fault in what he said, as you dissected it. There was nothing wrong with it though. The show was exactly how he described it. It painted him as a kind and caring man, beyond his known abilities at game making.

“You should have told me ahead of time.”

“I didn’t have a chance. I thought of it while getting ready.” he was lying, and you could tell. Seeing through lies was your speciality. He hadn’t thought about it while getting ready.

You called him on his bluff. “Bullshit. You didn’t have any plan, that was all impulse.” you were digging your finger into his chest to make your point. “You could have ruined everything we’ve been working on, made the past year pointless. What if I hadn’t followed along? What if I lost my composure for your little outburst? It’s not just your future on the line here Coriolanus. I’m leaving.”

Your shoulder bumped into his as you moved to walk out of the room, but his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you back and lifting you off the ground.

“Y/N,” he started.

“Let me go!”

“You don’t get to walk away from me. You need to listen to me.”

“I’m done listening to you, put me down!”

“Well, I’m not done talking!” Coriolanus pushed your back against the wall, pinning you in place.

Why couldn’t you just listen to him like you normally did? Why were you so upset with him? What he did was off-script but it still looked good, and it still achieved your shared goals. You didn’t get to walk away from him when he was right.

You slapped him, still able to move your arms. “I told you to let me go.” He tasted blood in his mouth. When he smiled at you, you felt your blood run cold.

“Are you done?” His teeth had traces of blood on them.

You weren’t about to be intimidated by him. You didn’t cower or beg anyone, and that included Coriolanus Snow. “Let. Me. Go.” your demands fell on deaf ears.

His smile only widened, eyes glistening with a sinister light. You thought he’d be furious with you, and hated that you were out of control, but it seemed more like he enjoyed it. That he liked it when you fought back.

“I told you Y/N, I’m not done talking.”

You moved to slap him again but were met with your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head, utterly defenceless for whatever happened next. The expectation for him to strike you back weighing in the air. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips met yours, forcing your mouth open and letting his tongue in. You tried to fight back but he bit down on your lip and stopped you. His tongue only became more insistent. Copper on both your tongues.

You didn’t hate it. You were still mad at him, obviously, but the sexual tension that always between the two of you beckoned, its tendrils wrapping around you. Who said some angry sex wasn’t the solution to your being mad at him?

Your teeth clacked against each other as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his midsection. Coriolanus’ free hand moved to support you. Standing like this he was able to grind his hips against yours, the friction delicious. The kiss was messy, both of you trying to prove something to the other with it.

When you pulled apart for air you spoke. “Let me go.” His breath was laboured, just as yours was, the rough makeout session leaving the both of you breathless.

“Not a chance, sweet girl.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, letting you slip free to pull at his hair, connecting your mouths once again. Your moans mixed with his own, body rolling to press your clothed pussy over his erection. Even though he had picked you up a multitude of times, it was always surprising how strong he actually was. His slim build did not give away how strong he actually was.

Everything between you was primal, driven by lust and anger.

Coriolanus brought you over to the couch, dropping you on your back. He liked you best like this, on your back and needy. Your high horse forgotten, and the only thing you rode him. The both of you took care to remove your clothes carefully, neither wanting to deal with a lecture from Tigris as well as knowing you had a dinner to attend in them after this. But that was where the caution ended.

The moment you were naked he had his fingers stretching you open with his thumb toying at your clit. His mouth was all over your skin, biting your breasts, adding to the marks already covering you. He was so rough with you and made you feel so small. But god did he know exactly what to do to you.

Your moans were sharp as he brought you to an orgasm. Everything you did drove him up a wall. Every time he thought he could move past it, ignoring the feeling, your pussy sucked him back in. It was your fault he made a mistake, that he lost his composure, that he went off script. He wanted access to your warmth whenever he wanted.

No matter how much he consumed you, he was still hungry, the type of hunger he hadn’t felt since the war. The one with claws that tore at his insides, teeth grinding into his bones. A bottomless pit that could never be filled. It clouded his mind with thoughts of you, your breasts and hips, the pout of your lips. He could almost always feel the sensation of you against him, biting into your soft flesh. It made him emotionally volatile, willing to risk everything for just a crumb. But every time he got a bite it filled him with dread.

Your perfume, boozy and peachy, a reminder that the only thing that would ever fill this hole was you. That when he was on the brink of death, starving and empty, it was you who would nourish him. Your being the very source of all his problems and all his solutions at the same time. A double-edged sword driving into his heart with every step he took towards you.

“See? Look how good you have it when you just behave.” you weren’t out of it yet, still able to spite back in vitriol.

“Fuck you.”

