#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.

[summer-oil]

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."

[shinig6mis]

you never should've clicked that link.

but curiosity had its claws in you, and that night, while you were alone in your dimly lit room, you let it win. just a quick look, just to see what was really lurking on the dark web. that's what you told yourself.

one wrong click and your screen glitched. blacked out for half a second. then a text box popped up with white letters against a pitch-black background.

???: cute pajamas

your breath caught in your throat. the cursor blinked, waiting. you didn’t type anything or move at all. you simply stared as your heart hammered against your chest. your fingers twitched toward the laptop lid.

another message.

???: go ahead and close it

???: i’ll still be here

your skin prickled. and then, at the top of your screen, you noticed the tiny, glowing green dot. the camera light.

without thinking, you slammed your laptop shut so fast it nearly slid off your desk. scrambled back, stomach twisting. no way. no fucking way.

on the next day, you took your laptop to a repair shop. paid extra to have it cleaned, reset, scrubbed of whatever digital parasite had burrowed into it. but then the guy behind the counter just frowned, clicking through your system. “there’s nothing here,” he said. “no malware, no viruses. your laptop’s clean.”

all that really needed to be repaired was the tiny crack on your screen after you shut it so fast.

tomura was bored.

he had planned to fuck with you, that was all.

another dumbass poking around where they shouldn’t, clicking shit they know they're not supposed to. he almost closed out after the first few days of watching.

that was until you started talking to yourself when you were alone, making little noises when you stretched, humming under your breath while working on assignments. the way you’d pause videos to read comments, or sit cross-legged in bed while scrolling on your phone.

it was stupid. pointless, really.

but for some reason, it was hard to look away.

so he didn’t.

he watched you like a habit he couldn’t quit.

and eventually, you started leaving your laptop open more often. but the paranoia still lingered, coiling in your stomach when you were alone too long. that feeling of being watched never really went away.

a couple nights later, your screen lit up again on its own.

there it was again.

???: how long r u gonna keep ignoring me?

you glared at the webcam, hoping he could feel it through the screen, as your fingers hovered over the keyboard and typed.

y/n: how long are you gonna keep watching me, creep?

tomura laughed at that.

???: so she does talk

what the fuck was going on right now? your hands were sweating. you wiped them on your thighs, forced yourself to keep your eyes narrowed at him.

if he could still message you, still access your screen, then he knew everything. your files, your passwords, your location.

the realization sent a cold shiver down your spine.

y/n: what do you want?

this time, the reply was almost instant.

???: already got what i want

tomura wasn’t sure what exactly had changed. watching had been enough, at first. knowing he could listen in on your rambles, see the way you chewed your lip while concentrating on a homework, the absent-minded way you twirled a strand of hair when you were bored—it was all pretty amusing.

but he wanted more.

you fascinated him. the way you blushed when you saw a cringey scene in a show, the way your brows knitted when you felt troubled. all your unfiltered reactions.

people were so fake, so performative, but you—alone in your space, forgetting he was right there—you just felt so real and right to him.

and while tomura has seen plenty of people, it was rare for him to actually see the real version of someone and continue to grow attracted to them.

he wanted to see you up close. wanted to make you react to him.

it was a crowded café near campus. you had been staring out the window absently, hands wrapped around your drink as your eyes focused on whatever reading you were trying to dissect on your laptop.

you looked so at peace that tomura almost didn't want to ruin the moment for you.

but he couldn't help it as he lifted his phone and typed on his screen.

your device buzzed with one new message.

???: found you

author’s note ♪ 　 ͙ㅤ 　(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) i love my boy tomura so bad yall don’t understand :< p.s. honestly can’t remember when i wrote this ?? i just found it in my drafts ermmmm…

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[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.

[five-rivers]

This is the poll to determine the second main plot point for my experimental audience participation fic (search 'experimental fic' on my blog for more information). This poll is being held because the runners-up options were too close to call. While runners-up on this poll will not be included in the fic from the beginning as a main plot point, I will write a mini fic for each as a thank you for participating.

Submitted propaganda and prompt credits are under the cut below the poll.

Send me an ask if you have any questions!

Prompt credits: @axion-labs, @trinoxtrinox, @icos-x, @jackdaw-sprite

Propaganda for the Pitch Pearl prompt (via @axion-labs):

- Rivers said in the initial post that started all this that they wanted practice writing ships, so you’ll be doing them a favor (I can’t fathom why Rivers of all people claims to need practice, just look at the 400 fics they’ve written, but whatever) - The first place plot is Danny concerningly oversharing, which plays well into a toxic relationship (or a perceived toxic because ghost shenanigans? Lots of directions to go with it) - Over-possessive relationships are so much fun with ghosts involved! A ghosts’ obsession, the core of their being, becoming another person? - Please?

Propaganda for the Ancient Adoption prompt (via @trinoxtrinox):

Rivers is the ruler and monarch for soft body horror, they have already made many stories where Danny has changed slowly and those stories are always a beauty. Now imagine how far it would go when Danny is under the influence of MANY DIFFERENT GHOSTS, Danny truly is made of playdough and he's being molded by so many hands that anything is possible.

