#someone give me a nice stud

[luvergirl-535]

aw baby i hope you leave her soon fr :( you seem like such a kind soul and you dont deserve that at all

thank you :((. that’s very kind. yall are so sweet. idk why i attract the mean studs!!

[shouyuus]

sfw; in which popstar!reader buys vi some jackets

─── Ⅵ THE STORE IS CHIC, sharp collection of white-cut marble and black leather, the clothing racks all uniformly hung from the ceilings with industrial metal piping, the hangers themselves cast in thick, transparent acrylic.

"hello! welcome to our -- oh --"

you give the wide-eyed store clerk a camera-ready smile, tugging vi along behind you, fingers laced, even as she stares at the pristine store front with a mute incomprehension, as if she can't quite wrap her head around where the hell this is and what exactly you're doing there.

"hi! we're here to look at some jackets," you say loftily, casting vi a glance before nudging her forward. her head swivels towards you, an expression of incredulity eclipsing her shock as she registers your words.

"o-of course! and i just have to say -- i'm a huge fan --" the store clerk adjusts her sleek black-rimmed glasses, her hands clasped in front of her chest as you giggle, pursing your lips with an almost demure smile.

"aww... thanks!" but you leave it at that, turning back towards vi, giving her hand a squeeze, "you said you wanted a new jacket, right?"

"yeah..." vi answers slowly, still looking around as if she's not sure what that has to do with anything. a moment later, she turns back to you.

"so... let's look at some jackets!" you smile brightly before turning the full force of your charm back towards the store clerk, who nearly trips over herself trying to show the pair of you the season's latest designs.

vi follows behind you as if in a daze, barely registering the words the clerk is saying before she asks a question and you turn, waiting for vi to answer.

"uh... sorry, what?"

the clerk smiles and repeats, "was there any particular style you were interested in seeing today?"

vi blinks, her gaze flickering to you for a second before slingshotting back to the clerk, "no?"

"alright then..." the clerk licks her lips, "then shall i pull some pieces for you to try? and then maybe we'll see what you like from there?"

you nod, swinging yours and vi's hands between you, "anything cropped is good -- but a good quality leather. oh! and these studs are nice too --" you run a hand along a jacket with a row of silver studs along the collar.

"oh yes! and we have a few sample pieces from the next collection upstairs -- i can grab them for you --" the clerk scurries off, pulling a few things from the racks, disappearing into a room in the back, leaving you and vi alone in the cavernous shop.

vi bites her lips.

"you -- you don't have to do this for me."

you cock your head, "sure. but i want to. like i said, someone's gotta spoil you rotten."

vi's lips twitch before she breaks into a lopsided grin, her expression softening as she tugs you in to press a kiss to your cheek.

"i put a few in the fitting room for you," the clerk comes back, her cheeks flushed as she looks between you and vi, motioning towards the back. you give vi a tiny nudge before following along, running your fingers lightly over the silken sleeves of a white shirt.

but when vi slips on the first jacket, you can see the change it wrights in her almost immediately -- the way her shoulders pull back, her eyebrows shooting up as she looks herself over in the mirror, her toned stomach flexing as she grins at you from her reflection.

"whoa. this is nice."

you settle into a large chaise lounge tucked against the wall of the changing room, nodding as you drink in the view. and what a view it is. you'll never quite get over how startlingly attractive vi is -- her body a shrine to her strength, the delicacy of her features off-set by the sturdiness of her form.

and really, leather looks good on her. you lick your lips, clearing your throat as you tear your gaze away from the way the jacket hugs her biceps and cuts just above the bend of her waist, showing off her figure.

"yep! and they source only the highest quality leather, so it'll only get softer over time."

vi rubs her thumbs over the buttery material of the sleeves, looking over the silver detailing at the cuffs, the weight of the zipper that runs up the front.

"yeah... it feels... really good."

she frowns down at the price tag, and a second later, lets out a choked noise as she scrambles to take the jacket off.

"holy shit -- that's -- that's more zero's than i've ever seen in my entire life!"

you sigh, pushing up out of the chair and coming up behind vi to tug the jacket back onto her shoulders, turning her back towards the mirror. she frowns at you from the reflected image, her shoulders hunched up, her jaw locked tight.

"vi. don't think about the price, just... tell me if you like it."

vi sighs, crinkling her nose as she looks herself over.

"yeah, i do but --"

you shake your head, "then that's all i need to know!"

she chews on her bottom lip, her cheeks darkening beneath her scatter of freckles. she puffs out a helpless breath.

"it's just... it'll be the nicest thing anyone's ever given to me and --"

"then i'll get you something nicer, and then something nicer after that," you smile at her, tugging her around so you can push up to kiss her. she melts into your touch, a soft groan vibrating against your lips as your fingers dig into the soft leather lapel of the jacket.

you pull back, grinning cheshire-wide as you lilt your head, catching the fractured, wanting look in her eyes as she smiles down at you.

a soft knock comes at the door.

"how're things going in there? we have other sizes as well if things aren't fitting correctly."

you bite back a laugh as vi shrugs, mouthing a soft oops as the pair of you turn back to the suit of jackets hung up still for vi to try.

"we're good!" you sing-song, even as vi crinkles her nose and tugs off the first jacket to try on the next.

after a good thirty minutes of trying on all the jackets, of posing and vi pulling steadily more ridiculous poses just to make you laugh, she's caught between two -- one in plain black, and the other with a flurry of red-velvet patches, the sleeves and collar silver-studded.

you push open the door of the changing room and point at the two jackets.

"we'll take both."

"amazing!" the clerk claps, reaching out to take the hangers but vi jerks them back.

"wait -- what? i thought we were just getting one?"

you shrug, "you like them both. so we'll get both."

"b-but --" she sputters, fingers going slack as you tug the jackets from her and press them firmly into the store clerk's hands. she looks between the pair of you for a second longer before turning to ring both items up at the cash register.

"i don't need both jackets --"

you sigh, shaking your head, "and i don't need 37 pairs of heels either, but that's not the point here, is it?"

vi pauses, "you have 37 pairs of heels?"

"mm. just the pink ones." she flash her cheeky grin, turning back to the clerk and tugging a tiny cheque-book from your bag. you scribble something on a slip of pink parchment before tearing it out and pushing it towards her.

"send a pneuma-tube to the vault-keeper there. he'll settle up the payment for you."

"just the pink -- where'dyou even keep them? i've never seen --"

you cut her off with a daring look, "one of these days, i'll show you my closet floor. and it will be an adventure indeed, i promise." you turn back to the clerk with a gracious grin as she hands over a large bag with vi's new jackets.

"wait, how much --"

but you cut vi off by pressing the large bag into her chest.

"not nearly as much as i'd like to spend on you in the next place."

"the next place?" vi sputters, letting you shepherd her from the store, you tossing a quick wave over your should at the store clerk, who seems to be furiously texting on her phone.

you let out a dramatic grown, "come on vi, did you really think we'd stop after hitting just one shop? it's called a shopping spree for a reason. now -- lets get you some new pants -- there's a store down here that does custom fittings --"

"wait, princess."

you allow yourself to be tugged back, pausing to stare at her, the way she seems caught between two opposing urges. you sigh, placing your palms flat on her chest; her hand (the one not holding the shopping bag) settles at the bend of your waist like it's second nature.

"what?"

"it's just --" she chews over her words, and you can see the doubt flickering behind her eyes, hear the uncertainty laced like stitches between the spaces of all her words, "i -- i'm not used to this -- it's -- don't get me wrong, princess, i'm flattered you want to spoil me but... it's all just... so much. and i don't... i don't know if i deserve it."

her voice trails off into softer and softer words until she's almost mumbling. and it takes you a second to parse them out. but when you do, you're the one that cups her cheeks between your palms, giving them a tiny squeeze.

"violet, look at me."

she lifts her gaze to meet yours and not for the first time, she feels her breath still inside her chest at the way you're looking at her. like she's someone you've waited for for lifetimes. like a sailor might look at lost treasure -- something to be searched for across the breadth of entire oceans.