“Already have.” Coriolanus flipped you on your front, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed against the couch.

Like this, he got to spread you open, look at what your body could offer him. Why did you have to be you? Why did you have to rival his mind and have such a perfect body? It ruined everything.

His fingers pressed back into you. He could watch you drip down them for hours, whiny and whimpering from his actions. Begging him to fuck you. No matter how you tried to act like you weren’t. You were just like him. Hungry and waiting.

Coriolanus lined up his cock with your entrance. Instead of easing into you, he thrust in fully, jolting your body forward. He wanted it to hurt, to make you feel sorry for blowing up at him. To show you that no matter how you acted out he could fuck you back into place.

He fucked you hard and fast, pulling your head back by your hair. It forced you up and to put your hands on the back of the couch. Your back arched, your shoulders almost against his chest. His other hand pinched at your nipples and tugged at them. It hurt, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Moving his hand out of your hair, his fingers hooked into the side of your mouth. “Your mouth can be used for better things than being disrespectful.” your drool pooled around them, dribbling out the side of your mouth as you spoke.

“I’m gonna cum.” your speech altered from his fingers.

“I don’t care.” he did care, but he couldn’t let you know that, not right now. The biggest ego death to him would be if he was unable to make you cum. It fed his ego every time you clenched down around him, pussy fluttering from your orgasm. He didn’t slow down or let up, fully intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The air between you was hot and heavy, thick with the smell of sex. With his hands free, your waist became his new hold stone. Coriolanus didn’t even have to pull your hips to meet his, you were doing that for him, bucking backwards in time. Each trust had you panting little praises for him.

He wanted to see your face. You felt him pull out of you and then sit down on the couch next to you. “Ride me.”

You shifted, placing your knees on either side of him as you sunk down on his length. When you got to the base, you took a moment to recollect yourself, head tucked into the crook of his neck. Coriolanus’ lips found the crown of your head before he even recognised what he was doing. It was odd. This intimate act in the midst of all of this. He wanted to show you that he cared, that he wasn’t mad at you anymore. Why wasn’t he mad at you anymore? He was the type to let his anger fester, angry with infection. He waited until the moment was right and then he spread his sickness, cutting down whoever upset him. You were more useful than being cut down; however, he felt strongly towards you. The one thing he wouldn’t do is name those feelings.

The drag of your hips cut off his line of thought. He watched as you rode him, your thighs shaky but not letting it stop you. When you pulled your head out to kiss him he met you, enjoying the feeling of your lips against his. Hair and makeup would have a hay day with the two of you but the way you went all the way up, his tip the only thing inside you, to then your ass flush with his thighs made their annoyance worth it. Wanting to feel you cum around him again, his thumb began circling your clit, working you up to another orgasm.

“I’m close.”

“I know.”

Your hips slowed as you came, exhausted from riding him. But Coriolanus wasn’t done. His hand wrapped around your waist, moving you to an elevated position with his dick still inside you, and he began thrusting up into you. “Hold yourself just like that sweet girl.” You did as he told you, your head lulling to the front pressing your forehead against his. With a few final thrusts, he came inside you. You were winded, your eyes closed as he guided your bodies apart and grabbed a disposal west wipe to clean the both of you up. Finally, with that done, he could lay down and settle you on top of him, both of you naked and sweaty.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just listening to each other breathe, your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” apologises always felt like he was trying to speak a foreign language, his tongue struggling to make the sounds. “I shouldn’t have acted impulsively.”

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up on you.” his fingers traced your hairline as you lay on top of him, still reeling from the sex. “I just don’t like when things don’t go to plan, and they’ve not been going to plan between us.”

He couldn’t argue against that. Everything was so fuzzy between you. He didn’t know what you were feeling, but his feelings were you weren’t something he could ignore. When he said that he couldn’t picture his life without you it was true. He thought that speaking it out to the world would alleviate the pressure, and make it something he could keep inside himself, but he didn’t. He needed you to know that it meant it.

“Would it be so bad, marrying me?”

You picked your head up. “No,” you sighed. “It wouldn’t be.” He watched you find your original position, ear over his heart.

“We could be allies.” his heart pounded as you traced patterns on his skin. “You’re the first person I’ve met I’d consider that with. I could make you the First Lady of Panem.”

Being the First Lady was an appealing idea. You’d be able to do so much more in that position. It was a core belief of yours that the games were only the first step in binding the loyalty of the country, to furthering the control over the populace. Aid programs needed to be doled out in the Districts. People who were content were less likely to look behind the curtain and see what was really happening.