Propaganda for Amity Lair prompt (via @bonuscatart):

I've seen fics where Amity is Danny's haunt, but I don't think I've read one where it's his lair. It would be cool to see how Amity is affected by something usually in the Ghost Zone

Propaganda for Field Trip Gone Wrong prompt (via @jackdaw-sprite):

- It plays very well with the first place winner, which is Danny saying too many alarming things to the wrong person. Who is that person? Any one of his classmates, or Mr. Lancer. Or all of them! Imagine the chaos! - It's got a built in explanation for why Danny is even saying these things! He's trapped and can't redirect attention away from himself! It's got drama! it's got confrontation! - We don't torment Danny socially nearly enough - Imagine being a teenager who has managed to fuck up badly enough at keeping your mouth shut that at least one of your classmates and possibly your entire class is trying to get answers out of you. Despite being in a Situation. Mortifying! - It's even worse when you've got ghost powers you are theoretically very practiced at hiding. That you're worried might result in dissection if they come out - Only maybe half of Danny's classmates are normal about Phantom. imagine how Dash, Paulina, Valerie, and maybe even Wes would react in this situation. imagine all of them effectively locked in a bottle with Danny at the same time as he tries and fails to keep his secret. - We don't torment Danny socially nearly enough. I already said that but I think now you understand exactly what kind of torment this is, and how fun it would be to watch him squirm. - If you vote for this, we could get Rivers to do this to Danny. Imagine.

[jinxyvvrites]

-- ten seconds to love

Warnings :

writer's own interpretation of Eddie Munson, slightly popular girl falls hard for the freak/bad boy trope.. cliche in that slightly popular girl is paired with freak / bad boy for a class project -a dissection, during which she gets sick... if you're gonna get bent out of shape about anything I'm warning you about here, don't read this.

Pairing :

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Word Count :

3k+

Snippet:

“You could’ve.” Charlotte argues. “Tara changed partners. The teacher would’ve let you.” she sizes you up for a second or two quietly and smirks again, “I just don’t think you wanted to.”

You tense before you can stop yourself.

“So?”

“I’m gonna go kick his ass.” your boyfriend murmurs.

“Don’t you dare.” you snap. “I’m not a possession anyway, asshole. And he wasn’t a threat..” you’re the one smirking as you size up your boyfriend with a hand on your hip, “Unless you feel threatened.. That’s your problem. Not his.”

“We'll be pairing off for today's assignment.” the dull monotone of your teacher is boring enough that after she dismisses the students who have opted out of the dissection down to the library, you've completely zoned out.

That is, until the high pitched squeal of a chair being dragged has you grimacing, looking up from the magazine shoved into your textbook just in time to see Eddie Munson flop down into his desk after moving it right next to yours. 

“Ms. Shepherd said you're my partner.”

You would have nodded, done something to indicate that you heard him if not for being all lost in those big brown eyes of his.

Or the way shitty lighting glints off the rings on his fingers.

“Did y’ hear me?” Eddie asks, studying you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

You manage a nod.

“Yes.” you answer quietly, bold enough to lock eyes with the so-called freak of Hawkins, “I'm not deaf, Eddie.”

He's not sure how he feels when you say his name. And for once, he notices, its not in fear or disgust.

He chuckles. “ See now, that ain't fair. Y’ know my name, doll.. I don't even know you.”

“We've been in the same class for 6 months now. I live 4 trailers up from you. Nice try, Munson.” you're giving him this little smirk when you say it, he's actually taken aback by it. His stomach is doing that stupid fucking little twisty thing it does a lot lately whenever he happens to spot you on or off campus.

“What are we doing again?” you only ask the question because the air is thick and that's dangerous. You need a distraction, otherwise, you’re going to keep on sitting there staring at the taller boy like an idiot.

“ We're gonna dissect something. Dunno what, though.” 

The scent of chemical is starting to fill the classroom and after a few seconds, your stomach rolls.

You can feel your mouth watering a little too but you’re quick to try and ignore it.

I cannot throw up. - its not working. The more the stench grows, the more your stomach rolls.

“You good, princess?” Eddie taunts, giving you one of his little smirks as he glances over, spinning the scalpel between his fingers like he tends to do with his uncle Wayne's old army knife, “ you look kinda green…”

The specimen - a brain, ugh, why does it have to be all gross looking and wrinkled? Why is it gray, ew?- is plunked down onto the tray between the two of you and the second your eyes widen, Eddie seems to pick right up on what's wrong with you.

“ Hey..”

“It's so… its gross.”

“You’re not gonna like… hurl..right?” He looks at you, torn between amusement and concern.

You swallow hard, manage to shake your head no. But then you watch the scalpel held between thin fingers as it slices clean through the surface of the specimen and…

You can feel the bile rise up your throat as you also begin to feel like your legs are gonna give at any second.

Eddie sees you getting paler. When you sort of sway, he grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes but he puts down the scalpel just in time to scoop you up into his arms before you crumple to the classroom floor.

“Hey yooo.” he's trying to get your teachers attention if she'll just stop flirting with the girls volleyball coach for one fucking minute, he thinks.

“I don't f-feel s-so good.”

“I know, doll. I'm tryin t’ get ya outta here.” Eddie flinches and nearly drops you when you bury your nose in his neck to try and avoid the smell that's got you on the verge of a full on Exorcist style vomit fest.

You're so soft. All warm and sweet-scented, the more you smoosh against him to keep from throwing up, the harder it is for him to focus.. to not replay that recurring wet dream he has about you over in his head or get hard enough to break right in front of everybody.

The teacher finally notices and dismisses you both into the hall. 

“You gonna be okay?”

You shake your head. You're too afraid of throwing up all over both of you the second you open your mouth to dare attempt answering him.

“I'll uh.. the bathroom. I'll take ya there, okay?”

It's met with a nod. The door to the girls bathroom comes into view and you're placed on your feet. You bolt into the bathroom, hand clamped over mouth, second stall door banging shut behind you.

--

You're trying to hold your own hair out of the way and grip the cold porcelain seat to stay upright and somewhere in the middle of this, you hear his heavy footsteps, the sound of him hissing for you.