"you deserve all this and more. and i know you're not used to it... so we can take it slow if you want. maybe we can cap the shopping trip here and go get something to eat -- or just go window-shopping or something like that. but... i've always thought... that people like us -- people who grew up without the nice, expensive things can appreciate them more, right? you don't know how truly luxurious silk sheets feel on your skin if you hadn't slept in a mix-match quilt made from old window curtains. and champagne tastes that much better when you grew up on shitty beer --"

"hey, i happen to love shitty beer."

but vi's smiling, and so are you, mirroring her grin back up at her as she takes a breath and you feel her shoulders loosen.

"i know. i'm not saying that you have to let go of shitty beer," you say, rolling your eyes, giggling as vi leans down to bump your nose with hers, "i'm just asking you to let yourself be pampered occasionally."

"with insanely expensive clothes and champagne?"

"yes," you nod, laughing as she grazes her lips over yours, tugging you closer as you try to squirm away, "you don't have to toss out all your old clothes. we're just adding some nicer, new ones."

"fine, fine," she lets out an exaggerated breath before planting a soft kiss on your forehead, "thanks for the jackets, princess. they're really... really nice."

you tug playfully on a longer strand of her hair, twisting the end around one of your fingers.

"and you look really, really nice in them. so, it's a win for us both."

vi's grin goes crooked as she hikes an eyebrow.

"oh yeah? wanna tell me more about how good i looked in them?"

you lick your lips, "maybe later. after dinner tonight. i made reservations at my favorite place."

vi blinks, and for a second, you think she's going to protest again. then, she softens, her voice low and sweet as she reaches down to lace your fingers once more.

"yeah? and is there champagne at this favorite place of yours?"

"yep," you say, letting your lips pop over the 'p', turning down the street towards your next destination. you shoot her a glance and a cheeky smile over your shoulder.

"but don't worry. i'm sure they'll source you shitty beer if you ask very, very nicely."

[snail-day]

Get Ghost'd!

Sum: So you ghosted a guy that like really, really likes you, what could possibly go wrong?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Choso

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Drugging, Stalking, Obsession, Kidnapping, Trapping, Manipulation) Slight wholesome fluff? Older woman (5-10 years) x Gojo, Noncon smooches (Gojo), The girls are around 7 in this so young cult leader geto (Not as deranged yet but getting there), Choso's is more crack (Todo is mentioned)

WC: 6.1K

A/N: I was just only going to do Geto...but then I thought about all the other JJK characters that would just go so crazy if you just ignored them. No Nanami, because he's a good man and would respect it if you ignored him.

Bold of you to assume you could just ghost the strongest-

Gojo Satoru had left his number for you.

He didn’t usually do that sort of thing—relationships were messy, and he simply didn’t have the time. Not with the weight of his responsibilities and the constant demands on his talent.

But then there was you, Megumi’s sweet next-door neighbor. The one who went out of your way to drop off food for the kids, who somehow managed to fold their laundry just the way they liked it. How could he not leave his number?

After all, he was the brat’s caretaker now, their benefactor. And, well, he could be your benefactor too, if you asked. Not even nicely—he’d do it if you so much as batted those pretty eyelashes at him and gave him one of those soft, shy smiles.

So why hadn’t you texted?

You had the time to make food for the kids. You had the time to do their laundry. But not even a reply for him? Not even a polite “Please don’t contact me”?

He tried to let it slide. Maybe you were nervous, unsure how to handle someone like him. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. But the more he thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the sting of your silence.

He wasn’t unreasonable—he understood the age gap might make you hesitate. He was freshly twenty, probably a few years younger than you. But honestly? That should work in his favor. How often does a hot, young stud go out of his way for someone like you?

You should be relishing in his attention. Cherishing the fact that he’d chosen you. Because let’s face it—you weren’t getting any younger. You should really consider settling for him.

No—scratch that. You should be grateful.

And yet, here you were, acting like he didn’t exist.

The knock on your door came late, almost too late for it to be anything casual. The soft thud echoed through your small apartment, catching you mid-step as you were putting away the last of the laundry.

When you opened the door, you weren’t prepared for the sight of him.

Gojo Satoru stood there, tall and imposing, framed by the dim glow of the hallway light. His white hair caught the faint light, tousled in that effortlessly perfect way. His signature round glasses perched low on his nose, revealing piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow, unblinking, as they locked onto yours.

His hands were stuffed casually into his pockets, his lean frame relaxed, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his easygoing facade.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as light as ever, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been busy, huh?”

You blinked, thrown off by his sudden appearance. “Gojo? What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, a teasing grin spreading across his face, his impossibly white teeth gleaming. “Satoru,” he corrected. “I think we’re close enough for that, don’t you?”

You faltered, searching for a polite response, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“Not even a little text?” he continued, stepping just a fraction closer. “I left my number, you know. Thought it was pretty obvious I wanted to hear from you.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the doorway felt between you. “I’m sorry—I’ve been really busy with work and helping out with Megumi and—”

He laughed, cutting you off. It was light, almost playful, but there was something unsettling about it. “Oh, I know. You’ve been making food for the kids, doing their laundry, running yourself ragged for them. But for me?” He leaned in slightly, his height forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. “Not even a second of your time?”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, voice soft but dripping with something you couldn’t quite name. “I get it. Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe you think I’m too young, or you’re just not sure what to say to someone like me.” His grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not avoiding me, are you?”

The way he said it made your pulse quicken.

“N-no, of course not,” you stammered, taking an instinctive step back.

“Good,” he said smoothly, taking a step forward as if he belonged inside your space. “Because I’d hate for there to be any misunderstandings between us. I mean, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His gaze flicked over your shoulder at the neatly folded laundry behind you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “All this running around for the kids? It’s sweet, really. But you should be taking better care of yourself, too.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his presence pressing in on you. “I… I’m fine, really. I just—”

“Just need someone to help you out,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to something softer, almost coaxing. “You do so much for everyone else. Don’t you think you deserve someone to take care of you for a change?”

There was a strange intensity in his gaze now, an undercurrent of something far more dangerous than his usual teasing charm.

“Satoru, I—”

“I could do that, you know,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch lingered, his long fingers trailing along your jaw just enough to make your skin crawl. “Take care of everything. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Actually,” he cut in, his tone suddenly shifting, “I’ve been thinking. This arrangement? You here, me over there with the brats—it doesn’t make sense.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

He gave you a boyish grin, as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world. “We should live together.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. “W-what?”

“Think about it,” he said, stepping past you into your apartment without so much as a glance for permission. His long legs carried him casually across the room, but the tension in his movements was unmistakable. His sharp gaze darted over your space, the faint scowl on his face deepening as if your cozy apartment wasn’t quite up to his standards.

“You’re already taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki half the time,” he began, spinning around to face you, his white hair catching the dim light. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, their intensity almost too much. “And my life? Well, let’s just say it’s dangerous.”

“Satoru, I don’t—”

“You’d be safer with me,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, the usual playful lilt missing entirely. “And the kids, too. We’d be one big happy family. You wouldn’t have to worry about bills or working yourself to the bone anymore—I’d handle everything.”

He said it like he was doing you a favor. Like it was something you should have already agreed to without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you managed, your voice shaking slightly.

His expression twisted, the easygoing mask slipping entirely as frustration bled into his tone. “Why not? It makes perfect sense!” he snapped, his arms spreading wide in a gesture of exasperation. “You’re already basically living this life anyway, aren’t you? Cooking, cleaning, running yourself ragged for them. But when it comes to me? Nothing. Not a single second of your time!”

His words hit like a slap, the bitterness in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned.

“I didn’t ask for that,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, maybe you should have!” he retorted, his lips pulling into a sharp, mocking grin. “You’re fine on your own, huh? Sure, because that’s working so well for you. You think you’re being independent, but all I see is someone too stubborn to accept help—even when it’s standing right in front of you!”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his anger pressing down on you.

