#I mean the more and more I look into it. the more it makes sense

[girl-lostconnection]

A little addition to this. Shout out to @sundaescreamcheese because they’ve guessed right.

Warnings: Banished knight!Ghost x Witch!Reader x Bloodhound knight Soap, Elden Ring AU, Johnny is a bit of a dog, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, smut at the end, biting

“Hail, witch”, gruff low voice would have startled you if your wards didn’t tense the moment he stepped onto your territory.

You don’t know what he’s doing here, this deep in the woods, this far from his usual duties and this far from Stormveil Castle.

But you aren’t going to be rude to the man in full armour, with a sword taller than you.

If whatever he seeks can be found without much hassle and he could get off your territory that would be great.

“Hail, knight”, you muse back, careful distance from him. Your wards won’t let him step much closer to the cottage, not unless you specifically grant him entrance and for now…for now you aren’t sure you should.

The man looks at you — someone’s skull now adoring the front of his helmet, his horse a menacing thing that huffs out cold air in agitation. Yeah, it’s no easy journey to get here.

That’s why you live here.

The man in front of you is tall and absolutely huge, more monster than a knight. Makes you wonder what happened for someone like him to become Banished.

What brought him to your doorstep.

You sigh, a little grateful that Johnny is too busy fussing over chickens in the backyard because gods know he can’t stand strangers. Even more than you so.

“You seek refuge or favour?”, you tilt your head to the side, eager to get rid of him faster. Johnny may not be able to run like he did before but he’s still one very good Bloodhound. You don’t have much time until he will stalk outside to see what’s going on in front of your house.

(The previous visitor that had a gall to grab your hand before leaving was hunted down by Johnny. Hunted down and brought back, the hand that gripped you resting on the first step of your porch)

Banished knight looks at you for a few very long moments but if sensing your agitation, gets off his horse — landing on his feet with grace, that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s not just big.

He’s in a very good control of his body and he’s very aware of his size.

He’s dangerous.

Your wards tense up, not letting him through when he steps forward and he freezes as if he forgot about them. Though who knows, maybe he did forget.

Knights did have tendency to feel like they are owed entrance wherever they go, perhaps this one is no different.

“I need to find another knight. Bloodhound”, his voice is low, muffled by the helmet he doesn’t take off — dark eyes boring into you, staring you down from the high of his height.

Your brows furrow at the strange request, heart thumping faster. There’s only one knight who has been around these parts of the woods.

And he’s no longer Bloodhound. You are not giving him back. You are not going to let anyone take him away and rip him off everything you and time out here have been slowly restoring.

“I can’t help you”, you voice sharp, unusually so and Banished knight tilts his whole body forward as if trying to press himself through the wards, his fingers curling and uncurling — leather of his glove creaking.

“I don’t need much, witch. Just tell me where he went. And I will leave”, Banished presses further, shoulders tense and voice curling around your throat like a grip.

He takes a breathe before stepping back, raising his hands in half-hearted placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I can pay if you need. Just tell me if you saw him”, he sounds almost gentle, head tilting down so he can look in your eyes without you having to crane your neck at him. “I’m…a friend”, he adds reluctantly, like he needs to physically tear the words out of himself.

Your brows furrow further and coincidentally Johnny couldn’t find a moment to show up better than now, sound of his walking uneven — still a limp to his step.

He rolls out of the house, picture of faux nonchalance, despite the sharp edge to his eyes.

“Hen, you alright? I heard-“, words die on his tongue when he sees the Banished knight, eyes widening. There is a strange kind of hunger in his gaze.

You don’t like it.

Because Banished knight sees Johnny and almost lunges himself in his direction, the only thing stopping him are the tethers of your wards, curling around his throat, forcing him back, forcing him out.

Air smells like ozone, air cracks with pressure, your fingers quickly warming up with a spell because you were right.

This man is dangerous. He saw Johnny.

You can’t let him leave now. He will need to disappear.

But Johnny grips your shoulders and shakes his head, eyes mad and desperate, an anguish to his face that you don’t quite understand.

“Nae, hen. It’s Simon. Don’t”, he breathes out, fingers digging into your skin, eyes boring into yours.

You glance back at Banished knight and he’s sitting on his knees now, tethers forcing him down, still tightly wrapped around his throat.

He’s dangerous. You don’t know him.

But Johnny’s nose presses to your cheek, breathing shuddering and he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t pull away until you give him a slow tentative nod.

Your fingers flick, soft popping of tethers letting go audible in the air and Johnny actually lunges himself at the Banished knight, sending them both tumbling in the snow.

Knight holds onto him with such hunger something in you churns uncomfortably. What if he will take Johnny away?

Your fingers warm up with the subconscious desire to push the strange man (Simon, his name is Simon) out. Out of your territory, out of your woods, out of your life.

But Johnny looks genuinely happy to see him so you let it go, just sitting yourself down nearby. You��ll be damned if he gets injured just because you looked away for a second.

But Simon grips Johnny like he’s the lifeline and answer to his prayers. Simon’s palms slide all over Johnny’s body, stroking sides, checking for wounds or tethers (your lips practically curl in snarl when you notice. Who the fuck does he think you are?).

He pauses at Johnny’s bad knee, touch getting more careful, eyes expectant and suddenly on you.

“Old injury”, you tell him for some reason. Not like you actually have to. You don’t owe this man anything, he’s unwelcome guest in your home. “I did what I could. If I found him later, he’d probably be without leg by now. Infection practically ate him alive”

Banished knight holds your eyes for a very long moment and then melts back into Johnny, murmuring something under his breath — too far for you to hear.

Doesn’t matter. The man isn’t staying in your home. He’s dangerous.

You tell that yourself and finally go back into the house to put kettle on. It’s too cold to stay mad out in the open. He’s not staying here anyway, so there’s no need to get too riled up.

He’s not staying but Johnny still shifts his weight from one leg to another in the doorway, Simon looming over his shoulder. They both look like a pair of big, wet from snow dogs.

You look at Johnny unimpressed but he tilts his head to the side, grown out strands of hair falling over his forehead. It should be illegal to be that bloody handsome.

You sigh and gesture for them to get in.

Okay, tea never harmed anyone. You’ll let this man warm up and he’ll be on his way before the sundown.

With or without Johnny.

The thought makes bile rise in your throat but you force it down focusing on the task at hand.

You can’t keep him if he’d want to go and you won’t humiliate yourself with begging him to stay.

But Johnny, so attuned to your moods by now, so used to having you chat for both of you steps closer — hands wrapping around your waist, part of his weight leaning on you to give a break his healthy leg.

“Yer not happy”, he notes, nose pressing to your ear, huffing out air and you can’t help but relax, letting him lean on you. He’s warm, heat rolling off him in waves, seeping through the sweater you made for him. Your head tilts back on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“He’s dangerous”, you muse quietly and ignore the chuckle Simon lets out. Banished knight is now sitting in front of your fireplace, cloak taken off and hanged on the chair to dry out.

Johnny just nods, calloused fingers rubbing idle circles on your solar plexus. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m dangerous”, it’s said almost causally, his breath ghosting over your neck and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s different”, you snap back immediately.

Simon huffs behind your back and if Johnny wasn’t leaning on you, you’d have probably thrown something in the man. He’s not going to laugh at you in your own bloody house.

“Simon’s not bad, hen”, Johnny breathes out, tone softer, teeth grazing over sweet spot behind your ear, heat dripping down to your abdomen. Bastard. He knows what he’s doing.

“And Simon is not staying here”, you grumble, pouring herbal blend in three mugs, suppressing the urge to shiver when Johnny bites your neck.

“Hen”, he starts and you already know where it leads, you head shaking quickly.

“No”, you cut him off and nudge him with a shoulder to step back so you can move. “Move, I need to give this Banished his bloody tea”

Johnny grumbles but peels himself off you, less than happy to lose the comfort and warmth your body provides. Less than happy to let you slip out of his grasp.

“He can stay in the barn”, Johnny offers and just grins when you send him a glare. His teeth itch to sink into the nape of your neck, press you into the bed, lick the fight and agitation out of you, make you soft and pliant.

“I said no”

“Hen”

“He’s dangerous”

“Hen, have mercy”

Simon watches the way you two bicker, enjoying that none of you even noticed he took the helmet off to drink the tea you placed on the table with more force than necessary, some of it trickling down the rims of the mug.

Simon huffs out a dry chuckle when Johnny tries to pull you back into his hands and you sidestep, smacking his hands away. Leaving Bloodhound almost pouting.

“Cruel”, he complains to Simon, hands crossing over his chest. But despite everything…Johnny looks good. Better than Simon remembers him.

He’s wider now, there is bulk to him that Bloodhound Knight Johnny didn’t have. His eyes are brighter.

He is talking.

Simon didn’t even know Johnny could fucking talk, thought all Bloodhounds are mute. Courtesy of the profession.

“I understand you want to sleep with your Banished in the barn today?”, the witch arches their brow at Johnny and groans when his eyes light up.

Like a bloody dog catching the whiff of blood on the hunt. Old habits die hard, evidently.

“You can stay”, Johnny announces to Simon like it’s his personal victory, like he brought his master a good game after the hunt and is waiting to get his ear scratched.

His grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t crack. Witch rolls their eyes but Simon sees the way their lips twitch.

Seems not only he has a soft spot for Johnny.

Maybe it should’ve made him feel uneasy but if anything he feels satisfied, like something finally clicked in place. Puzzle finally unlocking in his hands, showing him the reward.

Simon tilts his head to the side, scar crossing his lips stretching when he smiles down at you.

Yeah, he’s staying.

A day turns into a couple days and then into two whole weeks because of the blizzard, Simon pushing further and further.

Eyes heavy and dark when he’d catch a glimpse of your throat or Johnny’s bites — purple bruises on your neck, soft creaking of the bed upstairs whenever it happened.

Simon doesn’t tell you that he moved from barn to the cot in the kitchen and you pretend that you don’t know he’s been sleeping there for the last week.

Simon pretends in return that he doesn’t strain his ears, catching the smallest sounds Johnny tears out of you. That he doesn’t lean on the cold wall of the kitchen, thighs spread wide, his eyes closed. That his hand doesn’t find its way to touch himself, stroking at almost lazy pace.

After all, Johnny is not starving Simon of little love here and there, eyes electric blue, mouth slick on the inner side of Simon’s thighs — your taste still on his lips.

Simon worms himself into your life and starts moving bloody furniture so he can position himself more comfortably, clicking his tongue when you hiss at him — tilting his head at you the same way a heavyweight horse would at the farm’s cat.

His fingers catch your jaw when you grumble that he rearranges your kitchen again, his lips pressing to yours.

You take a step back just to feel Johnny’s warm chest pressing into you, breathing heavier than usually, hands wrapping around you.

Simon angles your face so he can slip his tongue in your mouth, groaning appreciatively when you let him in. When you tilt your head up, allowing his fingers to curl over your neck.

Here we go. Finally.

Simon licks your lower lip, finally pulling away and reaches for Johnny just to give him a kiss just as wet, now grinning like a well-fed creature. Satisfaction dripping out his every pore.

Johnny nuzzles into your hair, breathing out a low “think Simon can sleep with us now, hen?” and you just nod. Your legs jelly that don’t hold you properly, head stuffed with cotton, skin tingling from the heat of their stares.

That’s…an unexpected turn. You were ready for Simon to leave. You were ready for Johnny to leave with him.

But this…this is a surprise.

Simon presses a short kiss to your forehead and walks away to feed the livestock. There’s a new spring to his step, as if something just depressurised his spine, letting him grow a few inches up.

The issue arises only when it’s time to actually sleep because Johnny is insatiable and he refuses to move anywhere from between your thighs, not reacting to anything.

Especially not to Simon walking in.

You feel hot, Johnny’s tongue sending white hot sparkles down your spine, your eyes meeting Simon’s whose pupils blow wide and god, he’s more monster than a knight.

He’s the solide presence when he crawl in bed to pull you into his lap, big palms holding you open for Johnny, fingers sinking in the meat of your thighs.

“Eager today, aren’t we, sweet’eart?”, Simon sucks his own mark in your skin, teeth grazing your throat, his grip on your thighs getting stronger when you make the prettiest needy sound.

Music for his ears.

“It’s okay. Gonna take good care of ya. Gonna take care of both of you”, he practically purrs, sliding his fingers down your body to find the fluttering hole, dipping in it just to marvel at your body swallowing his first knuckle.

Johnny whines, his tongue circling lower, curling around Simon’s fingers, making you choke on your own breathing because too much-too hot-too wet.

Simon presses a kiss to your jaw, grin wicked and dark, stubble on his cheek scratching your skin.

“Be good, luv”, he murmurs, eyes heavy and hungry when Johnny sucks his fingers in, practically gagging on thick digits. “Open up for us”

Johnny bites on the fingers in his mouth before pulling away, dropping back down between your legs, sinking his teeth in the meat of your thigh.

Marking.

Simon smiles wider and adds a second finger, pushing in deeper, cooing in your neck when your hips buckle.

There’s no rush, love. They aren’t going anywhere.

After all, you already let them in. They might as well make themselves at home.

Johnny‘s tongue traces the bite mark on your thigh, his eyes fixed on another one he left on Simon’s knuckles that are currently sinking inside of you. Wet squelching sound sending a heatwave through Johnny’s whole body.

So welcoming to them. So sweet, hen. It would be their pleasure.