“She went in there.” Byrdie, one of the girls on the dance team with you, points to the stall you're in.

Eddie grimaces and he's looking away as he holds thick hair out of the line of fire, the small space forcing him to be entirely too close for his own comfort and yet, not as close as he'd like to be at the same time.

You're empty, nothing else left in the tank. Just weak. A dull headache settles in as you cringe at the bitter taste left in your mouth.

“ I think I’m okay now.”

“ You sure, doll?” he lets go of your hair even though it feels soft as silk in his hand and he doesn't want to.

“Yeah.”

“Feel okay t’ walk?” - at this rate he's not even sure why he just had to come in with you, let alone  why he's helping to start with, but he just can't leave you to your own devices.

And that's what he fully intends to keep telling himself until its true.

You could walk, however, there's just something about the way he picked you up like you weigh nothing and the way it feels to be carried by him to begin with.. when he asks, you mean to say yes, instead, you shake your head No.

Eddie scoops you up again, carrying you down the hall. You get brave enough to rest your head against his shoulder and slip your arms around his neck.

Eddie nearly drops you again, just barely managing to pull himself together. He tells himself this entire time that his good deed for today, hell, the year, is done and over but as he walks in holding you, he can't deny  that it feels good.

Better than he ever imagined.

You’re placed in your chair gingerly and you flash him a weak but thankful smile. He chuckles, slipping into his own chair. Picks up his own scalpel wordlessly.

You work on writing the different areas of the brain onto a piece of paper and every now and then, you can’t help but steal a look at him, watch his hands or the way his tongue juts out, rests against the corner of his mouth when he’s focused.

It’s during one of these times that he happens to look up, catch you looking.

He makes a silly face and you giggle. Give him a little grin. 

The bell to end class rings just as you two are finishing up. Before he can say anything, not that he would, you’ve disappeared out the door.

He stares at the door for a second or two, shrugs and then spots a notebook you’ve left behind in the bottom of your desk.

He toys with the notion of returning it, picking it up, putting it into his own books. But your friends are not friends of his.

And your boyfriend is one of the jocks.

He tells himself that he’ll just pop over to your place later and return the notebook.

--

“How was it?”

You stop applying your cotton candy flavored gloss and meet your best friend’s gaze in the mirror. “How was what?”

“Working with the freak?”

“Char..” you warn, glaring at your friend.

“He’s a freak. Y’know he’s gonna end up being a serial killer one day, everyone says.”

You catch sight of him as he wanders past, flanked by two of his friends. You stare a little longer than you should and this doesn’t go unnoticed by your best friend. “Are you staring at him? Ew!”

“Charl–.” you’re annoyed by the way she’s so loud, so quick to judge. Cringing at the way she’s caught you mid-stare. You roll your eyes. 

“You didn’t even try to trade?” she asks, tilting her head to look at you.

“Why would I?” you question, shutting the door of your locker. You lean against it, catch yourself looking for Eddie in the crowd again.

“Why would she do what?” your boyfriend Danny slips up on you, a brow raised when you don’t greet him with your usual kiss on the cheek. He frowns at you, annoyed look in his eyes as he meets your gaze. “No kiss?”

“Why the hell would I do that? I’m still mad.” you deadpan.

“Oh come on!” he exclaims, annoyed tone seeping into his voice. “You can’t seriously still be mad. I told you, I forgot.”

“You need to talk to your girlfriend.”

“Why?” he looks from you to Charlotte, gaze lingering on you.

Charlotte smirks. “She actually worked with that freak in class earlier. She cou–” you glare at her, silencing her. “One, he’s not a freak, okay?” you cut her off, a hand on your hip as you insist. “Two, it’s not as if I could’ve changed.”

“You could’ve.” Charlotte argues. “Tara changed partners. The teacher would’ve let you.” she sizes you up for a second or two quietly and smirks again, “I just don’t think you wanted to.”

You tense before you can stop yourself.

“So?”

“I’m gonna go kick his ass.” your boyfriend murmurs.

“Don’t you dare.” you snap. “I’m not a possession anyway, asshole. And he wasn’t a threat..” you’re the one smirking as you size up your boyfriend with a hand on your hip, “Unless you feel threatened.. That’s your problem. Not his.”

As they launch into their spiel again, how their kind will grow up to be criminals or murderers and how Eddie’s little club shouldn’t even be allowed to exist, something in you snaps.

You slip your boyfriend’s arm down from it’s resting place around your shoulder and you start to walk away.

“Where y’ goin, babe? Aw, c’mon.. Are you on your period?”

You pause, turning to look back at Danny. “No.” you answer.

“Then what’s eatin’ you today, princess.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“Babe..”

“I can’t deal with you.” you answer calmly. “Either of you. Talk to me when you’ve both got your heads outta your asses.”

“How about you find us when you come to your senses.” Charlotte calls out after you but you’re already walking away. Heading for the double doors that lead in and out of the building at the end of the hallway, grumbling to yourself with each step you take.

Charlotte steps a little closer to Danny, walking her fingers up the front of his t-shirt. “I told you, didn’t I? You can take the girl outta the trailer park, you can’t take the trailer park outta the girl.”

Danny removes her fingers and she pouts. He rolls his eyes. “Never gonna happen.”

“Yeah? At least I put out…” 

She steps closer all over again, staring up at him. “Isn’t that your biggest complaint with her lately, Daniel?”

“Well yeah..” he swallows hard. Staring down at Charlotte because he’s torn between amusement and disgust. 