He laughed then, but it was humorless, the sound cutting through the air like broken glass. “You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that? You run around helping everyone else, but you can’t even give me a second of your attention. What’s the matter, huh? Am I not good enough for you?”

“Satoru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he interrupted, stepping closer, his height towering over you as his blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want to talk about fair? I’m offering you everything—safety, security, a life, and you’re standing here acting like I’m some stranger asking for a handout!”

His words stung, his frustration bubbling over into something meaner, something sharper.

“I’m fine on my own,” you insisted again, though your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” he spat, his tone venomous now. “You’re delusional if you think you are. You’re just making excuses because you’re too scared to admit you need me.” He shook his head, his grin returning, bitter and condescending. “But that’s okay. I’ll fix that for you.”

Before you could respond, his hands shot up to cup your face, his long fingers curling just enough to hold you in place. His grip was firm, unrelenting, as his piercing blue eyes bore into yours.

“Stop overthinking it,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, though his words felt more like a command than reassurance. “You’re wasting time. I know what’s best for you. And it’s me.”

You barely had time to gasp before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss wasn’t tender or affectionate—it was rough, forceful, and far too intense. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, cutting into the dryness of them causing a ting of blood to pool at the skin, the pressure somewhere between biting and bruising, as if he were marking you rather than kissing you.

Your hands flew up instinctively to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his grip like iron. Every movement was desperate, consuming, and entirely unyielding.

“Satoru, stop,” you tried to mumble against his mouth, but he swallowed the words with another bruising kiss. It felt suffocating, as if he were trying to imprint himself on you—erase any thought of resistance.

When he finally pulled back, your lips felt swollen and raw, your breath coming in shallow gasps. But the worst part wasn’t the kiss itself—it was the look in his eyes.

They were bright, almost gleaming with satisfaction, but there was something beneath the surface.

He licked his lips, his smirk widening as he took in your dazed expression. “See?” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a chill down your spine. “You’re already mine. You just don’t realize it yet.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as you tried to step back, but his hands were still on your waist, holding you in place.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued, his tone almost soothing now, though it carried an eerie finality. “You’ll see. This is what’s best. For you. For the kids. For all of us.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but as you stumbled back, his eyes stayed locked on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“And don’t even think about running,” he added, his voice soft but chilling. “You won’t get far. I’ll make sure of it.”

Because Gojo Satoru didn’t lose. And you weren’t going anywhere.

I think I may have just ghosted a cult leader, how fucked am I? 

Geto Suguru sat in his living room, legs tucked beneath the kotatsu table, where the twins lay watching Ponyo for what felt like the hundredth time today. The familiar opera intro played, but he barely noticed it, he had lost count of how many times he'd have to endure it. His sleek, dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, the ends brushing the fabric of his yukata, and a faint shadow from his sharp cheekbones danced across his face in the flickering light.

The DVD would end up in the highest cabinet soon, stored away with the Sailor Moon box set. Only to pretend later on that he has no idea of where the discs went, that the twins should really take better care of their things.

His tea sat untouched on the table, long gone cold as he stared at his phone. Three days since you’d last messaged him. Four since he’d seen you. His dark eyes, always so calculating and composed, narrowed slightly as he swiped through the unread threads of his polite but unanswered messages. He told himself it was fine, that you were busy, but the creeping unease in his chest said otherwise.

Being ignored was new to him, something he hadn’t experienced in years. Women had always sought him out, drawn by the quiet intensity of his gaze, the sharp elegance of his jawline, and the magnetic calm that seemed to follow him like a shadow. They threw themselves at him, eager for a glance, a touch, a word.

But you? You were different. Sweet, shy, and delicate. A part of him had loved that about you. Now it gnawed at him.

Had you used him?

The thought was intrusive, bitter, but it refused to leave. He’d erased your debt, lifted the curse that had plagued you, welcomed you into his home—and into his life. He’d done it all for you, because your smile had been enough. The way it softened your features and brightened your eyes—he couldn’t forget it. You made the darkness in his world feel lighter.

But maybe it wasn’t enough for you.

Maybe you’d only stayed because you owed him. Maybe, now that you were free, you saw no reason to stay.

His hands tightened into fists, the phone shaking slightly in his grasp.

Staring at his phone, he reread the messages he’d sent you over the past few days:

"Hope you got home safe." "The snow’s falling. The girls have been asking when you’ll come over for hot cocoa." "Good morning. Please eat well." "Did you drink water today?"

What he wanted to send was, "Was the kiss too much?"

But every time he typed it out, his thumb hovered over the send button before deleting it. He’d even tried adding an emoji once, only to groan in frustration. Giving up, he reached for the twins, pulling them into a big hug. Their squeals of delight momentarily distracted him as he tickled their sides before letting them go. They returned to their movie, leaving him on the floor, still staring at his phone.

Why did you look at him with those wide, innocent eyes when he cradled your cheek and kissed you goodbye? Why did you press your warm hands against his chest, trembling as you murmured, “We shouldn’t”?

We definitely should, was all he wanted to say.

He had wanted to kiss you ever since that day you ended up babysitting the girls in his apartment. The kitchen was filled with laughter as Nanako sat on the counter, mixing a bowl of cupcake batter, while Mimiko dozed in your arms. You worked together to bake cookies, the domestic scene so painfully perfect it left an impression he couldn’t shake.

You’d cook for him on nights when he came home late, too busy with cult duties to eat. Sometimes you’d bring a spoon to his lips, letting him taste-test your dishes, though they never needed anything. They were always perfect—just like you.

You should have stayed.

You should have realized how much he needed you, how much the girls needed you.

And yet, deep down, he knew why you might not.

You were a non-sorcerer.

The thought of it, the implications of it, only deepened his frustration. How could you fit into his new world—a world built to eliminate people like you? People who didn’t understand the true horrors of jujutsu, who were blind to the curses lurking in the shadows. His grand plan, his vision for a better, cleaner world, was supposed to make everything simpler. Sorcerers would rule, and the weak would fall away.

But you…

You were the exception.

Suguru hated that about himself, hated that he would allow one tiny thread to unravel the tapestry he’d been weaving. You didn’t belong in the world he was building, yet you were the one piece he couldn’t let go of.

How could he protect you in a world where the strong would reign? Where weakness—your weakness—would be punished?

The memory of your laugh cut through the haze of his thoughts. It had been so genuine, so sweet, so human. You didn’t belong in his plans, and yet you did. You had to.

Because without you, his grand vision felt hollow. Without you, there was only emptiness.

His jaw clenched as the realization solidified. You didn’t understand it yet, but he was doing this for you. For the girls. For all of them. But mostly, for himself.

He would protect you from the world he was creating. No one would touch you. No one would harm you. You’d live in safety, as his. His alone.

The phone screen lit up, mocking him with your silence. He could see when you read his messages. That was the cruelest part. You weren’t gone. You were ignoring him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the smooth planes of his features momentarily obscured as he exhaled through gritted teeth. Maybe he’d been too soft with you. Maybe you thought you could just walk away now that the curse was gone, now that you didn’t owe him anything.

But you were wrong. You owed him everything.

The girls needed a mother. He needed you. The thought of you living a life without him, smiling for someone else, was unbearable. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he typed out another message.

"The girls miss you.""I miss you."

Suguru’s thumb hovered over the send button, his jaw tightening as he debated. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he erased the message. Words wouldn’t be enough. Not anymore.

You needed a reminder.

He picked up his phone again, this time dialing. His assistant, Manami, answered on the second ring, her tone eager—too eager, though he ignored it. Manami had always looked at him in a way that suggested she wanted more than her job description entailed. A part of him in the past would humor the affection. Yet, now he has you. .

“I need you to watch the girls,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll be out for a while, picking up a... gift for them.”

Manami didn’t question him, though her tone softened, as though she thought he was doing something noble. If only she knew.