[voidingintotheshout]

I mean, maybe. I think this is more of a situation where a character is pointlessly murdered just as like a plot twist, and not really for any meaningful reason and then it just comes off as dickishness or lazy writing. Sometimes characters need to suffer and die for the plot to move along or just to reflect the kind of world that the characters are living in, but sometimes it’s just a “look at this cool awesome character. Oh wow they got hit by a bus for no reason super duper sad! Anyway, moving on.” For example, superheroes often have a person who meant a lot to them in their life die that motivates them to go on that heroes journey and then it kind of is sad, but it makes sense, but sometimes it’s just pointless. Well, unless it’s dystopian or horror, and then it’s just kind of a genre convention. 

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

[jmliebert]

Nanami as Your Lover headcanons ♡

the word boyfriend doesn’t do him justice—it feels too light, too casual somehow as he treats you with absolute seriousness

there’s a softness he reserves only for you. whether he’s resting his head in your lap or letting you dry his hair with careful hands, these simple moments feel so intimate for him and for you

you bring him a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed. he quickly discovers that he sleeps best when you’re lying on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close, and the thought do things for him (he falls even harder)

in the morning he pulls you closer in bed, nuzzling into your neck and murmuring about how he doesn’t want to get up just yet

evenings with you have transformed his routine. suddenly, he finds time for the books that have been gathering dust on his shelf, reading while you are cuddling to his side

if there’s something you want to do, Nanami’s always up for it. face masks? horror movies? a random pottery class? whatever it is, Nanami is all in—because it makes his lady happy :’)

his sense of humor is subtle but sharp. he loves when you tease him gently, and you can always catch a faint smile tugging at his lips when you do

has a habit of brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as he looks at you with quiet adoration

cooking for you becomes one of his love languages. he takes quiet pride in preparing meals for you and feels a deep sense of contentment when you enjoy them (like it or not, but if you would let him, he would feed you gladly)

if you’re stressed or overwhelmed, he’ll instinctively take care of you—running you a bath, massaging your shoulders, or simply holding you close in silence

even more strict about keeping to his working hours—not just for the sake of principle, but so he can return to you sooner

when he has the chance, he waits outside your workplace with a bouquet of red roses in his hand, ready to walk you home or take you to dinner

on more tender nights, you’ll find him kneeling in front of you, his hands on yours, telling you in that velvety voice how much you mean to him, and how he wants you to be close to him all the time

on the surface, Nanami may appears calm and composed, unshaken as ever. but the faint flush that creeps onto his cheeks whenever you're around betrays him in the sweetest way. Gojo, naturally, can't resist saying something like this (with a overdramatic whine): "Blushing, Nanami? Should I feel jealous?"

Nanami isn’t one for public displays of affection. he tries to maintain his composure, even when you sweetness flusters him so much in public. behind the mask of calm, he’s restless, counting the minutes until he can steal you away to a private corner and kiss you hard...maybe squeeze your thigh as well...

however he’s ok with holding hands in public (honestly, it is one of his favourite things to do) plus he occasionally presses soft kisses to your palm which make you melt completely…

unshakeably confident in your relationship. If someone flirts with you, he’s calm (but might be a little bit more possessive than usual in bed that night, even though he knows it's foolish to react that way, but he can't help it)

for him, there’s no one else but you. it’s not that he has to ignore attractive people—he simply doesn’t see them when he’s with you

as composed as he is, the desire he feels for you simmers just beneath the surface. he wants you—badly—but he waits, patient and respectful, for you to be completely comfortable, although is so hard to be patient with you sometimes…

when the moment finally comes, his restraint melts away. he’ll kiss you deeply, savouring the taste of you like he’s been starving, his hips bucking uncontrollably 

he’s a generous lover, a big fan of giving head. nothing pleases him more than leaving you trembling under his touch, as his mouth explores you with relentless precision

he’ll fuck you hard but balance it with tenderness, kissing away your tears and murmuring sweet, reverent words against your heated skin

though sometimes, if the moods takes him, he’s not above whispering dirty, obscene things in your ear while he moves against you. his words sinful, describing in vivid detail how good you feel, how tight you are, and how he can’t get enough of you

adores seeing you in lingerie chosen just for him. the sight makes his gaze darken with desire as his hands and lips worship every inch of you

adores it even more to fuck you hard in it, his hands gripping your hips or ass with bruising intensity. his palm meets your skin in sharp, stinging spanks, the sound echoing alongside your moans, as his breath grows ragged, hot, and heavy against your lips. between desperate, hungry kisses, he huffs into your mouth, his voice low and gravelly, muttering just how irresistible you are and how he can’t get enough of you

afterward however, he’s attentive and caring. he cleans you up, whispers soft reassurances, and holds you close so you feel safe and adored (or dare i say loved?)

when he’s had a little too much to drink, he rests his head on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your neck as he murmurs your name over and over again...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

hi, you can find more of my works about nanami ♡here♡

also, you can give me some ideas of what else I should write about nanami please! i need some inspo

[ozzgin]

What would happen if streamer reader expressed having a favorite regular? I'm fearful but curious

Oh, it would be chaos. Perhaps you didn't even mean to frame it that way; it merely slipped that you converse significantly more with one of the monsters in your following. You try to rectify your mistake, but it's too late. Your loyal groupies are particularly upset.

LizardKing5 would immediately burst into an angry rant, tearing down every other monster he can think of and giving you reasons as to why he's obviously much better. It's alright, you're just a silly human. Clearly you don't know better.

LizardKing5: Who is it, (Y/N)? Huh? I have all evening. What could you possibly talk about with these imbeciles that singles me out? LizardKing5: Give me a name LizardKing5: Was it that damn shark grandpa? I'll grill him SharkMan: Exceptionally rude of you!

SharkMan tries his best to be understanding, though if he is to be honest, he can't deny the faint pang of jealousy tugging at his chest. Why, of course you might have other monsters you prefer. It's just, well...He was hoping he'd earned a special place in your heart. He's always looked after you, so he was certain you'd trust him enough to make him your primary confidant.

SharkMan: Please don't feel bad about your sincere feelings, (Y/N) dear. It is only normal to feel closer to some than to others. SharkMan: ...I would love to take you out for a coffee, so you could explain to me what makes this individual so extraordinary and worthy of your favoritism.

DefNotAStalker is not shocked in the slightest. After all, he is right there with you and knows all of your conversations and secrets. Moreover, he's rather confident that no other monster has the same kind of intimacy with you. He'll just silently observe as you squirm in your seat, stuttering excuses and reassuring the enamored masses.

Y/NSimp is convinced you're talking about him. Of course, you're using code names so that no one can figure it out. It makes sense. He'll nod to himself, smug and proud. While the other monsters rage with jealousy, he'll lean back in his chair with a humble nod.

Y/NSimp: Guys, guys...clearly this guy must be one hell of a monster. You can't decide who (Y/N) prefers. Let it go. LizardKing5: Let me guess...you think this is about yourself. Y/NSimp: Oh no, I'd never~! It's okay to feel insecure, man. I'm here if you need a hug. LizardKing5: See, this is why you're not party of any groups. Y/NSimp: what groups Y/NSimp: hello?

HornyMantis has no idea what the hell is going on. He was entranced by the way your boobs jiggle slightly underneath your hoodie every time you raise your arm. Did you say something? Why is everyone furiously typing? He tries to scan the flood of messages, still in a daze. Something about a favorite...Ah!

HornyMantis: are we talking about our favorite (Y/N) parts? HornyMantis: boobs HornyMantis: or...? let me think about it HornyMantis: nah HornyMantis: it's boobs

[shorthaltsjester]

endlessly thinking thoughts about cr characters, morality, and selfishness (likely place for me to be, given that my day job includes endlessly researching ethics and meaning of life) but in light of bell’s hells most recent illustration of their insularity and individualism, I’ve been really like. Trying to unpack why I find it particularly egregious in this party when obviously mighty nein were notoriously self-interested, especially at the beginning, and when vox machina had quite a few moments where their horses were far higher than they had any reason to be. And again, I really want to make it clear her that I don’t hold self-interest or selfishness to be some abhorrent and unforgivable thing, in fact I think its incredibly normal especially given the context of main characters in a story told through game mechanics that flourish on the interest of the individuals making the choices. I’ve written before about how one of the throughlines that I’ve seen in laura’s pcs (since I’m someone who particularly enjoys looking at the moral outlooks characters develop) is a common thread of morality that’s highly dependent on their own interests. And like, this is a positive throughline to me! Without getting into my own views on morality, it is particularly compelling to me for characters with isolated upbringing (which applies to vex, jester, and imogen, each in different ways) to develop a moral code informed by that isolation, and in vex we see her moral code is ‘anything goes if it protects those I hold dear’, in jester we see a moral code that doesn’t care about morality as much as it cares about the chance to care and be cared for, and in imogen we see a moral code developed in response to her very unique experience of hearing the darkest parts of people and judging them on those (which to be clear, i am not judging her for that fact, I think it makes extreme sense for someone who hears the thoughts the people have to be horrified by those things, but it does mean her moral system is almost completely backwards, where intention holds more weight than action, which perhaps makes sense of the popularity of defending all of her ideas and choices and the Right Ones by certain parts of the fandom that insist leftism is hidden in the dnd real play). And that’s all to say that, out of the cr parties we’ve seen, I don’t think any single member of bell’s hells is uniquely more or less selfish or more or less of an asshole than previous characters. And in fact, I tend to be quite fond of selfish characters, I have a well documented history of cherishing them well beyond the cr fandom. But the point is that my calling something or someone self-interested is not a value judgement in this context, it's a descriptive claim about the traits a character exhibited.

Imogen, who has insisted time and time again re: the values of the accord that she would not be swayed by the temptation of predathos because she recognizes the importance of this fight, only to turn around and pretty immediately open herself up to predathos to fulfil the most threatening part of ludinus’ plan is self-interested. I cannot conceive of any other way to describe her choices. And her being self-interested doesn’t mean she can’t also be altruistic at times, but I will be clear that I don’t think her risking killing herself as she attempts to bring down the god-eater that she released is particularly selfless. In my best faith interpretation I’d say she’s pretty middle of the road in that choice. But I bring all this up because a comparison I’ve been seeing is that bell’s hells aren’t as mean as the mighty nein or even vox machina in certain moments and that it doesn’t make sense for the fandom to view bell’s hells as likely to be villains when the same wasn’t true of the previous two campaigns, and I think I have to pretty emphatically disagree, and not because I don’t think there aren’t moments in both campaigns that feature extremely high levels of assholery and villainry from pcs – I mean, some of my favourite cr characters are percy and jester, both of whom i’d say are ‘good guys’ due to the pure luck of the found familys they fell in with and both of whom often suggested plans that were. Not okay. To say the least. But ignoring the difference between suggesting fucked up plans and walking your god-eater infused bestie back towards the troops sent to support you in keeping that entity contained, the other big difference I’ve noticed in my own introspection on how I react to bh vs mn and vm, as well as which things i cherish about previous campaigns that were really missing from c3 to what I think is the story and the character’s detriment (staying away from the shape of the narrative, just because others have made posts that put words together better about that than I can) is that while members of vm and mn remained self-interest to the end of their campaigns and have reasserted those habits in appearances since, the parties as entities working in exandria had both, to echo ashton’s apt suggestion to ludinus, grown up.

Like one moment I think of is beau and fjord’s convo in the nein hells episode, because beau is being her asshole self and fjord is being his ‘I care about My People and I’ll think about the rest later’ self (i say affectionately but certain parts of the fandom I recognize would view derogatorily) – clearly they’re not the kindest people as they discuss bell’s hells, but two notable things are (a) they still treat the hells with the respect and use their means to help them prepare for the battle coming, even when they hear the horrifying thought that the hells aren’t certain they’ll choose to save the gods, all the nein request is that they choose the kind option (b) they say none of their doubts to the hells themselves – likely because they have the empathy to realizes that its a high stress situation that won’t be made better by a reminding the hells how small and likely ineffectual in the universe they are – and their comments about cannon fodder are ones made in jest to each other. Even taking that in the worst faith interpretation, the jokes that beau and fjord make in a private conversation has absolutely zero influence on bh. This is quite different than bells hells, after like. as clearly betraying the accord they promised to assist (even if their intentions are ‘good’) as is possible, belittling the religious armies sent to support their endeavor to keep predathos sealed as they all feel the weight of an irrevocable change occurring in exandria, one bells hells has first account knowledge now that it IS incredibly willing to eat mortals, and laudna and ashton, the members of bells hells most often cited by certain fandom spaces as characters who have gone through so much and it only made them kind and strong, look into the faces of people facing literally existential threat and laugh and mock them. That is, mighty nein as individuals is comprised of some of the, perhaps, most asshole pcs, but The Mighty Nein as a party is committed to treating others the best they can, to leaving things better than they found them (a quote that I think is particularly exemplary of the dynamics of self-interest at play in the mighty nein, since it originated as a blatant illustration of molly’s notion of self-importance but developed to become a kind of commandment that the nein became committed to fulfilling). The opposite is true of bell’s hells, where orym and dorian at least both seem to have motivation beyond themselves, imogen’s changes but has shown she is capable of letting go of her ‘intention reigns’ requisitely individualistic perspective, and chetney plays up his selfishness but has shown himself to care quite a bit for people beyond their party but bell’s hells as an entity is uh, pretty self-interested.