--

Eddie sits on the picnic table, the damned notebook perched on his lap. He knows that opening it is a serious invasion of your privacy, but after the filthy little poem slipped out when he went to put it away in his locker, he just can’t seem to help the urge he has.. To open the notebook. To see if there’s anything else similar tucked away inside.

You wander out of the building, pausing to light a cigarette. 

“Perfect.” he mumbles to himself as you start to walk in his direction. Brown eyes settle on the notebook and he starts to call your name.

“Eddie?” you throw up a hand, shielding your eyes from the midday sun. “Don’t you have class right now, Munson?”

“Gym.” he answers with a shrug. “Do I look like I give a shit about sports or whatever?”

You laugh softly.

Your gaze happens to settle on the journal sitting in his lap and you swallow hard. Your heart is beating so loud you can hear it, feel it’s steady thump against your throat. You nod to the notebook, try to play cool. “You found it..”

Eddie nods, holds it out.

“You’re pretty good at poetry, doll.”

His words have you frozen in place. If you thought your heart was about to beat right outta your chest before now, you were wrong and it wasn’t. Because right about now, your throat is dry. Your heart is beating so hard you feel like it might just explode.

Your hands shake just a little as you reach for the notebook. Eddie notices as he places it into your hands.

This awkward silence fills the space between the two of you and you know you should probably just leave, bail on the rest of the day like you were planning but you can’t.

Your feet are rooted to the ground as you stand in front of him now, the events of the morning and the fact that he’s read your journal swirling around in your mind frantically.

,, god I hope he didn’t read too far.. I hope he didn’t figure out most of it’s about him..”

Eddie clears his throat awkwardly. “You goin’ somewhere, princess?” the lazy grin he gives you has your stomach doing that stupid little flippy-flop it always seems to do lately when you catch sight of him hanging around outside his trailer or in the hallways at school.

“Yeah.” you answer after getting sucked into doe eyes for a minute. The minute feels like it’s stretched out to hours, an eternity in the blink of an eye. You raise a hand, letting it tangle in your hair. “Away from here.” you finally answer.

Eddie clucks his tongue, mocking disapproval. “You blowin’ off school?”

“Maybe I am.” you answer.

He chuckles. Nods to the spot beside him on the picnic table. You hoist yourself up onto it.

“What’s your little boyfriend gonna say, huh?”

“I honestly don’t give a shit.” you answer, looking up at Eddie through a curtain of hair. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

Eddie’s brow raises.

When his stomach does that lazy little flip like it did this morning when he carried you down the hall, he tries to ignore it.  This time though, it won’t be ignored.

“Why’s that?”

“He just is.” you answer quietly, staring at your legs. “I dunno why I’m even with him.”

And there it is, the truth. The heart of everything you’ve been feeling lately. This little life you’ve lucked into since your move to Hawkins… It doesn’t fit. The little charade you’ve been pulling is starting to get tiresome. You can’t be yourself around your so-called friends.

“So dump him.” Eddie mutters. “It’s not like it’s hard.”

“You’re not wrong.” you answer after a second or two. You slip off the table and stand in front of him, a hand on your hip.

“C’mon.”

He points to himself, staring at you. “Me?”

“No, the invisible man over there, Munson.” you retort, blowing at strands of hair that have fallen into your eyes. “Yes, you.”

“Where are we goin?”

“I dunno.” you answer. “Just.. Away from here?”

He chuckles at you.

“You’re real bored, huh?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re leaving campus with me.. The school freak.”

“You’re not a freak. And I’m leaving with you because I want to, alright?” you insist, hand settling on your hip again, “I don’t do things I don’t wanna do.”

Eddie chuckles. “You don’t, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Tell me where we’re goin’.” he demands, mimicking your posture, the way you’ve got your hand on your hip. “Or we’re not leavin.”

“Fiiiine.” you drawl, blowing at more of your hair as it escapes the way you’ve got it up, “I thought we could go back to my house.. Or yours.”

“Now what’s everybody gonna say if word gets around, huh? You all alone with me?”

“Do I look like I give a shit, Eddie?” you ask calmly, tilting your head to look up at him as he stands. “Because I honestly don’t.”

“Well, what about your boyfriend, huh?”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Pretty sure Charlotte’s already trying to hop on his dick as we speak. She thinks I don’t know she wants him. She can have him.”

“You really just want to watch the world burn, huh?” Eddie’s more than a little intrigued, staring at you as he tries to puzzle it out. He steps up to you, body just barely grazing against your own. You swallow hard because there it is, all over again… That fluttery feeling that settles out into a lazy heat in the pit of your stomach.

“Maybe I do.” you answer.

He chuckles. Mutters to himself about taking advantage of your boredom and you look up at him. “I’m practically begging you to, Munson. Why is there a moral dilemma, huh?”

Eddie shrugs.

“We can take my car.” you dig around for your keys, placing them into his hand. As his hand curls around your car keys, your hand curls around his and you step in just a little closer. He’s caught up in the way he towers over you easily.. The bakery sweet scent of your favorite perfume and the way it mixes with sweet strawberries. 

“You’re puttin’ a lotta trust in me, princess.” he chuckles.

“Because I like you, Munson.”

The second the words leave your mouth, Eddie freezes in place and so do you. He chuckles. “You barely know me.”

“Yeah, well.. I know enough, alright. Y’know, you’re only cock-blocking yourself right now, yeah?”

He nearly swallows his tongue. You’re starting to walk away and he catches up to you, stopping you. “You really gonna say something like that and walk away, princess?” he asks, stepping into you so that your back meets the warmth of the passenger side of your car. His hand raises, caressing your cheek. He’s studying you intently, big brown eyes staring straight into your soul. “You barely know me.” he repeats.