As he ended the call, his gaze shifted to the cult’s records, neatly organized and as precise as always. He was thankful for the meticulous documentation; it gave him everything he needed. Not just your number, but your address, your emergency contacts, your employment details—more than enough to find you.

Suguru let his fingers trace the edge of the file, his dark eyes scanning the information. Every detail about you, laid out in front of him. You had no idea how easily you could be found.

You could try to run, try to disappear—but you were his from now on.

Grabbing his coat, Suguru stepped out into the snow, the icy wind stinging his face. Words had failed; now he’d remind you. 

The soft glow from your apartment window illuminated the snow-covered street. He didn’t knock when he reached your door. He didn’t need to. The door yielded easily, and he slipped inside, the faint warmth of your home wrapping around him. The contrast between the cold air outside and the heat within was sharp, almost dizzying, but he welcomed it.

The sound of your soft, uneven breaths reached his ears before he saw you. There you were, standing in the kitchen, a cup of tea clutched in your hands. Your shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on your forehead despite the winter chill. He noticed the trembling in your hands, the red tinge to your nose, and the way your other hand clutched at your chest when you coughed—a deep, rattling sound that made his brow furrow for a fleeting moment.

You looked pale, worn down, and fragile. For a moment, the sight almost softened him. Almost.

Almost made him forget why he was there. Forget the punishments he had planned. The ways he would teach you to never leave him again.

But that fleeting moment of pity was snuffed out as quickly as it came, replaced by a darker, more resolute purpose.

You had to learn.

You had to understand what it meant to belong to him.

Suguru’s fingers flexed at his sides, his mind racing through the plans he had already set in motion. He would remind you of his power—show you what a real curse user was capable of. That as sweet as he can be, he can also be cruel.

If fear wasn’t enough, he had other methods. He had already prepared the sedatives, carefully measured and tucked into his coat pocket. Once the fight left your eyes—and it would—he would take you home.

Home, where you would learn your role.

You would become the mother the girls needed. His law was absolute in their eyes, and soon it would be the same for you.

And if you resisted? If you dared to reject him, even after all he’d done for you?

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that outcome, but he’d already considered it. Conditioned responses. Physical reminders. Unsavory methods. Honestly, he didn't want to hurt you. However, he needed you. The girls needed you.

No matter what it took, you would learn to stay. To belong.

Then you turned and saw him.

The teacup slipped from your hands, shattering against the floor. The sharp sound echoed in the tense silence that followed, but Suguru didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, his expression unreadable.

“Ah,” he murmured, his voice soft and lilting, as though he were speaking to a child. “You’re sick.”

He stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate, and predatory. The sight of your wide, fearful eyes only spurred him on.

“Too sick,” he continued, his tone warm but laced with an edge of mockery, “to even send me a little message?”

You stumbled back, your breath hitching as you pressed yourself against the counter. Your pale skin, the feverish flush to your cheeks, and the way you clutched at your chest as another cough wracked your body only made you seem more breakable.

Suguru stopped just a few steps away, watching as you trembled, your fear and exhaustion painting you as something delicate—something his.

“You’ve been suffering all alone,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, soothing hum. He reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist before curling around it with surprising gentleness.

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over your fevered skin. “I’m here now.”

He let his thumb stroke the inside of your wrist, his gaze unrelenting as his other hand moved to your cheek. The touch was soft, reverent even, but his dark eyes betrayed him, gleaming with something that made your stomach churn, something that sent shivers that weren’t from your cold.

“You’ve been making bad decisions, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice soft and sweet, though his words cut like glass. “Running yourself ragged. Avoiding me.”

His fingers tightened slightly around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his control clear as you pathetically attempted to pull away.

“But it’s okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’ll take care of everything now.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, his voice dripping with false kindness, “All you have to do is listen. Obey. I really didn’t want to have to go this route.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His breath was warm against your fevered skin, his tone deceptively soft, as though he were doing you a favor.

You had never thought he was this interested in you. Suguru Geto was composed, almost aloof in how he carried himself—sharp features that seemed carved from stone, softened only by the flowing darkness of his hair. He had always been polite, controlled, and even gentle in his mannerisms, but you’d never felt singled out by his attention. Never thought the kindness in his deep, almond-shaped eyes was anything more than surface-level.

But now, as those same eyes pinned you in place, you realized how mistaken you’d been. His presence felt suffocating, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name, and every movement he made was deliberate—calculated.

Suguru straightened slowly, his hand slipping from your wrist to his pocket, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The room felt unbearably small under his presence, the heat of his gaze making your fevered skin prickle. His dark eyes never left yours, their intensity weighing down on you, as if he could see through the fragile walls of your thoughts.

When his fingers brushed the familiar shape of the syringe tucked into his coat pocket, his smile widened. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—a slight curve of his lips that revealed nothing of the storm swirling beneath his calm exterior. There it was—his failsafe. The assurance that you wouldn’t resist him any longer.

Your gaze flickered between his face and his hand, confusion and fear swimming in your fevered, glassy eyes. You wanted to protest, to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The trembling in your limbs, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the subtle pull of his voice, coaxing and unyielding, made it impossible to act.

Then, instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your trembling body seeking comfort, seeking something you didn’t understand. To him, it was perfect.

His hand, warm and firm, cupped your cheek as though you were fragile porcelain. The juxtaposition of his gentleness and the dark glint in his eyes made your stomach churn. He tilted his head slightly, the smooth cascade of his hair framing his face like a curtain, and his gaze softened, almost tender, as though he were truly savoring the moment.

Like the sweet lamb you were, you stepped willingly into the lion’s den.

“You’re coming home,” he said softly, his tone a mixture of mockery and affection. The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable, and you barely had time to comprehend them before you felt the sharp prick of the needle pierce your skin.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was fleeting. The sedative coursed through your veins almost immediately, your body surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness.

Suguru caught you effortlessly as you fell, his arms wrapping around your limp form with an ease that betrayed just how much he had anticipated this moment. He cradled you against his chest with a gentleness that felt almost loving, the steady beat of his heart contrasting with the sinister gleam in his eyes.

“There we go,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as though you were something precious. “Let’s get you home, Sweetheart.”

What the hell does ghosting even mean? What does spamming even mean? Poor fella is trying to figure out life. 

Now you had given poor Choso your number. Really, truly a mistake on your part. 

You thought he was hot—mysteriously so, with his brooding gaze and those face tattoos that made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t a big deal, just a spur-of-the-moment thing when you spotted him at the bookstore while out with friends. You’d caught his eye, flashed him a smile, and casually slipped him your number on a whim.

What you didn’t realize was that poor Choso didn’t really know what to do with it.

For him, it was monumental. You didn’t just hand over your number; you handed over your heart. At least, that’s what Todo told him when Choso, unsure what the gesture meant, hesitantly sought advice. He couldn’t just ask his little brother these things, so he went to the expert about these things! After all, Todo was dating an idol! 

“She must be madly in love with you!” Todo had declared with his usual bombastic enthusiasm, clapping Choso on the shoulder so hard it nearly made him topple. “To give you her number without even talking? That’s destiny, brother! Love at first sight!”

And Choso believed him. Why wouldn’t he? Todo seemed confident, experienced.

So Choso, armed with Todo’s wisdom, started texting you.

And texting.

And texting.

At first, they were awkwardly sweet messages:

Choso: Hey. It’s Choso. From the bookstore. You gave me your number.Choso: Are you free to talk? I want to know more about you.

But then they kept coming.

Choso: Do you like horror books? Or romance? I can read both if you do.Choso: I saw a cat today. It reminded me of you.Choso: Do you like cats? I mean, not that you look like one. But you’re soft. Wait, not that I know if you’re soft. You just seem soft.

And then they started to come faster, his nervous overthinking spilling into endless walls of text.

Choso: Did I say something wrong? Are you upset with me?Choso: I hope I’m not bothering you. I just… I think we’d be good together.Choso: Please text me back. I can wait.