To clarify some of my thoughts here in the spirit of the wicked renaissance happening rn, I’ve always felt that for good was an incredibly apt song for the mighty nein, because it really nails that feeling that perhaps they didn’t change each other as individuals to become better people on the grand scale, maybe they’ve just changed each other permanently, but they (and I would agree with this) view each other as having changed each other for the better (e.g., I don’t know if I could say whether jester is a morally better Individual at the end of the campaign, but I can say with certainty that she fulfils and makes moral choices in her work as a member of the mighty nein). And I don’t know if this can be said about bell’s hells – I think they have certainly influenced each other and changed how alone many of those characters felt, and that is not a slight on the story, it can be a great centre for a story to focus on how a relinquishment of the feeling that one is alone in the world can change them. But for the most part, that hasn’t been bh’s story, their story instead has been about validating their refusal to become anything beyond what they insist was out of their control. And not to get to annoying philosophy student about it but bell’s hells are maybe some of the most explicit examples of sartrian bad faith I’ve seen in fiction in a hot minute, because their insistence that they treat their wounds as incurable and entirely out of their hands has led to them limiting their own potential because many of them ignore their responsibility as people to make choices in their own lives. In contrast, at the end of the campaign, mighty nein are still assholes as we all like to refer to them as, but in the context of an apocalypse, I think I’d prefer the assholes like fjord – who is certainly being truthful when he says he doesn’t care about what harm comes to 200 people when jester is at risk but who also, as they traverse into aeor, is insistent that their group won’t be running away from whatever apocalyptic threat awaits them, even if that means dying in the fight – than I would an asshole like ashton – who promises to fight for the little guys but who then turns around and acts upon a philosophy that says the strongest will survive. When you look at the mighty nein, it is incredibly easy to see the fingerprints of change they’ve left upon one another, and even to see the boundaries they place on one another’s asocial behaviours through their presence in one another’s lives (more recently the group chastising jester’s fond words about ludinus is a good example, but others are yasha’s pressuring caleb and essek to move on from their wizard talks as they collect paper in aeor instead of venturing further toward the battle they have to fight, or fjord and jester’s frustrated conversation in the ukotoa reunion about how fjord made a stupid decision and he doesn’t regret but he feels dejected and jester checking him on the fact that they still need to figure out a solution). It takes some extrapolation to see how bells hells have changed each other in more than aesthetic ways, if they have at all. Because the catalyst for change is pressure to do so, and aside from moments where it was truly change or be left behind, bh doesn’t challenge each other unless forced to by morri’s trials or delilah’s interruption and on the very odd occasion an interesting game of rollies-spin-the-bottle. 

And it’s interesting because the asshole behaviour of the mighty nein, like bell’s hells, stems from being left on the outskirts of society and the mistreatment that comes with that, so seemingly the change from being alone to being with others is one that actually insists upon being challenged to grow and change. I mean, just looking at the starting points of the characters, there’s an intriguing amount of stark similarities between their pasts; jester and fearne were both people loved dearly by the family they grew up with but who were loved within the confines of a gilded cage, ashton and beau both have an glaring self awareness that their anger at the world has a very particular source (their parents) but use that as justification rather than a means of self reflection, yasha and orym are trying to navigate a world in the wake of an incomprehensible loss and a sense of duty, fjord and imogen are both seeking out knowledge of their own powers and unknowingly retreading the paths of their missing and presumed dead parental figures. The idea that bell’s hells are uniquely mistreated by society in the history of cr player characters is, politely, laughable. Absolutely they’re mistreated, and I think it could be fair to say these characters are more defined by their isolation than others but I think that has more to do with the lack of downtime rp than it has to do with the context of their suffering.

What I have loved about the mighty nein is that in their realization that the bonds they forge with each other are undermining the truths most of them had taken to be true – that they were alone and without a place in the world – they are also forced to realize that no longer being alone and isolated comes with the weight of social responsibility. And this was born out of a willingness the mighty nein had to call each other out and that the players had to allow their characters to be wrong and get called on it. Because that’s the friction of living with other people on the small party scale and the large world scale – in the mighty nein’s ability to survive as a people who cared for each other even when they didn’t agree or when they made decisions that they couldn’t understand, they were constantly developing their ability to care for the very same world that left them alone. Because in campaign two, the world as a whole had the role that the gods have in campaign 3 – why should a party of nobodies, treated like shit by the world and the people in it go through the effort of saving it?

And the mighty nein answered, in their own imperfection and assholery, that nothing is ever just one thing – one of the things I cherish most about campaign 2 is its commitment to ambiguity, allowing the complexity of the world to go unsolved because there is no solution to the fact that life is immense and sometimes incoherent. I don’t think its a coincidence that I’ve seen some of the people lamenting the idiocy of fandom members like me who think that it actually isnt a leftist win to destroy the world in the hopes of spontaneous justice arising in c3 are the same people who criticised c2’s conclusion with the cerberus assembly for not being leftist (a word which for them means . the aesthetic image of a rebellion sparked and not the unending commitment to doing what you practically can to make life more just for those around you – whether they’re particularly kind to you or not) enough. The conclusion of c2 emphasizes that the choice to make the world a better place isn’t something that can be achieved in one single sweeping action that will wipe the boards clean – there is no murder of all the members of the cerberus assembly that would’ve solved the problems that caused the assembly’s power. There is no forcing of the god’s out of exandria that will deal with the actual issue undergirding both bh and their blorbo-moralized fans' criticism of the gods, which is that mortals are cursed with the burden of free will, and being mistreated by other mortals means constantly having to try and make sense of the fact that someone chose to do something cruel to you (and, sometimes, that you made a choice that allowed that cruelty to occur) – a burden made much heavier when the person who hurt you is your cult-indoctrinated mother, or your cult leader father, or the person in the mirror. The mighty nein take up this fight, and the complexities of their individual identities begin to heal in the light of a commitment in their relationship as friends and as a team to improve the world, even on the small scale. Bell’s hells remain gridlocked and stagnant and unwilling to change in an unspoken turf war of self-interest because they’ve insisted (influenced in part by the context of the campaign 3 narrative but, as others have aptly pointed out, that narrative was much more influenced by bh’s lack of curiosity regarding anything except their own minds) upon finding a solution to a problem they’ve decided is earth-shatteringly (quite literally, to the people of ruidus) unjust based on, aside from encounters where fellow mortals were the primary oppressors, their own testimony of the god’s not listening to them and the obvious villain’s parallel testimony. Something I’ve really been chewing on lately is caduceus words to fjord about his role as a paladin of the wildmother – that maybe it just means that someday, someone will pray for a miracle, and there fjord’ll be and the weight that has given that fjord’s bond to ukotoa came from his desperation not to die and his willingness to accept whatever help would be offered, that fjord could now be the person that reaches out to someone in need, and that the hand he offers won’t come with a curse.  And I think that’s really the poignant difference between bh and mn for me, that for bh, their experiences of injustice, though did make them personally bitter, did not make them morally misanthropic.

Comparatively, Bell’s Hells chose to ensure that, because the gods never answered their prayers, they shouldn’t be permitted to answer anyone else’s. Is this an understandable position? Sure, for the walls of a preschool, not really for a group of characters that I will ever be in any way inclined to view as something close to heroes. While it’s true that there are parts of life that are beyond our control – somethings happen to us that we have no say in, and they cause injuries both physical and mental that we are left to heal without any rhyme or reason, it is still our responsibility to heal them. And if you choose not to, well, then you’ve chosen not to, and are responsible for the consequences and judgements that choice might amount to.

Anyway, sorry this is all over the place but TLDR: calling bell’s hells as a party self-interested is actually just descriptively correct – they can save members of the party made up of their close friends and still be self-interested – and while the individual members of bell’s hells actually aren’t all that uniquely self-interested in the history of cr pcs, the party is uniquely self-interested in how they’ve chosen to navigate the world an their responsibility to the people in it.

[angealainn]

I maintain that every person who owns a cyber truck is an asshole with more money than sense who drives like one and should be put to the sword for trying to see how many bodies they can cram into an LOD model of a Chevy Suburban. We get it, you own the fancy first year engineering student’s attempt at making a vehicle in CAD, that doesn’t mean you get to ignore traffic safety laws for throwing in the towel with a fucking dystopian sci-fi dime-a-dozen corporate mook looking-ass trucklet.

[luvashli]

PRIVATE SHOPPING

Synopsis -> When Chrome Hearts employee Y/N meets global idol Ni-ki, a professional encounter turns into forbidden tension. Despite the rules, their undeniable connection pushes them to risk everything for a chance at something real.

PAIRING: idol!ni-ki x fem!chromeheartsemployee!reader

GENRE: oneshot, romance, forbidden love, Celebrity/Non-Celebrity Relationship, Workplace Drama

STARTED: 1/26/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 2.9k

Note: haha i just wrote this for fun, after seeing all those videos of ni-ki in the chrome hearts store on tiktok. Enjoy :)

The quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise silent Chrome Hearts shop. You were used to the serene atmosphere, where the only sounds were the clinks of jewelry and the murmurs of clients admiring the pieces.

Today, however, the shop wasn’t open to the public. A private appointment had been scheduled for someone important—so important that the entire store had been rented out for the occasion.

You adjusted a display of necklaces for the third time that morning, your hands steady but your thoughts racing. Your manager had emphasized the importance of professionalism today, which you found slightly redundant. Being professional was second nature to you.

When the glass door finally swung open, the sound startled you out of your thoughts. You straightened instinctively, your gaze falling on the figure walking in.

He was taller than you’d expected, his dark hair slightly tousled and his oversized hoodie making him look effortlessly casual. You recognized him immediately—Ni-ki, the youngest member of one of the most famous idol groups in the world.

His fame wasn’t something you actively followed, but even you couldn’t avoid hearing his name. It was everywhere—on billboards, in magazines, and in playlists.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted politely, bowing slightly as he stepped further into the shop.

He looked at you, his eyes curious but guarded. “Afternoon,” he replied, his voice quieter than you’d imagined it would be. He pulled down his mask slightly, revealing a polite smile.

“Feel free to let me know if you need assistance,” you added, keeping your tone neutral.

He nodded, his attention already wandering to the displays around him.

For a while, you let him browse in peace, watching discreetly as he moved from one case to another. Despite his casual demeanor, there was a sharpness to the way he observed each piece of jewelry, as if he were studying it.

Finally, he paused by a display of rings. You stepped forward, maintaining a respectful distance. “Are you looking for something specific today?”

“What would you recommend for someone who already owns a lot of Chrome Hearts?”

The question caught you slightly off guard. “That depends on what you’re looking for,” you replied smoothly. “Are you interested in adding to your collection, or are you looking for something unique?”

“Both,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ve been collecting Chrome Hearts for years. It’s kind of an obsession at this point.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “An obsession?”

He smiled, sensing your interest. “Yeah. I think I was fifteen when I got my first piece—a ring. It was a gift from a stylist on one of our first shoots. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked. I love the craftsmanship, the designs... everything about it feels timeless.”

You nodded, genuinely impressed. “You don’t hear that often. Most clients are more interested in trends.”

“I’m not really into trends,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “I like things that have meaning, things that last. That’s why I keep coming back to Chrome Hearts. Every piece feels like it has a story.”

You considered his words for a moment, then reached into a nearby display case. “If that’s the case, you might like this.”

You handed him a silver chain with an intricately designed cross pendant. “This piece is part of a limited collection. The design is inspired by vintage Chrome Hearts from the early 2000s. It’s subtle, but the detail makes it stand out.”

Ni-ki examined the necklace closely, his fingers brushing over the pendant. “This is perfect,” he said after a moment.

“I’m glad you like it,” you replied, stepping back slightly.

As he continued to look at the piece, he glanced up at you. “You know a lot about this brand,” he remarked.

“It’s part of the job,” you said simply.

He smirked. “Yeah, but you sound like you actually care. That’s rare.”

You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to take the compliment. Instead, you focused on returning the other pieces to their proper places.

“So, what about you?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What about me?”

“Do you have a favorite piece from the collection?”

You hesitated, not used to being the one answering questions. “I don’t own any Chrome Hearts,” you admitted.

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“It’s not exactly in my budget,” you said with a small shrug.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But if you could pick one piece, what would it be?”

You thought for a moment before pointing to a sleek silver cuff bracelet in one of the displays. “That one. It’s simple but versatile.”

Ni-ki followed your gaze, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Maybe one day I’ll see you wearing it.”

You glanced at him, unsure how to respond. Before you could say anything, he placed the necklace and a few other items on the counter.

He looked up at you then, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “How long have you been working here?”

“Long enough to know what fits our clients,” you answered, deflecting the question slightly.

He chuckled softly, slipping the ring onto his finger. “You’re good at this.”

“Thank you.”

There was a brief silence as he admired the fit of the ring, and you took the opportunity to step back, giving him space.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You hesitated. “It’s Y/N,” you said eventually, keeping your tone polite.

“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing how it sounded. “I like it.”

You offered a polite smile but didn’t respond, returning to rearranging a nearby display.

Ni-ki continued browsing, occasionally asking for your opinion on a piece. As the minutes turned into an hour, you found yourself impressed by his genuine interest in the craftsmanship. He wasn’t just buying for the sake of it—he seemed to truly appreciate the designs.

Still, you kept a professional distance, even as he grew more conversational.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” he said at one point, leaning against the counter as you placed a necklace back into its case.

“It’s my job,” you replied simply.

“And you’re good at it,” he said again, his tone sincere this time. “I mean it.”

“Thank you,” you said again, not letting his compliment fluster you.

He smiled at your calm demeanor, clearly amused by your lack of reaction. “You don’t get nervous around clients, do you?”

“Why would I?” you asked, meeting his gaze evenly.