“What happens when you fall in love with someone? Would we divorce and I’d lose everything, both the games and my position?” there was uncertainty in your voice.

There could never be someone after you. You were it for him. Sure he could find a docile wife and marry her, leave her be and just have kids with her. But she could never truly know him. But you could, and you were learning the true him. And you wouldn’t make him separate his work and home life, you’d dive into it with him, lethal and cunning.

“That won’t happen,” he was blunt with his statement. “You’re the only one I could do this with.”

It felt like the weight was finally lifting off him some. The pressure that had been building and threatening to blow, to whistle like a kettle. As much as he had intended for your relationship to be a temporary political alliance, he wanted it to be permanent. He didn’t trust people, but he was growing to trust you, knowing that your goals were ultimately the same.

“But what if it does?” He had never seen you so worried about his feelings, genuine concern. “Or what if I fall in love with someone else?”

“Y/N,” his thumb brushed your lips, making you face him again. “I promise you that is never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a final look of determination, kissed you, his lips bruising against your own. He was hoping that it conveyed that he meant it with all his heart. He was never going to fall in love with someone else, the home you made in his heart was always going to be yours. The decor exactly how you left it if you ever walked away, waiting for you to come back. You’d never get the chance to walk away but that was the sentiment, that he could forgive you for leaving him if he took you back and you stayed with him. A dove with a broken wing was still a dove. It might not be able to soar in the slides, free from the gravity of the world, but it was still a dove. Even if he broke you and locked you up, you’d still be you.

He could never love another, not when he loved you. Coriolanus loved you. The realisation shook him, a tempestuous collision of the man he was and the man he wanted to be. The crack formed by Lucy Gray was broken open once again by you. He had convinced himself that love was a weakness, that it was something to be exploited. Over the past year of getting to know you, getting to be with you, you had challenged his core beliefs, forcing him to confront the fact that he loved you.

It was hard admitting it to himself. Just hours earlier he had told Tigris off for even suggesting the idea of it, vehemently denying it. He didn’t want to love you then, terrified at the idea of you finding out and leaving. But you had said it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to him, that you’d be willing to be allies for the rest of your life. The truth was there though, written into every interaction he had with you. The glaring reality that he could no longer ignore, lingered in his eyes like a burned-in image.

It was terrifying, the exact opposite of the control he wanted to have over those around him, to have you control his heart. The practised emotional detachment he had led his life with failed in his darkest hour. The fear that you’d be just like Lucy Gray and run. It didn’t matter that you both worked on the games, that he had seen you develop new ways to punish the Capitol’s enemies, that you had just as much darkness within you as he did. That you were as ruthless as he was. The betrayal he had once experienced at the hands of a District dog had him petrified of it happening again.

Could he erase your existence like he did hers if something happened? The thought was both horrifying and tempting. He didn’t want it to come to that, to erase you, to discard you like a broken toy. You were better than Lucy Gray, you wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t let you. But he couldn’t come to you with this, not yet. Coriolanus Snow needed you to break down and beg him to tell him that he loved you. When he could see you, lost in your feelings for him, then he could tell you. Not before, not after. But at the moment when you are in desperate need of him, he could tell you. Only then could he believe that you loved him too.

______________________________________

Things have been busy since then and luckily you have been able to avoid conversation with your mother too. Coriolanus and you had no time to talk about your game plan and what would've happened next as the games started. Every day you were at the Citadel, ensuring things ran smoothly. He was there too, doing his own work, but the amount you had to do kept you from each other. It wasn’t until after the games ended that the two of you got a moment alone. Of course, you had been to several events together but you couldn't talk about things there. So when the last person left the production room, you were finally alone with him.

“Did you mean what you said that night on the balcony, that it was hard pretending that you loved me?”

The two of you were in his private lab. You were sitting on the edge of his desk instead of a chair, something he noticed you liked to do. After the cameras had been turned off you had taken your hair down from the pinned updo made of a braid, letting the braid hang loose.  The heels you were wearing off your feet and lost in the room. Coriolianus’ head was in your lap as your fingers brushed through his hair. The slight stubble he’d grown over the last two days catching on your tights.

His voice was muffled by your thigh. “No.”

“No you didn't mean it or no it isn’t hard pretending that you love me?” Your fingers were putting him to sleep. It had been so long since he had been touched like this. He only had one strong memory of his mother. They had been sitting before the fire, her belly full with his younger sister, her finger running through his, much like your own, singing a song he couldn’t remember now, the melody lost with time.

“No,” he finally replied, groggy. “It’s not hard pretending that I love you”

There was a flicker of hope within you when he first confessed to you that night on the balcony. You had convinced yourself that he was being vulnerable with you then, letting you in. Was this him adding kindling to that fire or dousing it?