What Choso didn’t realize was that spamming someone all day wasn’t exactly endearing—it was overwhelming. But in his mind, the silence meant something entirely different.

“Todo,” Choso said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, his phone clutched in both hands. His dark brows furrowed as he stared at the unanswered messages. “She hasn’t responded. Do you think… do you think she’s playing hard to get?”

Todo grinned, throwing an arm around Choso’s shoulders. “Absolutely, brother! She’s testing your devotion. This is how women work. They want to see if you’re truly worthy.”

Choso nodded solemnly, his determination renewed. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her I’m serious.”

His solution? Doubling down.

When texting didn’t work, he tried calling. His voice shook the first few times—it felt so intimate, so real.

“Hi,” he murmured into the phone one evening after your voicemail picked up again. “It’s me. Choso. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you (the poor guy has only seen you one time). I mean—I know we haven’t talked much, but I miss you anyway (you have only exchanged names by the way). I think about you a lot. Please call me back when you can.”

And when the calls didn’t work, his thoughts began to spiral.

Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He’d seen it on TV—people ghosted because they couldn’t bring themselves to tell someone they were in trouble. Yes, that must be it.

So he started showing up.

First, it was just near the bookstore where he’d met you, hoping to “bump into” you. Then he wandered around the streets, retracing the route he thought you might take home.

Finally, he remembered the faint logo on your shopping bag that day, the one with your number scrawled on the receipt of. He found the shop, waited outside it for hours, hoping for a glimpse of you.

When he didn’t see you, his concern grew.

“Todo,” he said again one night, pacing his living room, his fingers tightening around his phone. “I don’t think she’s okay. She wouldn’t just ignore me like this. Not if she loved me.”

Todo shrugged, flipping through a magazine. “Maybe you need to show her how much you care. Do something big. Romantic.”

Choso froze, considering the advice. Todo was right. He just needed to show you.

And so, as you walked into your apartment the next evening, juggling groceries in both arms, you froze at the sight of a figure standing awkwardly in your living room.

“Choso?” you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat.You were already reaching for your phone. “How did you—”

He turned to you, a hesitant smile on his lips, his hands holding a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers. His dark eyes glimmered with a mixture of nervousness and relief, as if he were genuinely happy to see you.

“I was worried,” he said softly, stepping toward you. “You weren’t answering… so I thought I’d come check on you.” You had never given him your address. You had only given him your family name. 

You stared at him, your mind racing, caught somewhere between shock and fear.

Choso tilted his head, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Did I… do something wrong?”

You stared at Choso, your groceries still in your arms, the door half-open behind you. He didn’t move any closer, but the sight of him standing there, so out of place in your living room, sent a chill down your spine.

“How… how did you get in here?” you managed, your voice trembling.

Choso blinked, tilting his head slightly as if you’d asked him a question he didn’t understand. “Your lock wasn’t very secure,” he said simply, holding up what looked like a slim piece of metal. “I was worried. You haven’t been responding, and I thought something might have happened to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost disarming, but the implication of his words made your skin crawl.

“Choso,” you said slowly, setting the groceries down on the counter and keeping the island between you as a buffer, “you can’t just… break into someone’s home.”

His brows furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “I wasn’t breaking in,” he said softly, almost as if the accusation hurt him. “I just needed to make sure you were okay. You haven’t been answering me, and I thought…” His voice trailed off, and he glanced at the flowers in his hands, his grip tightening slightly around the stems.

“I’ve been busy,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “You didn’t need to do this. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” he said quietly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was an intensity in his gaze, like he truly believed every word he was saying. “You’re not fine. If you were, you would’ve answered me. Something must be wrong.”

“No, Choso,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you because something’s wrong. I’ve just been busy with work and other things. And honestly… you’re sending way too many messages. It’s overwhelming.”

His face fell, the fragile hope in his expression crumbling. “Overwhelming?” he echoed, as if the word were foreign to him. “But I thought… I thought you wanted me to care about you.”

You hesitated, the raw vulnerability in his voice making your stomach twist. “Choso, I gave you my number because I thought you seemed nice. That’s all. I didn’t mean for this to… to go this far.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as if trying to process your words. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, he spoke, his voice trembling slightly. “So… you don’t want me to care about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said quickly, trying to keep your tone gentle. “I just think maybe you’ve misunderstood. I didn’t mean for you to think… we were something more.”

His grip on the flowers tightened, the fragile petals crumpling beneath his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought.

Then, slowly, he nodded. “I understand,” he murmured, though his tone was unsettlingly calm. “You’ve been busy. You’ve been… overwhelmed.”

You exhaled in relief, thinking maybe he’d finally gotten the message. But then he looked up at you again, his eyes bright with a strange, unsettling determination.

“I’ll just come check on you more often,” he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d made up his mind.

Your heart sank. “Choso, that’s not—”

“No, it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone almost cheerful now. “You don’t have to feel bad. I know you’re busy, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with everything. But I can help. I can make sure you’re okay. You shouldn’t have to do everything on your own.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, made your blood run cold.

“You don’t need to do that,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to check on me.”

“But I want to,” he insisted, his expression softening with something that almost looked like affection. “I care about you. Isn’t that what you want? Someone who cares?”

You stepped back, the counter pressing into your spine as you tried to put more distance between you. “Choso, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said again, cutting you off with a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll make it work. You don’t have to say anything now. I’ll take care of it.”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re never too busy again.”

And then he was gone, leaving the faint scent of crushed flowers in the air.

You locked the door behind him, your hands trembling as you slid the deadbolt into place. The faint scent of crushed flowers still lingered in the air, a sickly-sweet reminder of his presence.

For a moment, the silence felt almost deafening. You stared at the door, hoping—praying—that this would be the end of it.

Choso didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand boundaries, didn’t understand what his actions meant to you. To him, this wasn’t wrong—it was pure love. That you must love him too. 

[rosemariiaa]

~Obsessed~

𐙚— pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚— rosie’s note: hi hi there! this is one is a little short only because i was struggling with the other fic that was supposed to be posted tonight :( , so spare me i’ll work on that and drop it asap so no worries! but enjoy p being obsessed (per usual), happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—link: rosie’s bookshelf

𐙚— themes: fluff, obsession (kinda)

𐙚— taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @imaginespazzi @pbaz7 @bueckersbitch @ldapper @makethemhoesmad

Obsession gets a bad reputation.

People throw the word around like it’s some kind of sickness, like it’s something to be ashamed of. They make it sound desperate, unhealthy, like the person on the other end of it has no control over themselves. Like caring too much, or noticing too much, or wanting too much makes you weak.

People might see obsession as an expression of imbalance or weakness, as though the person experiencing it has lost their sense of self or become consumed in a way that’s unhealthy. It can be painted as a lack of boundaries, as if the person is so fixated that they can no longer think clearly or act rationally.

But I don’t see it that way.

Obsession doesn’t always have to be negative.

The truth is, the line between obsession and love or passion is often blurry. It’s about how you channel it, how you manage it. When you can let yourself feel deeply without losing yourself in it, obsession doesn’t need to be something to be ashamed of. Sometimes, it’s exactly that level of investment that makes things meaningful.

Being obsessed means you see the details—the things no one else notices. It means you care enough to memorize the way someone bites their lip when they’re thinking or the way their laugh changes depending on whether they actually find something funny or if they’re just being polite.

And when it comes to Azzi, yeah, maybe I’m obsessed.

Actually, not maybe. I am.

And I don’t care. I take pride in it.

I take pride in the fact that I can pick her voice out of a crowd before I even see her. That I know the difference between her real smile and the one she gives when she’s just trying to be nice. That I know she has a playlist for every mood, even though she always pretends she’s too busy to mess with that kind of stuff.

There’s something satisfying about knowing her like that—like I’m in on some big secret that no one else has figured out yet.

Take last week, for example. We were sitting on her couch after practice, both exhausted, the TV playing some rom com movie neither of us was paying attention to. Azzi was scrolling through her phone, her face soft in the glow of the screen. I wasn’t even watching the movie anymore. I was watching her. I always do.