His smile widened. “Most people do.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He laughed at that, the sound warm and genuine. “I can see that.”

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, though Ni-ki’s subtle attempts at small talk didn’t go unnoticed. By the time he’d chosen a ring and a necklace, the tension between professionalism and casual conversation hung in the air.

As he approached the door to leave, he turned back to you. “Thanks for your help, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you replied, bowing slightly.

“Have a good day, Mr. Nishimura,” you replied, your tone as professional as ever.

He paused by the door, looking back at you one last time. “See you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond, watching as the door closed behind him. Shaking your head, you returned to organizing the displays, telling yourself it was just another workday.

But deep down, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him.

The Chrome Hearts event was in full swing, a buzzing culmination of celebrities, designers, and photographers mingling under the warm glow of chandeliers. You stood off to the side of the bustling fitting area, adjusting racks of jackets and accessories while trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This wasn’t your first time working an event like this, but it was your first time with stakes this high. Chrome Hearts had pulled out all the stops, and ENHYPEN, one of the biggest names in the industry, was headlining the night.

You’d been assigned to assist with styling, specifically to help dress Riki Nishimura.

Your mind flashed back to your first encounter with him at the store. Despite his playful demeanor, he’d left an impression that was hard to shake. And now, here you were, preparing to see him again, knowing full well that professionalism was non-negotiable.

“Y/N, they’re here,” your manager said, motioning toward the private fitting area.

You turned just in time to see the group of seven walk in, their presence commanding the room instantly. Cameras flashed as they greeted the event organizers, each member exuding confidence in their own way.

Ni-ki trailed at the back, dressed casually in ripped jeans and a hoodie, but his sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a small, knowing smirk.

You quickly looked away, busying yourself with the clothes rack in front of you.

“Y/N, you’ll be with Mr. Nishimura,” your manager reminded you, handing you the clipboard with his outfit details.

“Understood,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

When Ni-ki stepped into the fitting area, you greeted him with a polite nod. “Good evening, Mr. Nishimura.”

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone teasing. “Nice to see you again.”

You kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started. Your outfit is over here.”

He followed you to the rack, where a carefully curated ensemble awaited—a tailored leather jacket, silver accessories, and sleek black boots. As you began arranging the pieces for him, he leaned against the wall, watching you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

“You’re really good at this,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you,” you replied without looking up, focusing instead on adjusting the jacket’s cuffs.

“Have you been doing this for long?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

“Long enough,” you said curtly, stepping back to give him space to change.

He chuckled softly, after hearing nearly the same answers to his questions like the last time. “Still keeping it professional, huh?”

“It’s my job,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

As he slipped into the jacket, his movements deliberate, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly the pieces fit him. He had a natural presence that made even the simplest outfits look like high fashion.

When he turned to face you, fully dressed, you adjusted the silver chain around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled back, masking your reaction.

“Looks perfect,” you said, stepping away.

“Thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter now. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken.

You turned away quickly, busying yourself with the clipboard. “You’re ready for the photos.”

As he joined the rest of the group, the atmosphere shifted. The other members greeted you briefly—Jay’s charismatic smile, Sunghoon’s quiet nod, Sunoo’s cheerful wave—but your focus remained on keeping everything running smoothly.

It wasn’t until the group dispersed for a break that Ni-ki found a moment to approach you again, this time in a quieter corner of the venue.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his tone different now—less playful, more serious.

You glanced up from the accessory case you were organizing. “Yes, Mr. Nishimura?”

“Drop the ‘Mr.,’” he said with a small smirk. “It’s just Ni-ki.”

You hesitated, your professionalism warring with the tension that seemed to grow every time he was near. “How can I help you, Mr. Nishimura?” You emphasize his last Name.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was wondering if you’d let me have your number.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “That’s against the rules,” you said firmly, though your resolve wavered under his gaze.

He tilted his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You stared at him, torn between the strict boundaries of your job and the undeniable pull of his presence. Finally, with a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, you reached for a notepad on the counter.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you muttered, scribbling your number down and tearing off the piece of paper.

His fingers brushed yours as he took it, his smile softening. “I won’t,” he promised.

Before you could respond, your manager’s voice called you back to work, and the moment ended as quickly as it began.

As you walked away, you felt Ni-ki’s eyes on you, the forbidden tension between you lingering like an unspoken secret.

Weeks passed after the Chrome Hearts event, and though you tried to maintain a professional distance, everything had changed. The slip of paper with your number on it had been the beginning of a line you never thought you’d cross.

It started with late-night texts.

The first one came a day after the event:

[Unknown Number]: Is it weird that I can’t stop thinking about how you chose that bracelet?

You stared at the screen for longer than you wanted to admit before typing a response.

[You]: It’s weird that you’re texting me when this is technically against the rules.

He replied almost instantly.

[Ni-ki]: Rules are overrated. Especially for something that feels this… different.

And that was how it began.

Over time, the texts turned into calls, the playful teasing evolving into deeper conversations. Ni-ki wasn’t just a global idol with an obsession for Chrome Hearts; he was surprisingly down-to-earth, funny, and honest in a way that caught you off guard.

But as the weeks went on, keeping things secret grew harder.

The first time he showed up at the store unannounced, you nearly had a heart attack.

He arrived disguised in a plain hoodie and cap, his presence still unmistakable. “I was in the area,” he said with a grin, leaning casually against the counter.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, glancing nervously at your manager, who was busy in the back.

“And yet here I am,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze serious. “I couldn’t help it.”

Against your better judgment, you allowed him to linger, though every minute felt like a risk. When he left, he slipped a small silver ring onto the counter, one you’d once admired during your conversations.

“For you,” he said simply.

You stared at it, shaking your head. “Ni-ki, I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted softly. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

And just like that, the line blurred even further.

The turning point came during another Chrome Hearts event, this time at a private gala where the brand unveiled a new collection. You were there to assist again, your role similar to before, though now the tension between you and Ni-ki felt almost unbearable.

He arrived with the other members, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit adorned with silver accents. When his eyes found yours across the room, the connection was instant, as if the noise and chaos around you didn’t exist.

As the evening wore on, he found small excuses to be near you—a whispered question about his cufflinks, a fleeting brush of his hand against yours as you adjusted his collar. Every interaction sent your pulse racing, though you tried to hide it.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

Toward the end of the night, he cornered you in a quiet hallway outside the main ballroom. His expression was serious, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more vulnerable.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, “this thing between us… I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

You crossed your arms, trying to put up a wall you knew would crumble under his gaze. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Ni-ki. If anyone finds out—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “I know it’s risky, but I can’t ignore how I feel. Can you?”

His words left you speechless. For weeks, you’d tried to convince yourself that it was just harmless flirting, that you could keep things professional despite the way your heart raced whenever he was near. But now, standing so close to him, the truth was impossible to deny.

“Ni-ki…” you began, your voice faltering.

“I’m not asking you to break every rule,” he said softly. “I just want a chance. A real chance.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you wanted to say no, to walk away before things got even more complicated. But the way he looked at you—as if you were the only person in the world who mattered—made it impossible.

Finally, you nodded, your resolve crumbling. “Okay,” you whispered.

His expression shifted into a mixture of relief and joy, and for the first time, he let his guard down completely.

From that moment on, everything changed.

The relationship that followed was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. You met in secret, stealing moments when his schedule allowed it. Late-night car rides, quiet dinners in hidden corners of the city, and whispered conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

But the secrecy only fueled the intensity. Every touch, every glance, every stolen kiss carried the weight of what was at stake.

And though the risk was always there, neither of you could walk away.

Because in the end, some rules were meant to be broken.

Masterlist

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[sugarwarachan]

summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x reader wc: 1.7k content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, stalking, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know) voice kink, dirty talk, aizawa's big dick, truly don't know if his quirk helps him see in the dark but i don't care

The watching starts before Aizawa knows how to stop it.

One minute, he’s on patrol during the worst blackout the city’s ever seen; the next, he’s looking into your room and watching you get undressed.

You stopped him dead in his tracks, all plush curves and soft skin, almost otherworldly in the cool blue dark. Maybe that’s why he stayed that first time, frozen on the ledge of a neighboring building, watching you writhe and whimper on a purple dildo.

He has no excuse for why he returns the second and the third night, only that he's hungry for more, that the cover of dark in a still imperiled city is making it easier for him to accept the dark desire churning in his veins that he needs to know exactly what you sound like when you stuff yourself full.

He takes a shaky breath, cold air stinging his cheeks. Darkness blankets the city as thoroughly as gauze, a hazy film that puts anyone with eyes that aren’t his at a disadvantage.

He can see you perfectly, surrounded in your bedroom by candles and wearing those sleep shorts that hug the meat of your ass so well he has to palm his dick roughly through his pants, grunting into his fist.

You can’t see him.

Aizawa pulls out a burner phone before he can stop himself and punches in your number. Your face scrunches adorably at the unfamiliar caller, but you answer all the same.

“Hello?”

Fuck. You’ve got a voice like heaven, soft and low and sweet.

“Hi,” is all he can think to say, and he sucks in a breath when your nipples pebble under your thin cami.

You like his voice already. That’s good. He can work with that.

“Who is this?”

You’d be lying if you didn’t already have a suspicion. Just because you don’t have a quirk doesn’t mean you don’t have senses; you clocked him the first night he watched you out in that expansive dark, the gleam of something like goggles shining in the dark.

You don’t know why you kept touching yourself, why his gaze on you made your heart race instead of reach for the phone to call the cops.

Not much good they’d do anyway. They’d just send Mr. Pro Hero outside, or someone like him.

“Does it matter who I am?”

His voice is everything you like. Deep and rumbling, a little rasp raking over the syllables and zipping up your spine.

“Guess not.” You shrug one shoulder; the strap of your cami slides down. On cue, you hear the faintest inhale of air. Dude must have fucking super vision. “Why did you keep coming back?”

You almost roll your eyes at how off-route your priorities are. There’s been a man watching you fuck yourself, and you’re hung up on specifics?

“You’re beautiful,” he says, simply, like he’s rattling off stock prices, but it makes your heart stop all the same. “Why is it you’re alone?”

You can't help but laugh. “You’re not pulling the ‘you’re too pretty to be alone’ card, are you?”

He laughs, too, a soft rumble that crackles the phone with static. “So what if I am? The only action I’ve seen you get the past few days is when that toy of yours disappears between your legs.”

Arousal knocks the wind out of you. Heat flushes up your hairline.

Another low chuckle on his end. “Embarrassed, pretty girl?”

You walk up to the window, peer out into the dark night. You can’t make anything out other than shadows.

“How many times have you watched me now?”

“You don’t know? Seemed like you were putting on a show.”

His teasing tone makes your cunt clench.

“Four days now, sweetheart,” like he’s counting down your anniversary, not how often he’s spied on you masturbating. “What were you thinking about last night that had you shuddering and gasping like that? Knew I had to get your number just so I could hear you fall apart.”

This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong is blaring on repeat in your head, but that’s increasingly falling to the wayside with every word that falls out of this stranger’s mouth. Your sleep shorts slide between your folds. Blood rushes in your ears as your heart beats in your throat. You feel so turned on it’s like every cell is alight, responding to the chemical reaction that is the man on the other side of the window.

It’s cold tonight. The window sticks just like it always does when you open it up, the cool night air a balm for your arousal-drenched skin.

You don’t address him; you’re not really sure why, but you like not knowing where he is, a figure in the dark hell bent on nothing more than watching you cum.

You settle back down on your bed, crossing your legs and groaning a little. You’re damp and sticky and so turned on it’s already starting to hurt.

“I was thinking about you,” you answer honestly. "I like your voice.” Your own shakes, with a mixture of lust and fear and excitement. “Can you talk to me?”

“Of course I can talk to you.” His voice drops another octave, takes on an even more gravelly tone. Your whole body erupts in goosebumps. “What’s my pretty girl wanna hear?”

“Anything,” you say, and you mean it. This man could probably read you the directions to a microwave meal and get you off. “You can see me, right?”

“Mmhmm,” he intones.

“Then tell me how to touch myself. Like if you were here.”

Aizawa crushes the phone in his grip so tightly he hears it crack.

You’re already squirming on your bed, sitting on your fucking hands like you’re waiting for permission. His heart kicks up against his ribs, his cock jumping violently against his uniform.

“I can do that, sweetheart.”

You smile, tuck your chin into your chest like his attention is all of a sudden making you shy. He wonders if you’re doing it to tease him, or if he’s bringing it out of you. It doesn't matter either way; he's harder than he's been in his entire life.

“Lay back down on the bed for me, yeah?” You comply instantly. “Make sure I can see that gorgeous cunt, baby, don’t be hiding from me.”

Your breath hitches. You scoot forward just enough, and the flickering candlelight plays over your skin like water. His mouth dries up at the sight.

“Spread yourself open, use those pretty hands of yours.”

You part your folds, the pad of your middle finger gathering up the arousal pooling between your legs. “Jesus—fuck—look at you, gorgeous. All that just for me?”

He sees you nod.

“You gotta talk to me too, sweetheart. Use that cute mouth of yours.”

You choke out a little whine that blacks out his vision.

“S-sorry. I don’t understand how it feels so fucking good already.”

Your hips move in little circles, chasing your release.

“How many toys do you have there with you?”

“A few. Why?”

“Which is the biggest?”

You huff out a disbelieving giggle. “You’re not doing that thing where you lie about your endowments, are you?”