“Is it easy then?” Each word was laced with intrigue and tinged with trepidation. The question wormed itself into the conversation, hanging in the air like the hum of the machinery. He tensed under you like he had been unprepared for this conversation, a betrayal of how he normally was.

Coriolanus’ response was slow, deliberate and weighted, with every individual syllable chosen carefully. “No, it’s not easy either.” The threading of your fingers felt so good against his scalp, it was criminal. “It’s neither easy nor hard, it’s necessary.” He shrugged with that statement, drowsy from the long day and your actions.

It was strange seeing him like this, his head in your lap as he was half asleep. The Coriolanus you knew was a man of fronts, never betraying his persona of unwavering composure and unyielding strength. He was smart and capable, bringing the Snow family back from the brink of destruction. But now there was no front present. He was relaxed and open, the tension in his shoulders finally released as he rested on your thighs. You could see every pore of skin, every hair out of place. There was a faint scar above his lip, so blended with his skin that you had never seen it before. It had access to the same medical and cosmetic treatments as you did meaning that he had left this one there on purpose. A reminder of something that had happened to him.

You chewed on his words as you watched him. It was neither easy nor hard pretending that he loved you, it was necessary. It was a non-answer, a refusal to tell you his feelings on the matter, that itself a revealing statement. He was used to his words working on others, his honied lips spinning the sweetest lies. But you had watched him, seen him change over the years. Coriolanus was a man burdened with his own demons that sat at the table with him. There was an understanding in that. You had your own demons that sat in the corner of your room every night, watching you sleep and whispering dangerous things. Neither of you were innocent good-hearted people, both of you violent and deadly.

But his cracks were showing, and that night under the stars with too much to drink, he had let you see just how much they were cracking. You were willing to pick up the pieces and help him put them back together. Your own feelings were the same as his, you were just better at hiding it.

“My father wants us to have an engagement party.”

“When?”

“In two weeks at my family estate,” knowing your father, it was going to be a spectacle. He doted on you. “But he wants to have a private dinner before that, just your family and mine.” His only family was Grandma’am and Tigris. If you wanted to, you could count the Plinths as family, even though he hated the thought of having any relationship with them.

“That’s fine. I’m sure Grandma’am will be excited, she’s been pestering me about marrying you while she’s still alive to see it.”

“She wants you to marry me?”

He murmured some form of agreement, still out of it. “She says you make me smile like I haven’t since I was a boy. It’s annoying actually, she keeps demanding that I bring you around for lunch.” This was news. Your interactions with Grandma’am had always been under the pretence of public events, you never thought much of them, but apparently she had. More than that, she thought more of your effect on her grandson.

“You should be kinder to her, you don’t know how long she’s got left.”

Coriolanus’ head lifted from your lap, rubbing his eyes as he propped his head up on a hand. “I know,” it wasn’t nice to have to think about the fact his Grandma’am was up there in age, that she maybe had another 15 years left. If that. “I’ll tell her we’ll do lunch then.”

Your smile was irresistible. “Good. The least you can do for her is let her think that you’ve found someone you genuinely love, and who loves you just as much. She’ll never know that it's just an act either. It’ll let her rest easy knowing you’re taken care of.”

His heart sank, and his stomach dropped out and onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s a good act too.”

______________________________________

Coriolanus paced in the foyer, stopping every so often his fingers fidgeting with the knot of his tie, loosening and tightening it. His outfit was simple and smart today. His father's button-up with a red tie, a grey pinstripe waistcoat and matching trousers. The black leather of his oxfords had been polished earlier in the morning. He felt antsy, just wanting to get this luncheon over with. He shouldn’t have told you that Grandma’am wanted this, he must have been out of his mind when he did.

“Coriolanus my boy,” Grandma’am had snuck up behind him, making him jump as she put her hands on his shoulders. “You look as handsome as always, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

His smile was weak in the mirror, not reaching his eyes. “Thank you Grandma’am.” She fiddled with the shoulder of his shirt, lining it up properly as it had been moved from his walking around.

“You must really love her if it’s got you like this.”

“I do.” The words were heavy. This was the first time he had acknowledged his feelings for you to another person. The vulnerability threatened to consume him.

“I’m glad,” her eyes became teary as she spoke. “Your mother loved your father so much. I remember their wedding day. She was so nervous, running around like a rabbit. You remind me of her sometimes.” she threw her hands up like the statement was outlandish. “But of course, you’re more like your father than anything else. Strong Coriolanus Snow.”