“I know what I want, Eddie.” your hand clutches at the front of his Hellfire t-shirt. Big brown eyes grow larger as they settle on the way your hand rests against his chest. 

,, this is literally the beginning of every wet dream you’ve been having about her, man. You’re seriously gonna screw it up?” but this thought is overruled by another, What if she’s just bored?

“You think too much.” you mumble softly. “I used to do that too. Kinda how I got myself into the mess I’m currently in..”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh yeah? Maybe one of us should be thinkin’ a little, doll.”

You pout up at him.

“I never wanted t’ be the way I am.” you admit, going quietly. “I hate having t’ pretend to be a little priss.”

Eddie swallows hard because you’ve pressed yourself into him and he’s fighting every barely controlled urge plus the way he’s hard enough to break. Your tongue drags the outline of your lips. “I’m sick of hatin’ myself.. I just wanna be myself.. Like who I like..” you let go of his shirt and walk your fingers up his chest. His heart feels like it’ll explode at any second as he stares down at your hand, “Want what I want.”

“What do you want, doll?” Eddie steps into you, putting your back against the car again.

“Isn’t it obvious, Eddie?” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. 

“Maybe it isn’t.” he insists.

“Or maybe it is.” you argue, pulling him into you by his belt loop. He bites back a quiet groan, face burning hot because he knows you have to feel every inch of him, he’s harder than concrete.

“Just say it, princess.”

“You, Eddie.” you purr. “I want you, okay? And earlier when you carried me, I.. It made me really think. I mean, when my own boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to do somethin’ like that and you..” you trail off, staring up at him. “Look, I realized who the real man was.” you go quiet, refusing to elaborate.  “I’m wasting myself on that jerk, all my so-called friends..” you gesture at the school in the background, “And why? Because honestly, I’m miserable the way things are now.”

“Mhm.” Eddie answers quietly.

“And I’d rather not be. Not if I know what I want… Who I want.” you make yourself look up at him, holding his gaze. 

Eddie searches your eyes, looking for just a hint of doubt. A sign that he needs to back out, that you’re just bored, you’re gonna use him.

As soon as he doesn’t find any, his hand lowers, squeezing your hip. He clears his throat. “We should be gettin’ outta here.”

You smile and nod. As he opens your passenger door, you grab hold of him on a whim, pressing a clumsy kiss against rough lips. He bites back a groan, muttering quietly against your mouth, “Now you’re playing with fire, princess.”

[do-i-look-like-a-doctor]

Solivan with an MC who has a mean/violent sibling that he HORRIFICALLY misunderstands.

Okay, maybe I’m writing this because that’s how my MC lives but honestly can you imagine it? The world’s most possessive creature to roam earth versus a sibling so spiteful, so mean, so intense that it makes him feel threatened? I live for it.

To make it better (or worse) what if this sibling isn’t even trying to be a threat? They’re just being themselves and Sol, as a delusional man, perceives their actions as a distraction. Something that’s getting in the way. Something to get rid of.

Picture this: Sol and MC are eating lunch on the rooftop. Sol made SURE that MC’s sibling had no. Fucking. Idea. How to get up there. Maybe he even locked the doors to cover the tracks. Flash-forward twenty minutes and BOOM the doors fly open. At first Sol think’s its Hyugo but when he sees a pair of eyes that are too similar to his darlings he suddenly crushes the bento box to pieces. In his mind, this parasite deliberately followed them to ruin their date. They even had the audacity to glare at him like he’s some worthless grub. In reality, MC texted their sibling that they’re eating on the rooftop because why not and said sibling is glaring because they don’t like other people. That is just their face.

That’s not it though. Sol knows that this sibling is mean. A junkyard dog with no muzzle. Someone whose brain deserves to be dissected and studied. Granted, they’re not mean to MC and possibly have friends but he doesn’t care. A mean dog can make friends but does that prevent them from biting? So what if they hug MC, give notes to Crowe, and offer to braid Brittney’s hair… they’re still a ticking time bomb.

I feel like Sol would lose his mind.

As time goes on and more instances happen (aka the mutt keeps on “getting in the way” of dates) I think Sol would consider… removing the sibling. At first you’d think a good threat would work but nah, this sibling isn’t falling easy. They’re a bomb that’s constantly going off. They fight people often, they get toe-to-toe with people twice their size, they simply do not care who or what they are punching.

Half the time they come home with bloody knuckles and tears in their eyes like some rabid animal needing coddled before its final moments… and maybe MC does exactly that. Nope, that won’t do. Why would Solivan let anything violent live near his partner? Someday this sibling of theirs is going to turn and bite them. Solivan needs to end this.

Here’s the real kicker: MC’s sibling isn’t even that bad. Sol just has horrible perception because he sees anyone close to MC as a direct interference with his plans. When he says that this sibling fights people three times a week… what really happened is he witnessed them fight some asshole ONCE and chalked it up to incurable rage.

When he says that this sibling has horrible control over their temper and foams at the mouth when told ‘no’… what it really means is that he antagonized them to the point they blew up.

When he says this sibling is just mean and awful for no reason, should be expelled, and has blood on their hands… what’s really going on is some person with anger issues defended themselves.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s probably been times where the sibling genuinely went out of proportion with their temper but in reality it isn’t as bad as Solivan makes it out to be.

Part of me wants to say he wouldn’t kill them because MC loves their sibling. Part of me also thinks he doesn’t give a shit. It’s been made pretty clear how protective he is of MC so who knows what he would do. Either way, I think he’d misunderstand MC’s sibling so bad to the point of harm.