The grin that crosses his mouth is wild, hungry. He wasn’t planning on touching himself tonight; only wanted to tease you in the dark until he splattered the front of his pants like a teenager. But your tone is making him ignore his earlier impulses as he tugs out his cock and snaps a photo of it, hard and heavy and leaking in his palm.

He sends it.

You’re silent for a moment. He sees your legs press together before he hears—

“Fuck,” you whimper, so desperately it’s like he can see your mouth water. “I don’t—I don’t have anything as big as you.”

His cock literally jumps in his hand. Pre-cum oozes from the tip; he stuffs it back into his briefs before he can change his mind.

“You can’t tell me things like that. Makes me want to climb through your window and stuff you full with what you really need.” The muscles in his stomach bunch as he fights for composure. “Take out that purple toy of yours. It’ll be enough for now, ‘kay princesss? Don’t whine for things you can’t have.”

It’s an admonishment to himself, too.

“Don’t turn it on just yet. Get it all nice and wet, pretty girl, I know you’re fucking dripping.”

You follow instructions in a way that soothes the miasma of thoughts in his head. Here the world makes sense again. Here he can do good.

“Can I know your name?” You pant. He watches you trace small caresses across your belly, the soft undersides of your tits.

God, he wants his teeth on you, devouring you whole.

Against his better judgement, he tells you. “Sho is fine.”

“Okay. Sho,” you breathe it out in an overdrawn sexy drawl, but fuck, even his shortened name is enough to make that low-belly punch of arousal spike.

“Inch that toy in nice and slow, honey, go on now, stop being a tease.” He watches the tip start to part you open, your ragged gasp harsh in his ear. “If I was there, we’d be stretching out your little cunt for hours, make sure you’re ready for me. I could probably sit you on just the tip of my dick and make you cum. Isn't that right, sweetheart? You're fucking shaking and I haven't even touched you—”

“Sho,” you’re pleading, and it’s making his head fucking spin. “Can I turn it on, please? Let me turn it on—”

“Of course you can, baby, that’s it, look at you.” Your legs are spread obscenely, arousal dripping from your hole, glistening on your thighs and core. “Show me you how you like it, sweet girl, show me how you want me to fuck you next time, yeah?”

Aizawa feels each shuddering gasp and keening moan like you’re there beside him. Your orgasm overtakes you, back bowing off the bed, his name like a prayer on your lips. His hips jerk as he watches you, one hand tight on the phone, the other pressing against the pulsing-hot ache of his cock as he ruts into his palm.

His phone pings a moment later as he's catching his breath, a too-dark picture of the mess between your thighs and a text:

[y/n]: Come back tomorrow <3

a/n: actively launching myself into outer space!!!

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

Part 17 THE CHAOS CAMP

Carlos glanced at Meredith, who was pacing the living room like a cat on a hot tin roof. “And what exactly do you want me to do in these three days? Sit down and knit?” Meredith snapped, throwing her hands in the air. Her voice had that sharp edge, the one that Carlos had learned to handle with extreme caution.

“Honey, it’s a delicate matter,” Carlos said carefully, keeping his tone as calm as possible.

“Delicate?” Meredith repeated, her tone incredulous. “What do you mean by delicate? What kind of ‘delicate’ requires me to be here, looking like an absolute idiot?”

Before Carlos could respond, the sound of humming drifted in from the terrace. Both of them turned their heads in unison just as Y/N casually strolled inside, looking far too relaxed for the tension brewing in the room. Her hands were in her pockets, and she had that annoyingly charming smile on her face—the kind that made people trust her, even when they shouldn’t.

Meredith’s mouth fell open in sheer indignation as Y/N walked over, clearly unbothered by the chaos she’d just walked into. “Excuse me?” Meredith sputtered, turning to Carlos with a glare. “What is she doing here?”

Carlos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s part of the deal, honey. We’re going camping. Together.”

Meredith froze for a second before bursting out, “Camping? What’s next—matching family sweaters? Are we all becoming one big happy family?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at that, her expression unreadable but her smirk still firmly in place. “Hey, is something wrong?” she asked, his voice perfectly casual as she shifted his gaze between Carlos and Meredith.

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Meredith shot back, her voice rising an octave. “I wasn’t aware of this.. tradition. And for the record, I don’t agree with the idea.”

“Well, you’re right,” Y/N said, her tone suddenly more serious as she folded her arms. “Imagining the ex-sleeping with your own partner is not exactly a vacation dream.”

Carlos winced. He could tell Y/N was up to something—she always was—but he had no idea where this was going. “Y/N…” he warned, but Y/N just kept smiling, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“I appreciate it,” Meredith interjected, her mood instantly lifting at Y/N apparent support. “Finally, someone with some sense around here.”

Y/N glanced at Meredith, her expression almost too kind. “Yes, and that’s why I’m asking you to come with us.” Her voice was sweet enough to rot teeth.

Meredith blinked, utterly thrown off. “Wait, what?”

Carlos had to bite back a laugh at Meredith’s face, which was a mix of shock and betrayal. “Y/N…” Carlos started, but his ex- held up a hand, silencing him with that practiced charm.

“Seriously, Carlos,” Y/N said smoothly. “I’ve already ruined your weekend, haven’t I? It would be rude of me not to join. Please, consider it my way of making up for everything.”

Meredith looked like she might faint, and Carlos wasn’t far behind. “That’s enough, Y/N,” Carlos said with a forced laugh, but it was too late. The plan was already in motion.

Meanwhile, Matheo and Mattia were busy packing their camping gear when they spotted Meredith, dressed in gym clothes, stepping out of the house with Carlos. The sight alone was enough to make them pause.

“What’s she doing here?” Matheo asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Carlos smiled as he loaded the car. “Your mom invited her,” he said casually, like it was no big deal. But judging by the looks on the boys’ faces, it was definitely a big deal.

Mattia tried to argue. “But—”

“No buts,” Carlos interrupted, gently but firmly. “I expect you to be polite. Got it?”

Matheo and Mattia shared a look, both equally disgusted by the idea. But they said nothing, choosing instead to stew in silence as they got into the car.

Well, most of them. Y/N remained planted on the driveway, looking far too smug for Carlos’ liking.

“Have fun!” Y/N called out cheerfully, waving them off like a benevolent queen sending her troops into battle.

Carlos frowned. “Y/N, what are you doing? I thought you were coming with us.”

Y/N’ grin widened. “Oh, I just thought it might be nice to get a little alone time before the big day,” she said innocently, her tone dripping with fake sweetness.

“But—” Carlos started, only to be interrupted by Mattia from the backseat. “Mom, that wasn’t the deal!”

“Relax, darling,” Y/N said, her voice honeyed and calm. “You’ll have so much more fun without me, trust me.”

Meredith looked visibly panicked. “If she’s not going, I don’t think I should—”

“No, no,” Y/N said quickly, her smile growing even brighter. “You’ll do great, darling. Besides, this is your chance to bond with the kids. In a few weeks, they’ll all be yours anyway.”

Meredith’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, slipping on her sunglasses instead. Carlos gave Y/N one last exasperated look before climbing into the car and starting the engine.

From the rearview mirror, he could see his kids sulking, Meredith stewing, and Y/N waving cheerfully in the distance.

As the car pulled away, Chessy strolled up next to Y/N, sipping on an iced coffee. “I’d pay good money to see her try to survive out there,” Chessy said with a grin.

Y/N laughed, her gaze still on the disappearing car. “Oh, you won’t need to pay anything. Just wait.”

*****

The four of them made their way down the winding trail, with Carlos and Mattia leading the way, their strides confident and steady. Behind them, Matheo trailed slightly, keeping an eye on Meredith, who was practically dragging her feet while grumbling non-stop. Meredith’s complaints ranged from the incline of the path to the unfairness of life, her dramatic tone making the entire ordeal oddly hilarious to Matheo.

Carlos glanced over his shoulder and immediately noticed Meredith’s weary expression. He stopped in his tracks, raising his hand to signal a break. “Alright, let’s take a moment. Another break.”

Mattia groaned, turning to his father with an exaggerated eye roll. “What? At this rate, we’ll make it to the lake by winter.”

“Be wise, Meredith isn’t used to this,” Carlos replied patiently as he unscrewed his water bottle, taking a few steps closer to Meredith.

“I swear, I can’t move anymore,” Meredith panted dramatically, flopping onto a nearby rock. “I don’t get how people do this for fun.”

Matheo exchanged a look with Mattia, mischief flashing in his eyes. Quietly, he picked up a rock and tiptoed over to Meredith’s backpack. Mattia didn’t need any explanation—he smirked knowingly as Matheo began slipping the rock into Meredith’s bag.

“Hey, can you pass me my water bottle?” Meredith asked, oblivious to the antics happening behind her.

Matheo hurriedly zipped up the bag, grabbed the bottle, and handed it over. “Here you go, Meredith.” He bent down mid-motion, catching sight of a tiny lizard darting across the trail. A grin spread across his face as he gently scooped it up.

Meredith guzzled down her water, sighing in relief. Everything seemed to be fine… until she caught sight of the lizard perched casually on the rim of her bottle. Her scream echoed through the forest as she launched the bottle into the air.

Mattia and Matheo clamped their hands over their mouths, their laughter barely contained as Carlos rushed over, concern etched on his face. “What happened? Mer, are you okay?”

Matheo held up the lizard with a sheepish grin. “He just had a little surprise visitor, Dad.”

Carlos couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Don’t worry, Honey. He’s harmless. He’s not going to hurt you.”

“Y-yeah, totally,” Meredith stammered, laughing nervously as she took a step back.

But before he could get too far, Matheo, ever the troublemaker, brought the lizard up close again, this time inches from Meredith’s face. “Look, Meredith, he likes you!”

Meredith shrieked and flailed, dodging backward. “Get that thing away from me! I hate crawling things!”

Carlos seeing his kids teasing Meredith, he ordered them to leave first, “You two go on ahead.”

“Alright, alright,” Matheo relented with a laugh, placing the lizard safely on a nearby rock. But not before whispering something to Mattia, who instantly grinned. Meredith had no idea what was coming next.

By the time they reached the campsite by the lake, Meredith was in full survival mode. The twins, however, were thriving—plotting and giggling as they watched their favorite victim struggle to carry her weighted-down backpack.

Dinner by the campfire didn’t offer much relief for Meredith. The freshly grilled trout was delicious, but after the fourth serving, her enthusiasm had waned. She poked at his plate with her fork, looking forlorn.

“Hey, mom, do you want more trout?” Matheo asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

“How about you call me Meredith? I’m pretty sure Y/N would prefer it,” Meredith shot back, ignoring the new call. “And no, I don’t want more trout. What are we having for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Trout,” Carlos, Mattia, and Matheo answered in unison, their timing impeccable.

Meredith groaned, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t understand how anyone likes camping. It’s mosquitoes, trout, and near-death experiences.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, sniffing the water bottle Meredith had been sipping from. He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Honey, this is sugar water. No wonder the mosquitoes love you. Who gave you this?”

Meredith glared daggers at the twins, who were suddenly very engrossed in their plates. “Enough, I will go to sleep, I will take my sleeping pills and sleeping peacefully.” she stood up, and smiled as she walked over to Carlos, her boyfriend. Without hesitation, she tilted Carlos’ chin up and planted a deep kiss on his lips. Carlos melted into it, a warm contrast to the cool night air.

Matheo and Mattia, sitting nearby with crossed arms and matching scowls, exchanged a look of shared irritation. Their dad was a goner, and they knew it.

Meredith pulled back with a smirk, glancing at the twins. “Good night,” she said, voice dripping with confidence.

Matheo rolled his eyes. Mattia crossed his arms tighter, but neither said a word. Carlos, ever the peacemaker, sighed and looked at his kids. “Kids, leave her alone. I’m not marrying her just because she’s pretty.”

“Then why are you marrying her?” Matheo asked, his tone sharp.

Carlos’ patience was thinning. “Go to sleep,” he said, finality lacing his words.

The twins didn’t respond, but their silence was louder than any protest. Carlos got up and disappeared into his tent.

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, The boy’s tent flap creaked open. Matheo scanned the area cautiously before signaling to Mattia. The two crept through the shadows with the kind of stealth only mischievous children could master.

“I hope the sleeping pills worked,” Matheo whispered as they reached Meredith’s tent.

The twins carefully unzipped the entrance. Inside, Meredith was sprawled out on her mattress, blissfully unaware of the chaos about to unfold.

With coordinated effort, they lifted the mattress, struggling only slightly under its weight. As they began to move it, Meredith murmured in his sleep, “Carlos…”

Mattia slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Damn…” he whispered.

After the momentary scare, they continued their plan, hauling the mattress out of the tent and down to the lake. With one final heave, they pushed it onto the water. The mattress floated gently, carrying its unsuspecting passenger into the middle of the lake.

Matheo smirked, watching their handiwork. “Good night, dear mommy,” he whispered before he and Mattia retreated into the shadows, their laughter barely contained.

Meredith stirred as the cool morning air brushed against her skin. She felt something soft on her neck, half-dreaming it was Carlos. “That feels nice,” she murmured. But as she opened her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a bird perched on her shoulder.

“What the…?!” she shrieked, startling the bird, which flew off in a panic.

Meredith bolted upright, the realization hitting her like a wave—literally. She was floating in the middle of the lake.

“Carlos!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the forest.

Back on shore, Carlos woke with a start, groggily stepping out of his tent. The sight of Meredith, flailing on a mattress in the water, made him shock. “Oh… fuck…” he muttered. He watched helplessly as Meredith toppled into the water. Shit.