They rarely talked about his parents, or Tigris’ parents, like this. It was easier for them all to let the dead stay dead. A bittersweet ache spread through him.

“I’m glad.” He reached out and took Grandma's hand, offering her some comfort. Talking about her dead children always set her off. They stood in silence for a beat, hand in hand, each processing their own feelings before he shattered the quiet.

“It’s easier to let the dead stay dead.”

Grandma’am nodded, her handkerchief to her eye to clean up the tears she had spilt. “Sometimes,” she acknowledges, “the past is too painful to revisit. But it’s important to remember Coriolanus. To remember the love, the laughter, the life that was lived. To honour those who came before you.”

But he didn’t want to remember the past. The past made everything worse.

The ring of the elevator cut the conversation short. You were here, and he was nervous. This was no different than a public event, you both knew the parts to play, but it was so different at the same time. You were in his family home, eating with him and his Grandma’am, and doing it purely because you thought she deserved to think someone loved him. Doing it because you cared for her. It was here that his history echoed, ghosts of the past hanging on every wall. Remnants of the boy he once was tucked away in boxes, now dusty with age.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing you standing there, those boxes came out of storage and were placed on the table for you to sort through.

“Oh! Miss Gaul! Please come in.” Grandma’am rushed towards you, excited to have you over.

“Grandma’am,” you chided, pulling her into a hug. She had shrunk in her old age and your heels didn’t help the equation, making you bend down to do so. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Y/N. Plus soon enough I’ll Mrs. Snow.”

“I know, I know, I just forget sometimes. Perhaps I should just call you Mrs. Snow!”

“Now I think that’s a wonderful idea!” You took a second to greet Coriolanus with a kiss and then went back to chatting with Grandma’am taking her hands in your own.

You were so delicate with her, it pained him to watch you be so kind to her. You nodded along diligently to whatever she said and were actively engaging in the conversation. He could tell that you weren’t pretending to care and that you actually wanted to speak with his grandmother. She was so animated with you like years had been removed from her. He had spent so long trying to protect her from all that had happened, and all that he had done. His actions had severed parts of their relationship, and with Tigris not living in the apartment anymore, she must have grown lonely. But you brought her back, the vibrant woman who could connect with the world.

Coriolanus sidled up to you, arm wrapping around your waist. “I hate to interrupt your conversation ladies, but I do believe Y/N came here for lunch.” It felt so right to have you like this.

“Yes, yes, Coriolanus,” Grandma’am started, “I’ll go make sure the cook has prepared everything. Why don't you show Y/N into the dining room.”

“Of course, Grandma’am.”

Alone, he nipped at your ear, his breath making your heart skip a beat. His hands were warm, one placed on your stomach the the other on your arm. You could smell the mint on his breath when he uttered a whisper in your ear, his voice low and husky. “You look stunning today.”

You were wearing all black today, something that went against the average Capitol woman. It was a high neck mini dress, stopping a few inches above your knee. The sleeves were long, longer than your hands and instead of normal holes, the fabric was spliced up to your elbow. Your heels were lower than they normally were from press events, no doubt more comfortable. The splash of colour came from your earrings. They were red, with a velvety coating on them, and shaped like rose petals separated and hung on a chain. You had remembered Grandma’am’s love of roses.

“It’s not for you, you know.” you took every opportunity to tease him. “But thank you.”

You had no idea what you did to him. “If it were for me it’d be on the floor by now.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing this is for Grandma’am and not you.” You patted his cheek. “Now are you going to show me to the dining room Coriolanus?” When you said his name you mirrored the way his Grandma’am said it.

A crooked grin rose on his face with a small laugh. “With pleasure, my dear,” he replied biting your ear again before leading you through the grand hallways of the apartment. His hand never left your back until you were sat down. You were on Coriolanus’ right, with his chair being at the head of the table.

The table was smaller than the average dining room table in the Capitol, unsurprising given the number of Snow family members there were left. It looked to seat about 10 people maximum. It was a dark-stained wood, a style that was popular in the prewar days. The walls were a pale blue, covered in a patterned wallpaper. The signature tile flooring of the apartment was carried into the dining room, laid in a geometric style with the table in the centre. It was all a testament to the family’s long history and enduring presence in the Capitol, a microcosm of the Capitol itself.

“Have you told her about the dinner?”

“No I haven’t had a chance yet-”

“What dinner?” Grandma’am sauntered into the room, waiting for Coriolanus to pull out her seat so she could sit. “The cook prepared quite a  lunch today,” she listed out the menu after she sat down, Coriolanus returning to his own seat, arms resting on the table.