((I typed this out in like half an hour ignore my mistakes I’m lazy))

[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."

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

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

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

[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.

[robidentevil]

∘⧼ ⋆ my spot ˚⧽ ˳

collegestudent!leon kennedy x fem!reader - college au

chapter 3.. WOOHOO my favorite so far.. hope u enjoy it heheheheheeheh

-chapter 3-

You should’ve known the universe wasn’t done screwing with you.

The professor read through names like they were filler audio—just background noise—until yours slipped out. You gave your usual half-muttered reply.

“And Leon Kennedy?” he called.

That voice. That snarky, unmistakable voice answered. Of course.

He’s your partner? Great. Fantastic. Why were you just now finding out his name?

You stood up, ready to bolt out of the lecture hall and pretend this never happened, when you heard him call behind you—

“Yo, Y/N.”

You turned.

“Need your number.”

You blinked. Then laughed in disbelief. “Why? Want to ask me out on a date?”

He frowned like you’d offended him. “No?.. For the project.”

Shit. You're a dumbass. “Oh! Yeah, totally—I was just kidding. It’s ********.”

He walked off without another word. No reaction. No smirk. No nothing. What a bitch.

…He did text you later that day, though.

A few hours later, you were standing in front of his dorm room. You knocked once—and the door opened way too fast. Was he waiting for you?

You decided not to dwell. You had bigger problems to face. Like the group project. With your enemy. (From the past 48 hours—but that’s beside the point.)

You hadn’t realized you were just standing there, zoning out, until he stepped aside and tilted his head.

“You coming in or…?”

You stepped inside, brushing past him.

“You want something to eat?” he asked, scratching his head.

“If it’s another protein bar, I swear to God—”

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Hey, hey! They build character.”

You let out a laugh, unfiltered and sudden. “Yeah, okay, Leon.”

He watched you fidget with your hands, then cleared his throat.

“Sooo… living room? Or—”

“Dining table,” you cut in.

“Right. Okay.” He nodded, shoved his hands into his pockets, and went to gather his things.

An hour passed.

You were still fighting over the meaning of a quote. God. Literature.

“Do you always argue like this?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You shrugged. “Only when I’m right.”

“So, never?”

You rolled your eyes. You could be doing better things right now. Like dissecting this quote. Or literally anything else.

Eventually, you actually started writing the essay. And of course, he had thoughts.

“That’s your thesis? Bold…”

You looked up at him, unamused. “Bold or correct?”

He avoided eye contact. “…Bold.”

Cute. Wait—cute? Did you just think he was—Are you out of your damn mind?

“Heeeyyyo?? Do you even hear me right now?” Leon waved a hand in your face like a maniac.

“Stop! You’re making me dizzy,” you muttered, batting him away. “Let’s just finish this for today.”

These meetups became a daily thing over the week. There were… moments. Like when he changed his shirt in the corner of his room and you caught a glimpse of his happy trail.

…What the fuck is wrong with you?

The next morning, you woke up feeling like death. Leon was the last person you wanted to deal with. But responsibilities existed. Ugh.

Buzz. Buzz.

Your phone vibrated. Jill. Texting you.

After what felt like a century, your classes were finally done. You walked into your dorm and found Jill, cross-legged on the bathroom sink, doing her makeup.

“You’re gonna fall doing that.”

She looked back. “No, I won’t! …At least, I don’t think I will.” She grimaced and went back to her eyeliner.

“Ada’s coming, by the way..”

You groaned. “Really? Ada? Jill, you know we don’t get along—”

“OH COME ON! Just give her another chance, pleaseee.”

“Fine. Just—stop nagging. I hate it.”

She grinned, smug and victorious.

An hour—or maybe a few—later, you both headed out. The frat house is ten minutes away. Your plan? A few drinks. Beer pong. Leave early.

It was going fine… until you saw that blond head. Shit. He was here?

Lying bastard. (Not like you didn’t lie too… but still.)

He looked good. Too good. Out of the hoodies and headphones, in actual decent lighting… He could model. Why didn’t he model?

“Ooo, he’s cute,” Jill whispered, nudging your arm. “Want me to set you up?”

“Ehem?? That’s the guy I’ve been telling you about!”

Her jaw dropped. “THAT’S—”

“JILL! Shhh!”

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s demon boy??” She took a long look at him. “Damn. I would've enjoyed every mom—”

You pinched her side to shut her up.

“Should I play with this discovery?” she teased.

“Totally,” you grinned. “Text him.”

You did. And he responded with a sigh. Like you were a chore. Again.

Jill peeked at your phone.

“Damn. What a dick.”

“Right? And you’re the one calling him McDreamy.”

She pursed her lips teasing. “Him being a dick doesn’t make him less gorgeous.”

Before you could answer, she dragged you toward the drinks table.

Everything after that? A blur. You might’ve downed like 50 fireballs.

You woke up on a couch. Not Jill’s. Not Ada’s.

The dining table across from you looked… familiar. Shit.

You were at Leon’s.

You fumbled through your purse, grabbed your phone. 19 missed calls from Jill. 8:00 AM. Saturday. Thank God.

You got up quietly, trying to sneak out—until you saw him in the kitchen.

“Hey. You’re not leaving on an empty stomach,” he said. “If something happens to you, I’m screwed.”

You turned around, eyes sharp. “Oh, so this is about you? Why am I even here?”

His expression turned defensive. “I brought you here because you were dead drunk and I didn’t know where you lived!”

You winced, holding your head. “Shit… sorry. I don’t know why I screamed.” You exhaled. “Let’s just forget it.” You moved toward the door.