Carlos’ gaze shifted to his kids, who were now standing by their tent, looking suspiciously innocent.

By the time Meredith waded back to tent, she was soaked, furious, and dripping with lake water. She stomped past the campfire, kicking a still-hot kettle with impressive force.

Carlos stood there, arms crossed, unsure what to say. “Umm… what happens now?” he asked cautiously.

Meredith pointed a trembling finger at the twins. “This is what happens! When you and I get married, I’m sending those two brats straight to boarding school in Switzerland! Got it? Now choose. Is it me or them? You have two seconds.”

Carlos looked between Meredith and his children, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled. “I choose them.”

Meredith blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Carlos repeated, his voice firm, “I choose my children. Do you understand?”

Meredith’s jaw dropped. She looked ready to explode, but all that came out was an unintelligible noise of frustration.

Matheo and Mattia exchanged triumphant grins, their dad’s loyalty cemented in their favor.

Carlos watched as Meredith stormed off, muttering about ungrateful families and Swiss boarding schools. He sighed, shaking his head. His kids were a handful, but they were his handful, and nothing—not even Meredith Blake—could come between them.

prev chap

[ooc-miqojak]

Have politicians and oligarchs always been this fucking pathetic, or is this new?

I mean they've always seemed, throughout history, to have more greed than good sense. I'd reference the French aristocracy, and the revolution that actually went on to actually kill more middle class 'wealthy' than upper class, but hell - look at Rome, too. My partner and I regularly joke that living in America is like watching the Fall of Rome 2.0, now with Wi-Fi! - because it's eerily similar. We love saying that we should keep the past in mind, but it doesn't seem to be making us not repeat the same mistakes!

[obae-me]

How He Kisses

Hey there, so things are...kinda awful right now, and while I don't want to fully distract myself from my other works I'm chipping away at, I did want to post something a bit short and sweet to hopefully- well, saying "to make everyone feel better" feels sort of self-inflated, but if I can make everyone stop and think about something happy for just one second, that's more than I can ask for. I have no idea how similar this is to my hug headcanon ones. Not really checked for too many errors, this was all kind of done in the spur of the moment, but I don't think that matters too much.

Lucifer

Proper and slow. He likes being patient, kissing you once before pulling back to look at your face. He feels a sense of Pride when he can see the effect he has on you, knowing that he can comfort you like this. He's a perfectionist, he likes the whole experience to be included. That's why he likes to do it more often when you two are alone, knowing he has the freedom to do whatever it takes to make this moment perfect. Whether it's music, a lit fireplace, over a dinner, under the comfort of a blanket, everything is set up for you. To show his love for you, nothing less than high quality will be accepted. The kiss is simply the bow that ties everything together. And he'll take his time to relish in this moment with you.

Mammon

Fervent and greedy. He cannot contain his love for you. Even around his brothers, he lets it slip. So when you find yourselves alone, it's like pulling the lid off a stuffed container. Your eyelids, your ears, your forehead, cheeks, chin, lips, none of them shall be spared in his spree. It's almost frantic, as if he doesn't get as many now, he'll never have them again. He craves all of you, and he wants to be only yours in equal measure. Love, soul, attention, all of it is for you. It's as if he has to make up the seconds lost whenever you're apart. He never wants it to end. He hardly breathes. Every one is just as good as the last, and he is focused on making it just as wonderful an experience for you as well. After all, he wants you to be greedy too. Tell him your every desire.

Levi

Eager and grateful. Push past the anxiousness and the self-doubt, and you find a Levi that adores you more than anything. Like an ultra rare drop he can't get anywhere else. If he can stand in line for days for something he wants, he will stand with you till the end of time. His kisses show that, how deeply in love he is for you. Given the chance, he has the confidence to prove to you how special you are to him. Every kiss gets him more excited than the last, and in turn, he's determined to do whatever it takes to make you feel just as joyous as he is in these moments. Thank you for being here with him, your presence means more to him than you currently know, and he'll spare no effort to start showing you that.

Satan

Meek and curious. Whether or not it is considered if he's kissed someone before, every time he kisses you, it feels like the first time. He almost always has a distant look on his face, as if he's thinking about a million other things at the same time, and every million of those thoughts is something about you. He learns something new every time and commits it to memory. Which way your head naturally tilts, where you prefer his hands to be, how many you like, how long they take, he's going to remember them all. Well, he says that, but oftentimes its as if his mind wipes after every kiss. It's hard to think during those moments. But he's not worried about it, that just means he'll have to keep going. He has no plans to leave your side anytime soon after all.

Asmo

Uplifting and addictive. He likes to kiss for every occasion, every emotion. Happy? Kiss. Excited? Kiss? Sad? He says he saves his best kisses for those moments especially. Maybe it's shared love that makes his kisses almost tingle, or maybe its some kind of magic. It makes you feel light. And he'll give you as many as you want. He adores kissing you, not able to get enough of it. It's as though he's almost on clockwork, having to give you an embrace at perfect intervals throughout the day. He can't get enough of you, and he can't help but get giddy at the thought of running to your side and letting you know exactly just how much he loves you.

Beel

Warm and encompassing. Gluttony often gets mixed up with Greed, but this is one of those instances where the differences are clear. Every kiss is slow, and feels as if it lasts several lifetimes. It's as if he's drinking you in, savoring this moment in it's entirety. Of course he'll come in for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, but it comes steadily. Something about his kisses fills you with a warmth that's hard to describe, similar to soup or a hot beverage seeping through every part of your body to endure the coldest of days. It makes your toes curl like they're in warm socks. It makes you feel as if nothing can get to you. And with him around, nothing will.

Belphie

Soft and persistent. No amount of drowsiness can stop him. Even if he's asleep, the demon that will normally sleep like the dead will wake himself up and make sure to give you a kiss. They're so gentle, and it's difficult to tell if its tied to his personality, or if he's afraid of hurting you. Sometimes they're as light as a feather, almost tickling you. If you're falling asleep, they'll never wake you, only guiding you towards sweeter dreams. With every movement you make, you'll almost recognize the sensation of his kisses. They're like a promise, an assurance, that even in the deepest darkest of dreams, he's right there. They always lull you into a sense of peace.

[swappermanent]

Sugar Baby

When I started going out with Paul, it felt like everything had finally settled into place. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was in a relationship that made me feel alive. We were super attracted to each other—magnetically, almost—which, after years of boyfriends who left me feeling unsure and self-conscious, was a relief. I knew I was attractive, sure, but there’s a difference between knowing it and feeling it. With Paul, I felt it.

The chemistry was undeniable. We were having sex all the time, barely able to keep our hands off each other. It had been seven months, and honestly, I thought the honeymoon phase might never end. We’d built this bubble around us, this glowing little world where nothing else mattered… until that night.

We’d just come back from dinner at a trendy little spot downtown. I thought the evening had been perfect. The food was great, the wine was flowing, and Paul had looked incredible in his tailored blazer and skinny jeans. But as soon as we got back to my apartment, I could tell something was wrong.

Paul dropped his wallet on the counter with more force than necessary and crossed his arms. “Did you hear what that server said tonight?” he asked, his voice sharp.

I blinked, trying to think back. “What are you talking about?”

“He called me a sugar baby, Oliver,” Paul snapped, his eyes flashing. “Or at least he implied it. Don’t tell me you didn’t catch that.”

I frowned, replaying the night in my head. “I think he said something about us being a…‘cute couple,’ maybe? I don’t remember anything like that.”

Paul threw his hands up. “Of course you didn’t notice. Why would you? You’re not the one who gets judged every time we walk into a room together.”

“Paul, what are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely confused. “What do you care what some random waiter thinks? He’s nobody.”

“It’s not just him,” Paul said, his voice rising. “It’s everyone. Every time we’re out, people look at us and assume I’m with you for your money or because you’re older and can…‘take care’ of me or whatever.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, trying to keep my tone calm. “No one’s judging you. Why would they?”

Paul’s laugh was bitter. “You really don’t get it, do you? Even though you’re super, super hot, you’re still older, Oliver. People notice. They talk. And I’m tired of it.”

I opened my mouth to respond but realized I didn’t know what to say. I’d always thought of us as equals, partners in every sense. But now Paul was voicing something I hadn’t even considered. I didn’t care what anyone thought of us, but clearly, he did.

The argument spiraled from there, each of us throwing words we didn’t mean into the space between us. By the time we finally fell silent, the tension was suffocating. I hated it. I hated that we were fighting, that I couldn’t make him see how little anyone else’s opinion mattered.

That was when Paul said something I never expected. “I wish you could understand what it’s like to be me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, folding my arms.

“It means you have no idea what it’s like to be young and judged for being with someone older,” he said. “You’ve never had to deal with that.”

I wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped me. He was hurt, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Instead, I sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Paul. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his coat and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

---

The argument with Paul left me feeling helpless. For days, his words echoed in my mind: “I wish you could understand what it’s like to be me.” I hated the wedge it had driven between us, and I wanted to show him—prove to him—how much I cared.

That’s how I ended up in a small, dimly lit shop tucked into a back alley downtown. A witch, of all things, had been recommended by a friend who swore she could “fix anything.” At first, I thought it was ridiculous, but desperation does strange things to a person.

The witch, a woman with piercing green eyes and a voice that felt like velvet and steel all at once, listened to my story. When I told her I wanted to switch bodies with Paul, she raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. “It’s a bold move,” she said, studying me. “Are you sure you want this? The spell isn’t permanent, but it’ll be… revealing.”

I nodded. “I need him to see how much I care. I need to understand.”

That night, I surprised Paul with dinner at home—his favorite meal, candles, wine. He was suspicious at first, probably expecting another long conversation about our fight, but eventually, he relaxed.

After we ate, I told him. “I did something for us,” I said, my hands trembling slightly as I held his. “It’s… different, but I think it’ll help.”

Paul looked at me warily. “What did you do, Oliver?”

“Just trust me,” I said, pulling the small vial of shimmering liquid from my pocket. “Drink this with me.”

“What the hell is that?” he asked, leaning back.

“It’s magic. Literally,” I said, smiling nervously. “It’s going to switch our bodies—for a little while. So I can understand what it’s like to be you. So we can understand each other better.”

Paul stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” I said firmly. “I know it’s crazy, but… I love you, Paul. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. Please.”

He hesitated, but eventually, he sighed and reached for the vial. “This is insane,” he muttered. “But fine. Let’s do it.”

The sensation was indescribable. A rush of heat, a pull deep in my chest, and then—suddenly—I was staring at myself. At Oliver. My body. Paul’s jaw dropped, and I realized my mouth—his mouth—was hanging open too.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, my voice high and light. Paul’s voice.

“Holy shit,” Paul said, his tone low and steady—my tone. He looked down at his hands, flexing them. “This is… weird.”

We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, until a grin spread across my—Paul’s—face. “I’m… cute,” I said, looking in the mirror to admire my new body. “You’re adorable, Paul. I mean, I knew that, but… wow.”

Paul rolled his—my—eyes. “Great. Glad you’re having fun already.”

But I could see the curiosity in his expression as he studied his new reflection in the window. “This is so strange,” he muttered, running his—my—hands through his hair.

---

The first few days were exhilarating. I had always thought Paul’s body was beautiful, but living in it was something else entirely. I felt light and full of energy. I was used to being strong, but in Paul’s body, I felt… different. More vulnerable, maybe, but in a way that made me more aware of the world around me.

And then there was the bedroom. That was… an experience. For the first time, I got to see myself—my body—through Paul’s eyes, and it was hotter than I ever could have imagined. I couldn’t stop staring at him. At me. At the way my body moved and how it felt under Paul’s touch.

“Wow,” I whispered one night, lying on my back and looking up at him—at me. “I didn’t realize how hot I am.”

Paul smirked, his—my—hands running over my chest. “Told you.”

The roles had reversed completely. He was stronger now, more dominant, and I was smaller, lighter. It felt amazing to let go and be tossed around a little, to feel his strength in a way I’d never experienced before. And the way he looked at me—his eyes hungry and full of admiration—it turned me on even more.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I teased one night, watching him as he explored his new body.

Paul grinned, his face lighting up. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone playful. “You’re… pretty great, you know.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

---

At first, being Paul felt liberating. I loved the way people looked at me—at him—with a mix of admiration and envy. I enjoyed the carefree lightness of being in his body, his energy, his youth. But the novelty wore off faster than I expected. The longer I spent as Paul, the more I realized his life wasn’t as effortless as I’d thought.

The first real cracks appeared with his friends.

I’d always thought they liked me. They were always so warm when I was me—when I was Oliver. But as Paul, I got to see the unfiltered version of how they really felt about our relationship. The jokes started small.

“You’re still with Oliver?” one of them asked over beers. “Man, the dude’s practically a fossil.”

The group laughed, and I forced a grin. “He’s not that old,” I said, trying to brush it off.

Another friend, Darren, smirked. “I don’t know, Paul. Next thing you know, you’ll be helping him pick out retirement homes.”

More laughter. I clenched my teeth, trying to laugh along, but it stung. The digs didn’t stop there. Every hangout seemed to come with new jabs. “How’s the old man holding up?” “Bet he falls asleep before you even make it to the bedroom.” “Does he have to stretch before you guys have sex?”

I tried to defend myself—Oliver—but it only made things worse. “He’s incredible,” I snapped once, tired of the ridicule. “He’s smart and successful and—”

“And old,” Darren interrupted, grinning. “C’mon, Paul, we’re just messing with you. Don’t be so sensitive.”