“That all sounds wonderful Grandma’am. Corio’s told me how wonderful your chef is.”

“Yes, I do agree. It took me ages to find one that I liked, so many of them are lacklustre these days.”

“Well I hope my family’s chef won't disappoint you then.” you grabbed his hand on the table. “My father wanted me to invite you to a family dinner on Friday evening. It’s just a small get-together to introduce everyone to each other properly. After all, we’ll be one family soon.

“Oh, that is a wonderful idea! I’ve always had such admiration for your father’s interior design work.” Grandma’am's voice faded out for Coriolanus as she spoke. Rambling about how your father had ‘brought back the elegance of the Capitol’ through his job. Coriolanus was focused on one thing.

You were wearing the ring. He had gone in between rings for what felt like a millennium till settling on a custom made. It was reminiscent of the one he remembered his mother wearing, covered in diamonds and made of gold. Your was made of platinum, far more durable than gold and less like the be damaged by your time in the labs and only plated in gold. The centre stone was large, 1.5 carats, an emerald cut diamond. The style of the ring was similar to an ornate mirror. There were 22 stones in total, each one glittering from the chandelier's light. He hadn't stopped with just the one ring either, he needed to decorate you in the finest jewels he could buy with the Plinth family fortune. That's why your index finger had a stack of thinner, geometric, stack complimenting the engagement ring.

It thrilled him. Wedding rings were no more than a shackle connecting you to him. A show of his authority over you. Marrying you wasn’t about companionship, it was to own you. To change your last name to his own and let everyone know that he would never leave you alone. Maybe he’d let you hyphenate your last name, and you’d like that, it went against the norm.

His thumb rubbed against his own engagement ring. His was simpler, he didn’t enjoy the over-the-top couture and showmanship of the Capitol, a think gold plated platinum band with a matching kite cut diamond flush set into it. The kite shape echoed by etchings around the placement. You had picked the ring out for him after seeing your own, saying that you wanted it to match with yours. It was ironic that you chose a kite shape. They flew high in the sky, a symbol of freedom and soaring ambition.

The luncheon was nice, you had to admit. You didn’t have a living grandmother and it was nice to talk with Grandma’am as you ate. She kept telling stories of Coriolanus’ youth, much to his chagrin. The stories, and how he treated her, were different than what you had expected. He was cold towards Tigris, but he had so much warmth towards Grandma’am. What had happened between the two that caused a rift? Grandma’am spoke as if the two had been thick as thieves growing up.

When the plates were cleared, you joined Grandma’am in the kitchen as she made coffee for the two of you, Coriolanus somewhere in the apartment answering a message on his communicuff. You had offered to do it but she insisted on doing it herself, telling you that the machine was too complicated for a guest to use. But you know exactly how to use it, but that was a secret.

When she sat across from you, both your mugs steaming, her eyes were sombre. “Can you be honest with a foolish old woman?”

“I don’t see any old women here, but I can be honest.” her chuckle was wethered and dry, telling of someone who had lived through too much.

“I know my Coriolanus is a difficult man,” she always insisted on using his full name. “He’s much like his father in that regard, and I would know having raised them both. But you’re good for him. When I see him with you it's like all the horrible things he had to live through are forgotten, and that he’s that smiling boy  running around the apartment with his mother chasing after him again.” Grandma’am’s voice broke as the spoke, teetering on the edge of crying.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She loved him so much.

“I love him Grandma’am, I really do.” candour in every word you spoke. “With him, I feel like I can do anything, be anything. Sometimes I think it’s all too good to be true and that one day I’ll wake up and this was all a dream that I had. Every day I pinch myself to make sure it's still real.”

“Will you always?” 

“There’s no future in which I don’t love him. He’s my now and always. And even if one day we weren’t together anymore, I’d still love him and I’d still support him. Just like he’d do the same for me.”

As you spoke Grandma’am’s tears flowed freely, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of gratitude. She saw in you that she didn’t have to worry anymore, that someone other than her would love him unconditionally. Be a sanctuary to his troubled heart.

“Thank you.” as the older woman bawled you got up to hug her, rubbing her back as she sobbed.

Coriolanus had heard the whole thing but he couldn’t tell if you had said it for her or it was a confession of your true feelings. You were always perfect at playing your part.

taglist: @serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

❤︎ first meeting ❤︎

❤︎ Butcher x Sage ❤︎

Warnings: language, drug consumption (pot smoking), implied threat.

Word Count: 1,505

Butcher knew something was up when Frenchie stumbled through the back door of the safehouse like he'd forgotten gravity existed.

Butcher didn’t even look up from his weapon spread on the table. “Where the fuck’ve you been?”