The way her brow furrowed a little as she read something. The way she tucked her legs under herself like she was trying to make herself smaller, even though she already takes up so little space. The way she absentmindedly played with the drawstring of her hoodie, a tiny detail that no one else would’ve even noticed.

I couldn’t help it. I had to say something.

“What’re you thinking about?” I asked, my voice cutting through the quiet.

Azzi glanced up at me, her expression unreadable for a moment before she shrugged. “Nothing important.”

But I could tell by the way she said it that it was important—at least to her.

And that’s the thing. I don’t think anyone else would’ve caught that. No one else would’ve seen the way her lips twitched like she was holding back a smile or the way her eyes softened like she was glad someone had asked.

I don’t mind being obsessed with her because it means I get to see her like this. In moments when she’s not “Azzi the stud” or “Azzi the calm and collected one.” When she’s just… Azzi.

And yeah, I’ll admit it: I look at her like she’s the only person in the room. But can you blame me?

She has this way of pulling me in without even trying. Like everything else fades, and it’s just her—her laugh, her smile, the way her curls frame her face by themselves when she’s not paying attention.

If that makes me obsessed, then fine. I’ll own it.

Because I don’t think obsession is a bad thing. Not when it means loving someone like this. Not when it means knowing someone in a way that no one else does.

Not when it’s her.

[jasmines-library]

It's A Trap

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY THIRTEEN : ALT Prompt: Used As Bait

Summary: In order to capture one of Gotham's infamous criminals, you are used as bait.

Warnings: Kinda creepy man, fake kidnapping.

Word count: 812

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“This is a terrible idea” Jason repeated for the umpteenth time as he finished fastening the ropes around your wrists, binding you to the chair. The binds were loose enough that you could slip out of them easily but tight enough that they looked real and effective enough. 

“Well, it's the only option we’ve got.” You retorted back, giving the ropes an experimental tug. 

You were currently trying to hunt down one of Gotham’s most troublesome criminals. He was a rather unusual guy, who was rather fixated on you. But he was sly and there seemed to be only one way to catch him. Under an alias, Tim began to befriend your target. He claimed that he knew you; that he could kidnap you and leave you at a rendezvous spot for him. For a price, of course. It had to seem realistic. So now, you were setting up your own trap for him. They had tied you up in the middle of the room, where they would hide in the shadows waiting for him to arrive before surrounding him and finally taking him to jail. It seemed to be a fail-proof plan, but none of your team were particularly keen on the idea of leaving you out as bait. 

“Still. Doesn't mean we like it.”

“Well tough.” You retorted. “Because this is what we’re going with. Any news?”

Tim glanced down at his burner phone that he had been using to message the target.  “He’s about 10 minutes out.”

“Alright.” You nodded as everyone took their place. Tim and Jason took their spots in the rafters above, and Dick and Damian took their places in the dark corners of the room as they waited anxiously for him to arrive.

When you heard the sound of the metal doors clanging shut a few minutes later, you took that as your que to lay on the tears. To begin the distressed civilian facade. Because right now you weren’t a vigilante. You were the daughter of Bruce Wayne who had just been kidnapped. You faked the tears, thrashing around as you pretended to try and break free from the binds. It was quite distressing for your brothers to watch; seeing you tied up and struggling, even if they knew it was all just an act. And then the figure stepped into the room.

He was a tall, lanky figure who wore a crooked smile on his face that only seemed to grow when he saw you struggling in fear at the sight of him. He stepped closer, pinching your chin between his fingers.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing….” He cooed, studding your body closely. 

You pretended to cower, trying to pull away from you. 

“I knew you would be even prettier in person….” he said turning your head to the side “and to think…..someone else did all the dirty work for me. How does that feel, Princess?”

“Please don’t hurt me–”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Hurt you? On no, Princess. You are going to make me a lot of money…how much do you think Daddy will pay to get you back unharmed…..” 

“Please—“ you begged, screaming for help. 

The man just laughed. “No one’s here to save you, princess. No Batman or any of his little birdies. It’s just me and you~” 

“Are you sure about that?” Jason asked, dropping down from the roof, his gun cocked in an intimidating matter. 

The man wasn’t scared however. He just scoffed. “Red hood. How nice of you to join us. Did the Batman send you?” 

“No.” Tim stepped out from the shadows, tossing the man the burner phone and revealing his identity. This time the criminal's face dropped. “I did.” 

“You—“ the man seethed. 

As the conversation unfurled, you began to work on the ropes, making quick work out of the loose knots. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble.” Tim took another step forwards. “And we have all of the evidence against you.” 

“It seems you’re not going to get your money after all.” You said. 

The man tried to flee, but Dick took a step towards to block the exit. He was trapped. 

“No. No—“ the criminal cursed, trying to find a way out. 

“There is no escape.”  Damian said. “The GCPD are already on their way. You’re going to jail for a long time.” 

“I’ll get you for this.” He spat. 

“I’m sure.” Dick said and he placed the cuffs around him. 

Jason had moved over to you. He place an anxious hand on your arm. “Are you alright.” 

“Yeah. Fine”

“You sure?” He frowned. Jason was a worrier. 

“I promise.” 

“Good……I’m never letting you do that again. Just so you know.”

“Why not? It worked didn’t it? And I’m fine. Really.” 

“I know. But I don’t like seeing you like that.” 

“I know, jay. I’m sorry. But I’m fine. I promise.” 

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY TWELVE ⛧DAY FOURTEEN ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[thefirstforgottenpages]

Tag Me in!

Authors note: ikikik this isn’t my main blog and blah blah but RHEA RIPLEY???? HELLO???? never have I ever been more down tf bad for a woman in my life she’s so FINE! that being said, here’s a fic to fuel my delusions <3

Warnings: smut, praise, mommy/mami kink, strap(reader receiving), oral,frenemies to lovers, manhandling, wrestler!Reader, charlotte flair and nia jax (sorry if y’all like them), smut with a slight plot?!?!? No wayyyy!!! anddd I think that’s it 

Hope you enjoyyyy

You guys were the underdogs. The whole WWE universe knew it. Even though you and Rhea were crowd favorites, the combined strength of a tag team consisting of the Charlotte flair and Nia freakin Jax? Even you were a bit unsettled about the odds. You let out a shaky breath admittedly nervous, struggling to lace your sports bra’s corset-like ties, you groan, angered, but it quick turns into a gasp when a pair of large hands trail down your back.

Whipping around, you’re relieved albeit a bit pissed, to see Rhea smirking down at you. “Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” You roll your eyes but nonetheless a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Rhea chuckles, a sound that annoyingly makes your smile grow wider. “Not when you look like that.” She purrs. You grimace waving her off even though a blush dusts your cheeks at her flirtatious words.

“Ripley, I will pin you myself in that ring.” You growl back— you’re only half serious. You look her up and down before shaking your head you return to your vanity. “Nahh you hate Flair and Jax too much to do that.” Rhea rasps, her muscular arms wrapping around your waist to shake you playfully. She places her head in the crook of your neck before pulling away. You can’t help but notice the longing twinge in your stomach as she lets go. 

“Damn straight I do,” you chide cheekily, “And if you’d be a doll and let me get ready— maybe we’d win!” You give her arm a teasing shove. “Not with that puny strength we won’t.” Rhea tilts her head up grinning at your indignation. You tsk, preceding to lean closer to the vanity glass to apply your signature makeup. You’re concentrated until you look up making eye contact with Rhea through the mirror. You both look away. Rhea’s gaze focuses on the top of her studded combat boots while yours falls upon your makeup bag.

This is how your relationship was with her. You’d flirt, fight, then shyly not talk to each other. It would drive you wild. The glances. The stares. The insults. The glares. You loved to hate-love her. Irrelevant to how much  you protested to even harboring a smidgen of a crush on her, your friends would give you absolute hell for it. 