“I gotta go.”

You heard him start to protest as you shut it behind you.

Thankfully, you lived a few floors above. As you got into your room, you caught your reflection.

Your makeup… gone. He wiped it off? Where did he even get makeup wipes?

Why was he being so nice?

You didn’t have time to think. You needed sleep. The meetup was at six.

Later that evening, you returned to his dorm and knocked. He opened the door, same as always. You sat down, expecting work. But he just… stared.

“What are you looking at?” you asked.

He quickly looked away. “Nothing.”

A pause. Then—

“Did you go out with Ada?”

You groaned. “Seriously, Leon? Now’s not the time.”

“She almost left you there. If Jill hadn’t found me—if I hadn’t come—”

You cut him off. “Thanks for your input, Dad. But I can take care of myself.”

He rolled his eyes and dropped it. The usual rhythm resumed. Barely.

“Are you suuure? That sounds like bullshit to me,” he teased later.

You raised a brow. “Really?”

He backed off immediately. “No… not really.”

You hummed a soft mhmm in response.

He giggled.

Cute.

Wait—no. Weird. Right?

You weren’t sure anymore. Because it wasn’t a chore anymore. It was… kind of fun.

You actually turned down Hangouts for this. (Pssst… he did too.)

You had something to look forward to. Someone.

One day, he casually dropped a Rice Krispies bar in your lap.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged. “You said you were waiting for a better protein bar flavor. This was the sugariest one I could find to match the cup of caramel in front of you.”

You laughed. “Leon. This isn’t protein. It’s cereal.”

He raised a brow. “Potato, potahto.”

God, he was a dumbass. Your dumbass?

…Maybe.

—-

The dim light of the empty study room flickered overhead, casting shadows on the forgotten papers scattered across the table. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you and Leon, but it did nothing to cool your rising temper. You stood across from him, arms crossed, pulse thrumming hot beneath your skin—mostly from frustration.

“I’m serious, Leon,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you tried to keep it from shaking. “You don’t just get to hijack the whole project and pretend like we agreed to your idea.”

Leon leaned back against the table, effortlessly calm, that infuriating little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He crossed his arms, like he was settling into the argument instead of trying to end it.

“I didn’t hijack anything. You just don’t like that someone actually had a better plan.”

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “You are so—God, you’re so infuriating sometimes. I can’t argue with you when I’m this—”

“What?” he cut in smoothly, his eyes catching yours and holding them. “Turned on?”

The words landed between you like a dropped match. For a second, you actually forgot how to breathe. You froze, every nerve in your body buzzing. Heat crawled up your neck, blooming across your face like wildfire. Leon was smirking now—barely—but it was there. Controlled. Knowing. He’d planned that.

“I was going to say angry, you jackass,” you managed to hiss, but the edge in your voice was gone, replaced with something… shaky.

His smirk didn’t fade. “Mm. Same thing, isn’t it?”

Your breath caught again. You hated how your body reacted to the low rasp of his voice, the way the air between you suddenly felt heavier. You hated how close he seemed even from a few feet away. And most of all, you hated the awful, undeniable truth echoing in your head:

He might’ve been right.

Eventually, the silence broke. You packed up your notes with trembling hands, neither of you saying much after that—but the tension hung in the air like static.

When you finally left the study room, he held the door open for you. You stared at him in disbelief, still caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. In classic Leon fashion, he kicked at your ankle as you walked past. You stumbled forward with a hissed “ow,” turning to glare at him.

Of course. You slapped him on the arm in return. He grinned like he’d won something.

You both stepped into the front lobby of the library—just in time to hear the crash of thunder. It was pouring. Sheets of rain hammered against the pavement outside, wind slicing sideways.

“What is with your weather luck and libraries?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Leon said nothing—just pulled an umbrella out of his backpack. You blinked.

“…You checked the weather?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t like being soaked on the walk back. Crazy, I know.”

Before you could sass back, he popped the umbrella open and stepped closer, holding it over both of you. His arm brushed yours as you walked side by side under the awning, the wind still managing to sneak in. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. You just listened to the rain and let the silence stretch between you, warmer now than it had been in the study room.

When you reached the split in the path, he gave you a lazy half-smile as he stepped back, hand still holding the umbrella out over you.

“Night.”

It wasn’t much. But it made your stomach do that stupid flip again.

You gave a little wave and turned toward your dorm, heart still pounding for some ungodly reason.

Inside, you kicked off your shoes, still thinking about it. You didn’t owe him a thank you, but… maybe a short text wouldn’t kill you. Something casual. Like "thanks for the umbrella lol". Reasonable. Normal.

You typed:

“you’re kinda nice when you’re not being a smug asshole”

Your thumb hovered. Then deleted. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Gone.

You let out a groan and put your phone on the counter.

“HEY! COME ON!!” Jill’s voice rang from the other side of the door. “Stop hogging the bathrooooom!”

You sighed and headed over. But she was waiting just outside the door, one brow raised suspiciously.

“Hey… why are you smiling?” she asked, arms folded. “Was the project that funny?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut. Up.”

Her jaw dropped in theatrical horror. “OH MY GOD. You like him.”

You grabbed the nearest towel and threw it in her face. “I DO NOT.”

She held her hands up in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay. Just finish up!”

You closed the door and stared at yourself in the mirror for a second.

“…Do I?” you muttered.