“Found God,” Frenchie declared, arms wide, eyes glassy. “Out in the trees. Looking like a pixie. Sounding like revolution.”

Butcher’s brow twitched. “Jesus wept. You high?”

Frenchie blinked, solemn. “Incredibly, mon ami.”

“Right,” Butcher growled, shoving a magazine into place with more force than necessary. “Go lie down ‘fore you start eatin’ your fuckin’ shoes.”

But Frenchie wasn’t done. “Merde, she was perched in a tree like a woodland sniper. Smoking weed. Quoting Thoreau. She told me to ‘respect the fungi network or perish like the patriarchy.’” He paused, grinning. “I think I am in love with her.”

Butcher levelled him with a look. “You’ll love a fuckin’ bullet if you don’t shut it.”

Frenchie saluted loosely and wobbled off toward the sofa, mumbling something about cosmic alignment and pond spirits.

Butcher sighed. Loudly. Then louder. Because of course now he had to go investigate the fucking forest for some feral philosophy major Frenchie hallucinated.

He slammed the door behind him and trudged out into the meadow, boots heavy in damp grass, muttering curses under his breath. Trees rose up ahead, tall and tangled, and it didn’t take long for the smoke to find him — sweet, earthy, deliberate.

And then he saw you.

Up in a low-slung branch, knee tucked to your chest, blunt pinched between two fingers. You looked like you'd grown out of the tree itself—loose cardigan sliding off one shoulder, bare foot swinging in the dappled light, eyes lazy and sharp all at once.

“You real?” He called up, already irritated.

You blinked, slow. Took a drag. Blew the smoke in his direction like a blessing and a warning. “Depends. You wanna talk trees or treason?”

He squinted. “You always this fuckin’ cryptic or just when you’re high?”

You grinned, foxlike. “Only when I sense a Carhartt coloniser stomping through my forest.”

Butcher stared. You stared back. Neither of you moved.

Then he huffed. “Frenchie weren’t lyin’, then. You are a pixie.”

You tapped ash into a chipped ceramic mug nestled in the bark. “Tell him he owes me a joint. And a mushroom field guide. He stepped on my puffballs.”

Butcher muttered something indecipherable and stepped closer. You didn’t flinch. Just tilted your head and watched him like you’d been expecting him all along.

He squinted up at you, arms crossed like a shield. “What’s your name, then? Or do I gotta call you Swamp Thing?”

You didn’t blink. Just smiled slow, like you were trying it on. “Call me whatever makes you feel less scared of me.”

That got a pause.

Butcher tilted his head. “Scared? Of you?”

You took another hit, smoke curling around your lips like something ancient. “Mmhm. You’re wound tighter than a noose. Smell like blood and broken promises. Eyes like a man who’s lost too many things he couldn’t name. You came out here looking to dismiss me, but your jaw’s clenched ‘cause you know I’m not wrong.”

Butcher didn’t answer. Just stared. Harder this time.

You gestured lazily with the blunt. “You carry revenge in your spine. Walk like the earth did you personal harm. But you’re tired. Even your rage is tired.”

Silence stretched between you like a tripwire.

You didn’t break it. You didn’t need to. You’d already gutted him with that quiet, stoned dissection of his soul.

Finally, he muttered, “Christ. You always talk like that?”

You shrugged. “When I’ve got good weed and someone worth psychoanalysing.” A pause. Then: “You are worth it, by the way.”

His mouth twitched. Almost a smirk. Almost.

He stepped closer, hand flexing at his side like he was debating throwing something. “You do anythin' useful, or just haunt trees and therapise strangers?”

You leaned back against the bark, blunt between your lips again. “I patch people up. I make poisons and cures. I’ve got a rifle stashed in the hollow of that oak behind you and I never miss. I see patterns in data like they’re constellations. And I know what Vought’s doing with their new ‘community outreach’ program before it hits the news cycle.”

That got his attention.

Butcher narrowed his eyes. “Go on, then.”

You smiled again, but this one wasn’t soft. It was teeth. “They’re moving into rural zones. Buying up land. Sprouting Supe-friendly shelters in counties no one pays attention to. Test sites. Low media coverage. Perfect for experiments.”

Butcher stepped even closer now. His voice was low. Dangerous. “And 'ow the fuck do you know that?”

You tapped your temple. “People talk. Networks hum. I listen.”

Then you leaned down, arm braced against the branch, smoke coiling around your face like incense at a funeral. “You came out here to yell at Frenchie’s hallucination. But now you’re wondering if I’m a puzzle piece you didn’t know you needed. And I am.”