In fact, the last conversation you had with one of them— Liv Morgan, came to mind in your fazed out state. “Rhea’s only ever like that if she likes someone, she’s just really bad at… well… being nice.”  You give a small glance to the woman once more. She was infuriating… yet you couldn’t deny she was quite literally the most gorgeous, determined, and strong person you’d ever met. You shake your hand another small secretive smirk gracing your lips as you continue to busy yourself with your makeup. So here you sat, the woman of your thoughts standing tall and brooding behind you.

You didn’t know how you felt about Rhea Ripley anymore.

“You… need help with the ties?” Rhea’s low voice breaks the silence— and your swirling musings. You nod words failing you and soon feel her hands once more trail gently over the expanse of your skin. You suck in a breath as the corset sinches you in. Your breath stays held as Rhea’s hand stays at the arch of your back. Looking over your shoulder, you make eye contact with the raven haired woman. As Rhea parts her obsidian lips a deafening knock is heard on the other side of the dressing room door. “Ripley!! you’re on in 5!” Rhea and your stage name is shouted through the door at you, the noise stuns you back to the present moment once more.

Rhea’s demeanor stiffens and her hands finally drop from your waist. You swear you see a flicker of unease settle on her strong features before it’s wiped away by her signature cocky glare. Your expression nearly mirrors hers as you nudge her shoulder a Cheshire Cat grin taking over your features. “Save it for when we win love.” The term of endearment is cooed at you while a remix of your and Rhea’s theme plays signaling your entrance. And as she wrapped her arm around your waist to lead you into the ring you find yourself leaning into her muscular form unafraid of the task to come. 

Later, back in your shared hotel, you were sulking. Although you had won— much to Rhea’s teasing delight, (So much delight in fact that she had picked you up kissing you on the cheek as you clung to her beaming towards the cameras). You were deathly sore from the fight. You had taken quite a few blows from the formidable force that was Nia Jax. You murmur softly arching your back at the sharp pain. A gruff deep chuckle sounds behind you. “That bad huh?” you sigh nodding, eyes widening when you take in Rhea’s post-game appearance; Her hair fluffed out and still damp from her shower, low waisted sweatpants precariously hanging on her hips. “You look rough.” You say lying right through your teeth. With a warm realization, you found yourself wanting…her.

“Not as rough as you.” Rhea retorts, except there’s not any malice behind it. Her blue eyes soften as the soft smile she has come to love graces your features. “You don’t mean that.” You say it as a statement because you know she doesn’t. “I don’t.” Comes her uncharacteristically warm reply. Your cheeks heat at the sincerity.  

“You did good,” You muse, you don’t miss the way Rhea’s breath hitches as your hand comes to soothe a blooming bruise on her cheekbone. “In the ring I mean.” You giggle clarifying, as Rhea closes her eyes at the sensation of your smaller hand on her. “We actually make a rather good team when we’re not fighting.” Rhea mumbles, practically leaning on you with a tiredness that matched your own.

It was intolerable being this close to her, you thought. But as your gaze fluttered over her features once more, you realize that it isn’t. It isn’t intolerable being this close to Rhea, quite the opposite actually.

It was entirely too tolerable being this close to her.

The calm silence that hangs in the room speaks volumes. But your steady voice breaks it. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now.” You confess lowly, shrinking in, self conscious when Rhea stiffens. 

You relax, however, as her lips meet yours. You whine into the kiss when Rhea’s body presses against yours. There was a possessiveness to her actions that already had you shivering in anticipation. You pull away out of breath. Rhea kissed like she fought. In charge, and demanding.

You loved it.

“I think I like you too.” Rhea’s voice has a gravelly timbre to it and it sends you reeling. You don’t register her jest until her thumb swipes across your bottom lip. Her hands find their way to your lower back and you don’t hesitate to jump into Rhea’s arms as she pulls you toward the messy hotel bed. 

She practically throws you onto it. You shriek laughing, as Rhea hauls herself atop you, pressing her nose to yours. 

Another giggle sprawls out of you when her shaggy hair falls to your neck. “Rhea…” The way you say her name has Rhea shuddering. Your voice was already deliciously pitched and breathy. She couldn’t wait to ruin you she thought as her smirk deepened at your keens.

“I’m not stopping if you’re going to say my name like that again.” Her mouth is near your ear, you shudder when you hear the unspoken meaning behind them. You wanted her. And you wanted her to know that. Arching your back, you lock your legs around her, hands coming up to softly grip both sides of her face. “Then don’t stop.” 

The next kiss that Rhea places on your skin, is much lower than before. She looks up at you questioningly as she slowly lifts the hem of your oversized shirt. You nod quickly needing nothing more than to feel your skin on hers.

Your eyes roll when her second set of kisses run over your chest focusing on the soft underside of your perky boobs. “Mmm—baby-“ the pet name falls off your tongue before you can stop yourself. Rhea seems to like it however as she huffs out a husky groan of your name. 

“What do you need darling?” the sharpness of her accent shocks you, and needily, your hands weave themselves into Rhea’s raven hair. She laughs softly as you give it an experimental tug. “Go ahead sweetheart, mommy likes it rough.” Her gruff words come as a surprise to you. And at the use of her nickname, you find yourself clenching around nothing. 

You choke out her name one more time as her nimble fingers ghost beneath the waistband of your shorts. “So wet for me…” Rhea’s voice trails off in badly suppressed arousal as she pulls her hand back from your now dripping pussy. Your face heats when she holds your gaze licking your arousal off her slender fingers. She moans at the taste of you, arms coming to hold your now shaking legs open.

Rhea’s eyes darken as her tongue slips into your fluttering hole. You can’t help the whining slurred moans that fall past your lips as she continues to ravage you in ways you didn’t think possible. 

“M-mommy-fuck- please!” Your warbled mewls have Rhea shaking her head into your pussy and with a lustful discovery, you come to see her hips start to grind into the bed as she continues to pleasure you.

“You’re--mm-such a good girl for me.” There’s a choppiness to her voice that wasn’t there before and you whimper when you learn that her other hand had snaked down to play with herself. 

Rhea growls as your legs attempt to close at the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t make you cum if you do that sweetheart.” Your lip trembles as she forces open your legs with ease. The casual display of strength has your clit throbbing with a renewed need. “Rhea—mommy- I wanna cum.” Your voice is quiet, nearly inaudible, but Rhea’s keen ears hear you. Her middle finger comes to trace around your clit and that’s all it takes for your eyes to cross and your back to arch as you come harder than you ever have. You’re vaguely aware of the praises that Rhea is cooing to you as you come down from your high, a stupefied smile wobbling on your face. You smile coyly when she comes up to lay next to you. Giving her lips an appreciative kiss before trailing your hands over her torso. 

“I want this off.” You say slowly, referring to her black tank top. Rhea grins at you before lifting it over her head and throwing it aimlessly to the room. You whine softly when you find she’s braless, eyes intrigued by her pierced nipples. On a whim, you straddle her, head dipping low to greedily suck on her tits. Rhea’s head tips back at this and the strangled cry that you rip from her throat has you wet all over again. 

“W-wait.” Rhea’s stuttered croak has you tilting your head in confusion, but as she reaches for the bedside drawer she pulls out a black and purple strap. You raise your eyebrows at this rolling off her as she once again climbs on top of you, removing her pants in the process. 

“I was kinda hoping to get lucky tonight.” She mumbles before thrusting into you. It feels like the air is punched out of your lungs and all you can do is cling to Rhea’s biceps as she quickens the pace of her hips. 

“And seeing as I have,” she purrs her hand coming up to grip your neck. “I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon my love.”