It was grating. Even though they claimed to be joking, the constant comments wore me down. I started to see how much pressure Paul must have felt every time we were out together. I understood now why he’d been so sensitive about the waiter’s comment. This wasn’t just an isolated thing; it was everywhere.

Things came to a head on the beach trip.

Paul’s friends had organized a day at the beach, and I’d been excited. The sun, the waves, the chance to relax—it sounded perfect. But I realized they had ulterior motives.

“Hey, Paul,” one of them said with a sly grin as we set up on the sand. “We invited someone new to join us today. You’ll love him.”

That “someone” turned out to be Vince. Tall, tan, and absolutely ripped, Vince looked like he’d walked straight off the cover of a fitness magazine. His laugh was deep and easy, his smile dazzling. I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in his swim trunks, his abs catching the sunlight. He was polite, charming, and… clearly interested in me.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But as the day went on, it became obvious this wasn’t a coincidence. Paul’s friends had brought Vince along to tempt me—Paul. It was a cruel test, one I hadn’t been prepared for.

The group seemed to push us together all day. “Vince, why don’t you help Paul with the cooler?” “Hey, Paul, Vince is really into hiking. You should talk to him about that trail you like.” “You two should totally go for a swim together.”

And Vince played along. He was magnetic, and it was hard not to be drawn to him. His confidence was intoxicating, and the way he looked at me—as if I were the only person on the beach—made my heart race in a way I hadn’t expected.

By the end of the day, we found ourselves at a seaside bar. The group was dancing, drinks in hand, the setting sun casting a golden glow over everything. Vince and I ended up on the dance floor together, and he moved closer, his hand brushing against mine.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, his voice low. His eyes locked on mine, and I felt a rush of heat.

“I’m not—” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping closer. His hands rested lightly on my hips, and I didn’t pull away. “You’re gorgeous, Paul. You deserve to be adored.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. I froze, torn between the pull of his touch and the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong.

I hesitated, and in that moment, his hand slid lower. He gently cupped my bulge, his fingers pressing just enough to send a shiver through me. My breath caught, and before I could stop myself, I kissed him back. It was slow at first, tentative, but then his other hand slid up my back, pulling me closer, and I melted into him.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the group, not Oliver, not the consequences. Just Vince and the way he made me feel—desired, wanted, free.

It started as a moment of weakness. The kiss with Vince was supposed to be just that—a fleeting mistake, something I could forget. But I didn’t forget. I couldn’t.

The first time we slept together, it was like an explosion. Vince was passionate, attentive, and completely unlike anything I’d experienced before. He made me feel alive in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. I told myself it would just be a one-time thing, but one night turned into two, and then three, and soon I was finding excuses to see him.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection—although that was incredible. With Vince, I felt like I could shed all the insecurities I’d been carrying as Paul. He didn’t see me as someone trying to live up to anyone else’s standards. He just saw me.

But every time I was with Vince, the guilt weighed heavier. I was lying to Paul—not just about Vince, but about everything. The whole reason I’d switched bodies was to understand him, to bridge the gap between us. Instead, I’d let the gap widen, filling it with secrets and betrayal.

After weeks of this, I couldn’t keep it up anymore. I knew I had to end things with Paul.

We sat across from each other in his apartment—my apartment, technically—and I struggled to find the words. Paul looked so hopeful, his expression soft despite the tension that had grown between us since the switch.

“I’ve been thinking,” I started, my voice trembling slightly. “About us.”

Paul frowned, leaning forward. “What about us?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “You were right,” I said quietly. “The age gap… it’s too much. I thought it didn’t matter, but I see it now. You deserve someone who’s in the same place as you. Someone your own age.”

Paul’s face fell, and my chest tightened. I could see the hurt in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. “So, you’ve come around, huh?” he said, his voice heavy. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming.”

“I just want what’s best for you,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “You should be with someone who gets you. Someone who can make you happy in ways I can’t.”

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” His voice wavered, and I could tell he was holding back tears. “I guess I’ve been thinking the same thing… but I didn’t want to admit it.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, guilt gnawing at me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Paul took a shaky breath, brushing his hands over his thighs. “Well, I guess this means we need to swap back, huh?”

The words hung in the air between us. I could feel the weight of them, the finality. But instead of agreeing, I hesitated. My heart pounded as I looked at him—at me.

“Actually…” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I’m afraid we’re not going to be doing that.”

Paul blinked, confusion washing over his face. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean… I think it’s better this way,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “You can start fresh. Be with someone who fits into your life. And I can… I can do the same.”

Realization dawned on him, his eyes widening. “You’re serious,” he said, his voice rising. “You’re not giving my body back?”

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Paul. I think this is for the best.”

[markwateneymemorialcrater]

One thing that I think the many ���leftist” movements struggle with is they really offer nothing for these “young straight guys” like yes, improved social acceptance and tolerance should in the long run benefit everyone. But that isn’t the message that many hear from the left. What they hear is that your worth is based on how many minority groups you can be apart of. That you need to be part of an “oppressed” group to be valid. And if you are a dreaded “cis white male” your opinions are worthless and even dangerous. If that is the sales pitch you get, why on earth would a young man join that ideology?

This doesn’t mean the left should cater to the “cis white man”. But the least we can do is not vilify them.

The “right” movements at least will celebrate being a man and make life seem fun for you without pushing a guilt trip. They promise that your life is in your own hands and total freedom. Sure you will be taught that it’s ok to make a low wage and live in a shithole of a home because at least it’s yours and you’re not having to give up your hard earned money to support some lazy lowlife. And honestly. That logic makes sense. No one likes a parasite.

Especially if you do want to be edgy. Conservative edgy is way more fun for a young guy than liberal/socialist edgy.

And if you look at how most male friend groups interact with eachother, we are not “polite” or nice to eachother. The mutual bullying is partly how we show affection. We would all take a bullet for eachother, but you bet your ass we are calling eachother fat fucks for eating McDonald’s twice in a week. But you try that in many lefty groups. Any edgy joke risks getting taken seriously and offends people. I’ve seen this happen in a generally left leaning group chat I was in. It made me leave. Sometimes you got to learn to laugh at the insults and trust that your friends don’t secretly hate you. If a guy really did hate you. He would just stop interacting with you usually.

My observations have also shown that quite frankly, both the left and right have equally fucking stupid people in them. And they tend to be the loudest.

Too often people get too specific and granular with their fights. Which is great for getting a small group of passionate people behind it. But it becomes too niche for general acceptance/ understanding. Look at say trans rights. What the issue is at its core is about the right of an individual to have self expression of their body. That is an argument that you could find support for on both ends of the political spectrum. But because it’s marketed as “men should be able to be women if they want” it’s totally un-relatable for most cis-men and sounds outright crazy. At the end of the day, most people all want the same things.

I increasingly think publications like Cracked and Mad Magazine served a load bearing cultural purpose keeping young straight guys from developing extreme reactionary opinions.

[koralcove]

since it's established that caleb cooks for you (us/mc), imagine after reuniting with one another that he's noticed how thin you've gotten compared to when he last saw you. with the ongoing investigation about the aether core and grieving for your (supposedly) dead family, you haven't had time to take care of yourself well enough. you're mostly driven on energy via takeouts, eating out, and snacking for when you remember to take a break. and when he runs his thumb softly on your cheek, he can practically feel the comparison of how you've lost the chub on your face that he used to affectionately (and annoyingly, on your part) squeeze and pinch on. but it's nothing that he can't fix with spoiling you with his cooking. so every day, he makes it a mission to make time to cook your favourite meals and dishes that he knows you've missed since he'd been gone, and within a week, he can already see the plumpness of your cheeks taking shape to what he used to know. when you start to complain that your shorts seem a bit tight on you and you opt to borrow his shirts instead of wearing your usual ones, he takes pride in seeing the changes of your body becoming a bit pudgy in other places.

tonight, you're probably on your third round of eating. you'd told yourself yesterday that you'd hold back from eating too much ever since you noticed the slight fullness of your belly. you've noticed that your face has gotten a tad rounder, and you're aghast at just how much you've been consuming for only a week. you would've objected as caleb keeps asking if you want another round, but you didn't realise how much you've missed the taste of his cooking. the taste of home. and there's a part of you that's clutching onto the flavours as if it's the last meal you'll ever get from him. a part of you still finds it unbelievable that he's really here with you, right in the flesh, laughing and mussing on your hair. the familiar touch seems like a slap on your face that you find a prickling sensation at the back of your nose whenever the reality sets that... he's here. and he's home. you're home. you are both home.

noticing the faraway look on your eyes and the distracted movement of your utensils on your food, caleb pipes up. "you look like you're thinking too hard. had second thoughts about my cooking?"

you blink, snapping out of your glum musings and shaking your head. "no. just... thinking why you're feeding me so much. every day feels like a feast with how much you're cooking. i might have to buy new clothes, y'know."

caleb only smiles at your words, jabbing your forehead lightly with his finger. "well, it looks like you forgot to take care of yourself while i was gone. can't do anything without me, huh?"

you huff at the light teasing, taking a bite out of your food and looking down on your plate. your eyes might betray you. and you don't think you can handle the soft look he's giving you.

"but don't worry. your caleb is back, and i'm here to take care of my pip squeak. and what better way to start than to get some meat back on you." he grins.

you groan. "i'm going to eat less now, because at this point, you're the one who's taking me out of shape, and i'm blaming you if i fall behind with everyone when i suddenly become out of breath."

caleb only chuckles at you. "i think i'm just giving you more shape, if you ask me. and that wouldn't be so bad. that means i get to have more of you!" he squeezes your side affectionately, and you shy away from how ticklish you are, along with a small sense of insecurity bleeding through you. caleb doesn't miss your small scrunch of discomfort.

"you know i like you no matter what shape or form, right?" he pulls his chair closer to yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "and... there is a law about that, y'know?"

your brow furrows in confusion. "there is?"

he nods, a cheeky smile quirking on his lips. "yeah. "the greater the mass, the greater the force of attraction". so in other words, the more i plump you up, my attraction to you will keep increasing."

your mouth hangs at his words, and you playfully jab his side. "gē! you..."

he merely laughs, pinching on your cheek for extra measure. his glee is infectious that you can't help but break into a smile as well.

ah, caleb thinks, there's my girl.

can't get over that caleb is just basically packed into the law of gravitation. smartass would probably use that line to his advantage.

[nutsackx]

POKÉMON X THE OUTSIDERS AU

info under images lol

if anyone reposts these like the cowboy or scientist au I’m deleting my whole account watch your bakc

I’m gonna preface this by saying I haven’t played or even really indulged in Pokémon for like… 7 years so forgive me if any of this is off or doesn’t make sense…

ANYWAY!!

Original gang is just the Curtis brothers. Ponyboy, after years of putting it off to put time into school, decides he’s finally ready to try being a Pokémon trainer (he’s a bit of a late bloomer, starting at 14 instead of ten…yikes). Usually, their father would’ve helped him on his journey….but he’s, dead, so. 

Darry agrees to help him, eventually Soda gets dragged along too because he’s worried Pony and Darry fighting 24/7 will ruin the experience for Ponyboy. And, Soda, being a Pokémon ranger, has a lot more knowledge than even Darry about how to safely go about this. 

First they come across Steve. Soda and him are already besties, of course. And they have kinda a rivalry going on where they are constantly tryin to one-up each other (all in good faith lmao). It’s not until Steve starts talking about how he started with Pokémon that Darry realizes just how different it was than when he was starting out. Steve agrees to come along, mainly saying he thinks Pony’s gonna get himself killed cus’ he SUCKS!!

After all the yada yada and defeating his first gym leader, Pony finds a dead Radicate and REFUSES to move on until they give the poor creature a proper burial. Since they’re already relatively close, Darry redirects the group to Lavender Town. 

While inside Pokémon tower, they come across a decrepit, old, decaying black-belt class trainer (Mr.Miyagi ((yeah I put him in here, what are you gonna do about it?)),sorry for all the mean adjectives) who of course starts being an old man and going on and on about the boy he fosters there and how weird he’s acting lately (Darry refuses to interrupt because he RESPECTS HIS ELDERS!!!). 

Mr.Miyagi admits that not being around people his age has probably messed with his development, practically calling the boy a hermit, and asks the guys to bring him along in exchange for a very strong Gengar (for Pony, ofc). Darry, upon hearing that the boy is a strong fighter and MUCH quieter then the rest of the freaks he’s dealing with, agrees. 

They go from floor to floor looking for him, eventually finding a cloaked figure on some fuckass floor idk. It takes a minute but they’re like, damn, this hoe possessed! And they battle him, he’s hard to beat but they do it eventually, yada yada. Johnny then takes the hood off, apologizes profusely, and explains that he’s a channeler but not really good at his job yet. (also imagine him with the most fuckass stutter, like Shaky from rdr)

The guys inform him about their promise to Mr.Miyagi, Johnny’s upset for t-minus two minutes before he’s just like “whatever okay” and joins them. (Quickly becomes the favorite, ofc, because he can actually shut his damn mouth). 

They move on to the next gym, yk how it goes…but yeah they come across a traveling circus. And you’ll NEVER GUESS WHO IS A CLOWN!! 

So anyway, Clown-bit, we love him. They come across him, agree to fight so he’ll give them some food and pokeballs, and Pony beats his ASS. 

They don’t really invite Two-Bit along (they think he’s annoying…who doesn’t?) but he just joins anyway. Imagine like constant clown puns. Also he and Johnny quickly take a liking to each other cus’ they’re both kinda outcasts of the group (Johnny’s known the guys for like, a week…and Two-bit Just showed up. Also, we need more Johnny and Two-Bit friend content so).