He stared. Couldn’t help it. You didn’t flinch. You never flinched.

“But don’t bring me in unless you’re ready for truth,” you added, voice softer now. “I don’t do half-truths and hero worship. I want the whole ugly thing.”

Butcher blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth tasted like moss and thunder.

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “Frenchie really did find a goddamn pixie.”

You just smiled, sage-sweet and sharp as revolution. And Butcher knew—without even meaning to—that he wasn’t walking out of this forest the same way he came in.

He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—the way you looked like a fucking wood sprite plucked out of a children’s book, or the fact that every word out of your mouth hit harder than a headshot.

He glanced at the chipped mug tucked in the tree bark, then back at you. “Y’know, this whole thing’s real fuckin’ whimsical. You one o’ them crystal dicks? Believe in retrogrades and moon blood or whatever?”

You exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke. “Believe in patterns. Pressure. Cause and effect. The moon just helps me name them.”

He snorted. “That's a yes, then.”

You grinned. “It’s a fuck you with a horoscope.”

And Christ, he hated how fast that made the corner of his mouth twitch.

He crossed his arms, weight shifting like he was trying not to settle in. “You always set up shop in the woods behind safehouses, or just this one?”

You arched a brow. “You always interrogate barefoot women who haven’t even offered you weed yet?”

Butcher blinked. “No, usually I wait ‘til they’re armed.”

“I am,” you said simply.

He stared.

You gestured vaguely toward the oak behind him. “Mossy hollow. Custom-built rifle. Biodegradable rounds.”

He squinted. “You tryna impress me, Swamp Thing?”

You shrugged. “If I was, you’d already be impressed.”

Fucking hell. He wasn’t, of course. Not really. Except, he was.

Butcher took another step closer, boots crunching soft moss. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just tilted your head like you were cataloguing him in real time.

He hated that too.

“You some kind of anarchist survivalist, then? Livin' off weeds and vibes?”

You smiled, all molasses and menace. “I’m a gardener with trust issues.”

Butcher gave a short laugh. Bitter. “Ain’t we all.”

You leaned back against the tree trunk, letting the blunt hang from your fingers. “The world’s rot, Billy Butcher. You can either plant something better… or burn it all down and salt the ashes.”

His name in your mouth made his chest pull tight. He hadn’t told you it. Not yet.

He stiffened. “How d’you know my name?”

You blinked, all innocence. “I told you—I listen. Networks hum.”

Silence again.

He looked at you properly now, eyes dragging over the cardigan slipping off your shoulder, the bare foot swinging loose, the eyes too clear for someone stoned. Like you chose to keep your clarity. Like you liked watching people fall apart in front of you.

“You dangerous?” He asked.

Your smile turned crooked. “Only to liars. Corporations. Cops. People who kick stray cats.”

“But not to me?”

You tilted your head. “That depends. You kick cats?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Then you’re safe. For now.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the way his chest loosened, just a bit.

You were chaos in moss green, hair wild, eyes gentle and fucking knowing. And somehow, beneath all that softness, you had teeth. Big ones.

He liked that. Too much.

He muttered, “Frenchie’s gonna be insufferable if I bring you back in.”

“Don’t bring me in, then,” you said, flicking ash into the ceramic. “Just visit. I’ll roll you something nice, make you a tincture for all that colonial tension in your shoulders.”

He stared. Long and hard.

Then: “Fuck’s sake.”

And he reached up, offered a hand.

You looked at it for a beat too long—just enough to make him wonder if you were gonna laugh in his face. But you took it. And when your palm slid against his, he swore he felt roots twist around his wrist and take hold.

You hopped down from the branch, barefoot in the moss, fingers still smudged with ash and ink.

“Sage,” you said, like it wasn’t a name but a warning. “And don’t call me Swamp Thing unless you want a hex that makes your dick cry.”

Butcher huffed out a laugh he didn’t mean to let slip. Christ. He turned toward the clearing, you trailing behind like smoke.

Yeah. This one was gonna be a fucking problem.

And he was already looking forward to it.

A/N: Oh my GOD. I am so beyond happy with Sage. I was so excited to write this one and I think I've executed her vibes exactly as I wanted to, maybe even better. The aim was conspiracy-theorist, pothead pixie, witchy and wild, revolutionist icon (loosely based off of myself in my teenage years, very anarchist behind the bible.) She's gonna have Frenchie wrapped around her finger in no time. She's gonna blend well with the others, and she's gonna be both a compliment and contrast to Butcher. As always, feedback is encouraged, bbys. Until the next one. All the love.

@losers-clvb @drakulana @blossomingorchids @love2liz <3