The silence that followed didn’t help. Not even a little.

previous chapter - next chapter

[juliettejwnewinesa]

i need some ha eungyeol smut (with plot) 👅👅👅

DETENTION

Pairing: Ha Eungyeol x fem!Reader Word count : ~600 words (i think?) Rating: 18+ 🔞 Warnings (for full fic): Enemies to lovers, desk sex, jealousy, marking, degradation + praise, rough handling, fingering, unprotected sex, size kink, possessive behavior, sexual tension, and lingering trauma.

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

You hated Ha Eungyeol.

You hated his smug face, the way he slouched in his chair like he owned the place, the way teachers let him get away with everything because he was quiet and brilliant and never caused trouble where they could see it. You hated how he always sat behind you — just close enough for his leg to brush yours under the desk. Just close enough for it to feel like a game.

And you hated the way he looked at you — calm, unreadable, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was dissecting every thought in your head and judging you for it.

Most of all, you hated how your body responded to all of it.

“Y/N,” your teacher sighed, tapping her pen against the whiteboard. “You’ll stay for detention.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You were talking.”

You shot a glance over your shoulder — Eungyeol wasn’t even pretending to look innocent. Just sitting there with that tiny, smug smirk, like this was funny.

You hissed, “He was talking to me—”

“Don’t test me,” she snapped. “Ha Eungyeol. You too.”

Your mouth clamped shut.

So did his smirk.

There was a ripple of laughter through the class, but neither of you said anything. She turned back to the board. You could feel him shift behind you — a subtle straightening, like he was annoyed to be caught. Or annoyed with you.

Your pulse flinched.

The bell rang. Chairs scraped. The room emptied until it was just you and him and the low, awkward buzz of dying fluorescent lights.

You stayed seated. Crossed your arms.

He leaned against the back wall, hands in his pockets, staring out the window like he didn’t give a shit about any of this — especially you.

“You couldn’t shut up for once?” you muttered.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re the one who turned around. Maybe if you weren’t so easy to mess with—”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick—”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like that.”

You paused.

“…Like what?”

His gaze moved to you slowly. And that look — the one he always had — changed. It sharpened.

“Like you want me to throw you on that desk and fuck the attitude out of you.”

The air left your lungs.

You hated that your body heard that before your brain did. That something low in your stomach pulled.

“You’re disgusting,” you snapped, standing so fast your chair scraped.

“So leave.”

You didn’t.

Neither did he.

You crossed the room, slow. Arms still folded, heart tripping over itself.

He watched you like you were a problem he hadn’t figured out how to solve yet. Or maybe one he didn’t want to solve.

Now you were standing right in front of him.

“You think I want you?” you whispered. “You think I’d let you touch me?”

Something flickered in his face — then hardened.

“You already did.”

Your mouth parted.

“That day behind the gym,” he said, voice low, flat. “You didn’t say stop.”

That cut. More than it should have.

It had been weeks ago — some dumb argument, voices raised, you shoved him, he grabbed your wrist. And then… lips. Teeth. Hands. You let him kiss you. You kissed him back.

You never talked about it.

“You kissed me first,” you said quietly.

“You kissed back,” he replied, just as quiet.

Silence stretched, long and tight.

He took a single step forward.

You didn’t move.

His voice dropped again — quieter this time, but so much more dangerous.

“You act like I’m the one chasing this. Like you’re not wet every time I breathe near you.”

Your breath hitched. Just a little.

He saw it.

“You’re delusional,” you said. Weakly.

“Then prove me wrong.”

His hands stayed in his pockets. But his presence pressed in. Hot. Overwhelming.

“Get out of my face.”

But you didn’t push him. Didn’t move. You should’ve — every part of your brain said so — but your legs stayed frozen, and your back hit the desk behind you like your body had already decided something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

“You hate me,” he murmured.

“I do.”

“You want me anyway.”

The words lodged in your throat. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and your body jumped.

“So fucking pathetic.”

You slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room.

He didn’t flinch. Just stared — cheek reddening, jaw tight.

Then his hand came up, slow and sure, and grabbed your jaw.

And he kissed you like he’d been dying to.

It wasn’t soft. It was rough, hungry, teeth and heat and tension that had been brewing for too long. You gasped against his mouth. Clutched his shirt. Let yourself get dragged under.

You should stop. You should.

But you didn’t.

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and set you on the desk, standing between your legs.

“You act like you want to be punished,” he said against your skin, voice raw. “Mouthy little brat who still wants to be fucked like a good girl.”

You shuddered.

His mouth traced a line down your neck — a bite, then a bruise blooming under your jaw. You whimpered and tightened your grip on his shoulders.

“I hate you,” you whispered. But your hips moved without thinking — grinding against the press of him.

“I know.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Like he was savoring it. Then his hands moved beneath your skirt.

When he paused, you knew.

“…No panties?” he murmured.

You went still.

Your heart dropped.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to— You weren’t planning this. You’d just… you didn’t think you'd get caught. You didn’t think you'd want him this bad.

He laughed softly — dark, amused.

“Didn’t even try to pretend.”

“I didn’t—”

But he slid his fingers between your legs and found you already soaked.

You bit your lip hard.

“You hate me,” he said again, almost gently, dragging his fingers through you. “But you’re dripping.”

You glared at him, cheeks hot, but didn’t stop him as he pushed two fingers in — deep, slow.

Your back arched. Breath catching.

“You’re so full of shit,” he muttered, watching your face.

“Fuck you,” you gasped, hands fisting in his shirt.

His fingers curled, and your eyes fluttered.

“Say it,” he said. “Say you want this.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

He stopped moving.

You whimpered.

“I said — say it.”

And you broke.

“I want you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Please — don’t stop—”

His mouth brushed your neck, and he smiled. Real and cruel and gorgeous.

“Good girl.”

[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.