They keep going, Pony defeats a few more gym leaders, and takes notice that a lot of them seem to recognize someone on their team. When he askes, Johnny admits to being the son of one of the elite four. At first, Pony is thrilled by the info, until he pries a little more and realizes Johnny’s father was an abusive asshole and pretty much sent him away to Pokémon tower to force him into becoming a trainer. Yikes. 

Anyway, on their journey they come across some UGLY blonde guy, like one of those biker trainer classes yk..? Anyway yeah it’s Dallas, shocker. He kinda just gets in their way and refuses to move until they ALL battle him. Obviously, they don’t wanna do that, a lot of work for some ugly freak (did I mention he’s ugly?). 

They agree to let Ponyboy fight him, but he uh…loses. After a bit of back and forth Dallas agrees to let them go if they help him get to the Indigo Plateau in Kanto, so he can face off against the Elite Four there (his bike is old, cus yk…he’s poor.) 

Darry at this point has an entire league of teenagers following him around, so he’s like what’s one more? And boom they move on. 

I don’t have much planned out from here (this was all pulled from my ass anyway). Maybe the Shepards can be like…the Team Rocket of this AU?? And Soc’s are the gym leaders. 

Also, Yeah Cherry and Marcia are both Kanto elite four cus I SAID SO!!! And uh…Johnny and Cherry are dating because it’s MY AU AND I DO WHAT I WANT!!!! She’s the breadwinner and that’s okay, we love her for it <3

twobit prolly falls in love with Marcia when he sees her but idk if she’d reciprocate with an actual clown. Mayeb Randy lowered her standards???

anyway. That is all. Might flesh this out more if the obsession grows, or it’ll die in a week like the Crazy Scientist stuff. Oh well!

EXPLANATION OF DESIGNS/MORE INFO—

Ponyboy

CLASS: Youngster 

Ngl his design took very little time…..oops

his cap hides a really bad dye job, and he refuses to take it off

He chose squirtle as his starter, idrk why but squirtle just suits him. Maybe cus he almost drowned!!

Would’ve fought to the DEATH if he didn’t get squirtle. This boy knows what he wants 

He has a little pokeball necklace that his mom got him as a joke, will kill someone for it 

He deffo has a really nerdy messenger bag that he keeps all of his stuff in

He’s scared of his own Beedrill 

He does NOT need those glasses. But he likes them becuase he thinks they make him look more professional (everyone can tell they’re blue light glasses)

Sodapop

CLASS: Pokémon Ranger

LOVES his job and therefore is almost always seen in uniform

he loves electric/steel type Pokémon cus they reminds him of cars, so his hair is usually sticking up because of static electricity 

has a whistle, but Darrel stole it and tossed it into the forest VERY early into the journey 

yellow is his favorite color cus I said so

Raichu is his PRIZED Pokémon 

He’s kinda like Snow White the Pokémon love him 

His Flareon and Johnny’s Espeon are best friends 

Darrel

CLASS: Veteran 

Wanted to be a football player, but couldn’t because that wouldn’t keep the family afloat, that’s why his outfit has the numbers on it. 

Lot of scars, some from football and some from his days as a trainer 

His outfit used to have sleeves, but he found them annoying and just shopped them off one day 

Always keeps the spare pokeballs on him 

In highschool he had his hair grown out, but chopped it after their folks died because his father was always trying to get him to cut it 

I don’t really have a backstory for his necklace, buts it fire okay

Treats his Pokémon VERY well, if there was a trainer rating website he would be top 5

Picks his Pokémon based on size and strength

Two-Bit

CLASS: CLOWN

Obviously he’s a clown so, that explains the outfit 

NEVER seen without the makeup, even when it rains or he’s sleeping…that stuff is ON THERE

He has false lashes on his waterline, and yes they’re pink 

He is incapable of being quiet because of all the bells 

The hat doesn’t come off. if it did his hair under there would be hella matted 

All of Two’s Pokémon are just as annoying as he is, he hides earplugs in his shoes for people (they never take them) 

FATASS can and will eat anything in sight

Mr.Mime is his favorite of all his Pokémon….they ate both annoying together and everyone hates them for it 

Johnny

CLASS: Channeler 

the scar on his eye is from his father 😬 from when he figured out Miyagi wasn’t actually training him to be the next member of the Elite Four…. the eye is blue because of some psychic shit idk 

His outfit is from Miyagi entirely, the sleeves used to be connected, but he found it too annoying to fight in those so he tore them (Miyagi was secretly VERY unsettled) 

If you look really closely he has purple eyeliner

Johnny refuses to cut his hair, so it’s usually in a braid to be out of his way, he lets it down sometimes 

He has the little flower charm connected to his belt…what a cutie 

His hood is actually up a LOT, most of the time his face is obscured 

There’s flames on his sleeve….wonder why (not the reason you think okay. His father was a fire type trainer…JOHNNY LIVES IN THIS AU OKAY.)

also the metal things around his arm are like…incredibly heavy. Mr.Miyagi put them in originally so he could build muscle while doing everyday things, but Johnny insists on keeping the on forever. 

Loves all of his Pokémon equally, and they love him back. Always has atleast one out of their Pokeball so he doesn’t get lonely….my baby 

He doesn’t even like the color purple that much it’s just kinda his thing now 

Pokémon FLOCK to this man 

Dallas

CLASS: Biker

Tore the sleeves off of his jacket as well…they really like doing that 

YELLOW teeth and GREASY hair he does not take care of himself

Really likes dog-looking Pokémon 

Has an empty slot because one of his Pokémon just DIED LMAO (idk which one. Oh well) 

Has rips in his jeans, does not plan on fixing it 

Hand-carved his belt buckle. The ‘win’ in Winston is underlined. Ignore the fact that this idiot keeps fucking losing 

The bandages are protecting nothing. He thinks it makes him look cool

Pokémon are revolted by him. Like, his own literally hate him. 

Steve

Class: Hooligan

kind of an ass, but he looks cool

any cutscene of him he’s making sure his hair is still spiked trust

loves steel type Pokémon because…cars

his favorite color is green, making any green Pokémon his all time favorite

for being a little shit, he treats his Pokémon rather well

has studs ALL over his back, once leaned back on Soda and has never heard the end of the pain he caused

he has a tongue piercing….so….

when the gang is lacking resources, he and Dallas are the first to steal

[littlepeach-world]

Hear me out on this oneshot... 🎾🎾

In-ho and his wife has a child together *about 3 years old now* that ran off while at the island during the games and the guards along with In-ho are running all over the place looking for him and then find him inside of a game room that's already been played and empty, but still dangerous!! Toddlers always sneak away, i know mine does😂

Echoes of Fear

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Warnings: Husband!Inho, Protective!Inho, Dad!Inho, Pregnant!Wifereader, Pregnancy-Related Stress, Child going missing, Parental Anxiety, Emotional Distress, Threats of Violence, Guilt and Self-Blame, Reference to Bereavement.

Word count: 1.3k

You just returned to your desk after putting Jaehyun down for his nap, feeling exhausted but determined to finish the work that had been piling up. Being seven months pregnant was taking its toll, making you more fatigued than ever. Inho, your caring and protective husband, constantly fretted about your well-being. He didn't even want you to work or do anything at all besides staying in bed all day. His concerns for your safety, Jaehyun's, and that of the baby were genuine and heartfelt, often leading to gentle arguments about your need to stay busy. He would lovingly remind you, "Your health, Jaehyun's health, and our baby's health come first, always."

Yet, bed rotting isn't your thing; you liked to stay busy. After a few hours of tackling your work, you decide it's time to check on Jaehyun, who should be fast asleep from his nap. The thought of seeing his peaceful face is a welcome break from the stress of the day.

However, when you enter his room, it is empty. Confusion hits you immediately, a wave of unease washing over you. "Jaehyun?" you call out, your voice echoing through the house. The silence is deafening, and a sense of foreboding begins to creep in.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm as you start searching the neighboring rooms. Each empty room you enter heightens your anxiety, but you try to maintain a semblance of composure.

Your serenity is shattered when you run into June, the nanny, who is pacing nervously in the hallway. Her usually neat appearance is disheveled, and her face is etched with worry.

"June, have you seen Jaehyun?" you ask, attempting to keep your voice steady.

She looks up, her expression filled with guilt and fear. "Jaehyun ran off, and I can't find him," she admits, voice trembling.

Your heart stops, a surge of panic flooding your system. "What! What do you mean you can’t find him? Where did he go?" you demand, your voice rising.

June stammers, trying to explain, but her words blur into an incoherent buzz. Your mind goes blank, your focus narrowing to a sharp point: finding Jaehyun and informing your husband, Inho. Instinctively, you reach for your phone, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Stay here and keep looking. I'll call Inho," you manage to instruct June, though your voice cracks with desperation.

You frantically dial Inho's number, the phone feeling slippery in your sweaty grip. Each ring amplifies your anxiety until he finally answers.

"Inho," you say, your voice on the edge of hysteria, "Jaehyun's missing! He's gone!" The words tumble out in a frantic rush.

Inho's calm façade shatters upon hearing the distressing news. The lines in his face deepen with worry, and his usual steady demeanor falters. Yet, somehow, he manages to regain enough composure to soothe your hysteria and urges you to recount every detail as he makes his way toward home. His mind races consumed by the sheer terror of losing Jaehyun.

By the time Inho arrives, he is a man on the edge, but the sight of your tear-streaked face nearly breaks him. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, his voice a soft murmur of comforting words. "We'll find him. I promise," he whispers into your hair, holding you as tightly as he dares.

Despite his own crippling fear, Inho maintains a composed exterior. He knows that he must be the pillar of strength for both you and the situation at hand. Gathering himself quickly, he turns to June, his eyes narrowing with a sharp intensity.

"How could you be so careless?" he snaps, his voice as cold and cutting as a blade. "I swear, if something happens to our son, it won’t just be you I'll deal with—it will be everyone you ever loved, anyone you’ve ever laid eyes on."

Your tears falling freely, you grab his arm gently, interrupting his tirade. "Inho, please," you plead softly. "Threatening her won’t bring Jaehyun back."

Inho takes a deep breath, locking eyes with you, understanding the profound truth in your words. His shoulders slump slightly as he nods, his rage giving way to helplessness for a moment. "I have guards searching the island, Y/N. We will find him. I promise," he vows, tightening his protective grip on you. He places one hand tenderly on your pregnant belly, the gesture meant to ground both of you.

"Breathe, please. For our baby," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your overwrought nerves.

You nod, clinging to him like a lifeline amid the tumultuous sea of your emotions. "You’ll bring him home," you say, your voice tinged with both hope and desperation, more as an affirmation than a question.

"I will," Inho reassures, his voice imbued with determination and a fierce resolve. Leaving you in the care of another trusted aide, he steps back, giving one last reassuring squeeze to your hand before joining the search.

As Inho rushes out to find Jaehyun, his mind is consumed with guilt. He berates himself for being a bad father, too busy with work to spend time with his child. The pain of losing his first wife is still fresh, and the mere thought of losing another loved one is unbearable.

"Why didn't I spend more time with him?" he mutters under his breath, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Memories of Jaehyun's laughter and your gentle smile flood his thoughts, intensifying his sense of urgency.

Frantically searching the building, calling out Jaehyun’s name, Inho's panic escalates with each empty room. His heart races, and his breaths come in short, desperate gasps. Just as he's thinking the worst, his walkie-talkie crackles to life—it's a call from a guard.

“Frontman,” says the guard, his voice slightly nervous, “I believe I know where your son is. He was seen heading towards the old game room. Stage 7.”

Without wasting a second, Inho sprints to the game room, dread and hope battling within him. He presses the button on his walkie-talkie and speaks in a cold, deadly voice, “If anyone hurts my child, there will be dire consequences.”

Approaching the room, Inho pushes open the door without hesitation. The familiar setup catches his eye immediately—it's the same room used for playing "Dalgona." His eyes scan the room desperately, and finally, he sees him— your son, Jaehyun, sitting in a corner, happily nibbling on a piece of Dalgona.

“Jaehyun!” Inho calls out, his voice a mixture of relief and authority.

Jaehyun looks up, startled and scared, his eyes widening in confusion. It dawns on Inho that he's still wearing the Front Man mask, which his son has never seen before.

Hastily, Inho removes the mask, revealing his face. “Jaehyun-ah, it’s appa,” he says, his voice softening.

Jaehyun's fear melts into recognition and then into a wide, delighted smile. “Appa!” he exclaims, jumping up and running into Inho’s open arms.

Relief washes over Inho as he holds Jaehyun tight, the weight of his fears dissolving in the warmth of the embrace. Tears of gratitude and overwhelming love sting his eyes as he showers his son with kisses.

“Never run off like that again,” Inho says, his voice gentle but firm. “Eomma and I were so worried.”

Jaehyun looks up, his small hand reaching out to wipe away Inho's tears. “Appa, no cry,” he says, his voice filled with innocence.

Surprised by his own tears, Inho chuckles softly, “Appa's okay. I love you so much."

“wuv you too,” Jaehyun responds, tightening his little arms around Inho's neck.

Inho's heart swells with love and relief. He puts his mask back on, knowing he must return to his role but grateful for this precious moment. He picks up Jaehyun, carrying him out of the game room.

As they head home, Inho thinks of you waiting for them, and he feels a profound sense of gratitude. Holding Jaehyun close, he carries the warmth of their reunion with him, vowing to cherish every moment with his family from now on.