[l1tw1ck]

Please write more of the toy. PLEASE -🥚

Toy (2)

dom!bottom!ftm oc x sub!top!masc reader

wellll since you asked sooo nicely and im in the mood to write some sexy dominating men,,, | AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Dark Content

Debt Free

CW: Non-Con, Pet Play (Sort of) (puppy pet name, mention of collar and leash)

You were given the opportunity to clear your debt by dating your goddamned debt collector. He fell for you and basically ruined your life, he made you fall deeper and deeper into debt just so he could make you desperate enough to accept his offer. Now you're in his bedroom, wearing a studded collar and a leash. He likes treating you like an obedient dog and making you do things for him knowing you're not allowed to deny him. He could kill you if he wanted to.

He sits comfortably on your face, treating it like a special throne. He arches his back, shivering as he feels your tongue exploring his soft walls. "Mm...just like that, puppy~" He moans. "You've gotten better- uh~!" He gasps as your tongue finds his g-spot. He throws his head back, crying out shamelessly in pleasure as you eat him out. You're not the biggest fan of him but you can't deny the wonderful taste of his pussy and the pretty moans that come out of his mouth. "Yes- yes-" He breathes out.

"Fu- fuck~!" He squirts. "Mmh- such a good puppy.." He grinds down on your face before getting up.

ok i got lazy sorry

How to Please a Man

CW: Stepcest, Manipulation

this was lowkey difficult to write bc i have no idea how to finger someone 😭😭😭 im an autistic asexual virgin who absolutely hates masturbating with my fingers bc sticky so if anything is off ... thats why

You decided to ask your step father for relationship advice. You're a virgin and you're very nervous about asking out your crush. He was eager to give you advice and even offered to teach you some things.

"I bet you don't even know how to kiss." He climbs onto your lap. "Let me teach you." He doesn't wait for an answer and forces you into a kiss. You try to push him away but he's too strong. He grinds down on your crotch, determined to fuck you.

He finally pulls away from the kiss. "Relax, most guys don't like inexperience. I'll make sure you know what you're doing with him." He stands up and grabs your hand, pulling you into his bedroom and bringing you onto the bed with him. He manages to shimmy his shorts and boxers off, exposing his wet cunt to you. "Don't be scared, try and do what you think would feel good."

You swallow the lump in your throat. He's probably right. Your crush would appreciate it if you knew what you were doing. And this probably doesn't mean anything to him. He's just helping you out. Although you're unaware of your crush's anatomy, this'll probably be helpful for any future endeavors too. You look at his t-dick and hold it with your thumb and index finger, gently sliding it up and down. "Is...is that good?"

"Yeah, so good.." He moans. Jerking his dick is the easiest way to get him off thanks to how sensitive is. "But, you shouldn't rely on just that to please m- him."

"Oh- okay." You slide your finger down his cunt, eyeing him for a reaction. You slowly push your finger inside him, your breathing turns shallow as you take in the feeling of his warmth. You didn't know it felt like this. So warm, so plush, and so fucking wet. God. You feel weird for thinking this way about your step father but dear Lord, his pussy feels amazing. You slide in another finger and fumble around in his insides.

"Try finding my g-spot. You'll know when you find it."

You search around for it, earning a soft gasp from him when you find it. You poke it with the pads of your fingers, effectively pleasing him. You get the smart idea of sucking his dick while doing this.

"Fuck- good boy~" He throws his head back. "That's it. Keep going.."

You find yourself getting turned on by the sound of his moans and his praise. This is so wrong but oh so fucking good.

You keep going until he squirts, making a mess of the bed. You pull your mouth off his dick and lick up his slick before pulling away.

"Do you wanna learn more?" He looks at you with a lopsided smile. You nod eagerly, no longer worried about the morality of this.

part two for the second part if i remember lololol

[starstruck-des]

Hank redesign

With explanation ofc

Originally we all know Hank in madness combat to be pretty blunt,intimidating he doesn’t even really need to speak much because in a sense his stature and presence envokes fear but I don’t really see that when I’m looking at this :

(Minus grunt form don’t @ me on that I did this for a school assignment)

As you can see I did keep many aspects of his outfit intact but added things I felt made a bit more stylish to Hank if looking good was somthing he cared about

Clearly few colors can be seen in the madcom

Universe so main colors I can take from it is red,yellow,and probably different shades of gray. So I messed around with it by giving him a red mock neck with dog tags comming from it , plus a chain connecting the collar of his coat , the inners of red I felt would be more of a personal creative choice, and the jacket itself felt a bit bland so I made a few embroidery ideas along with the spine and shoulder blade design (but I am not making bones right anymore)

To continue

I took the ribbon holding their jacket by the waist and made it red accompanying some burns at the ends because of how many explosions this grunt been through or who knows burning buildings, same with his jacket,you can’t expect to keep a coat THAT NICE while handling knives and guns and whatnot the diamond shaped knee pads came from when I cosplayed Hank myself and I found them to be quite comfortable,so I expect for other safety purposes that he’d have em..

The boots are just boring grey ones but calf height with the pants tucked into them just to keep the grey footed grunt illusion alive

And if you zoom into his goggles it looks a bit like a crosshaire

Why? Because I feel he wouldn’t have to worry about looking so close at the gun to get a better shot when you already have a guide right at your eye

“Oh but Des what’s with the red beads on his gloves?”

That, I wanna say is just red rope holding it by the wrist so

Hey don’t slip like a bracelet

And finally the studs are un even cus someone stabbed him

In the shoulder causing one to come off so 2 on one side one on the other

Any other questions about the design don’t be afraid to come

To my ask box !💥💥💥💥 I don’t bite

Thank youuu!!

[holyblonded]

don’t know if you’ve done this but estrella having one of those days, plays already pissed off, and she’s playing too hard on those girls, like poor them for real. boom she gets put out a game. what did she do, what do her moms say, what does the team sayyyyy?

ur such an amazing writer i literally love your tumblr🩵🩵🩵

— estrella wakes up already in a foul mood. one of those days where everything feels off, where the weight on her chest is just a little too heavy and the world a little too loud. she’s quiet on the way to the stadium, headphones in, hood up, jaw locked. ale clocks it immediately. olga gives her space. they’ve learned not to poke the bear until it’s safe.

— from the first whistle, it’s clear she’s not here to play nice. she’s here to make someone suffer. she’s throwing her weight around, fighting for every ball like it insulted her family, shoulders girls twice her size with zero remorse.

— the ref warns her once. then twice. then a studs-up challenge in the 65th minute that sends the opposing midfielder flying and it’s over. straight red. the stadium gasps. estrella doesn’t flinch. just storms off, muttering something venomous in spanish under her breath.

— the locker room is quiet when she enters. no one meets her eyes. she sits on the bench, pulls her jersey over her face, and just breathes. not crying. just trying not to scream.

— the team is split between concern and fear. vicky eventually mutters “damn, you okay?” and estrella just grunts. she pats her shoulder and says, “you’re allowed to be upset, but damn girl, you sent that poor girl into next week.”

— ona catches her after the game and gently says, “you know you don’t have to carry it all like that, right?” estrella shrugs, “not carrying anything.”

— when they get home, alexia is waiting on the couch. olga’s in the kitchen, not even pretending to be casual. estrella doesn’t say anything. she just stands there in the doorway like a sulking dog.

— “sit,” ale says. estrella does.

— “you want to talk about what that was?”

— “she was asking for it.”

— “estrella.”

— she won’t look at them. “i just… i wasn’t in the mood today. everything’s loud. i’m tired. i was tired of being kicked, tired of hearing shit from the crowd, tired of feeling like i have to keep smiling and act like it’s fine when i don’t feel fine.”

— olga softens. she walks over and kneels in front of her, gently tilting estrella’s chin up. “you don’t have to smile, mi amor. but you also can’t start sending girls into orbit.”

— ale sighs but her voice is gentler now too. “you’re allowed to have bad days. but you’re a leader. people look up to you. you don��t get to take it out on the pitch like that.”

— estrella finally breaks a little, her shoulders slumping. “i know. i just… today sucked, and i didn’t know what to do with it.”

— olga pulls her into her arms, rubbing her back. “next time, you come to us. you don’t have to carry it alone.”

— estrella mumbles into her shoulder, “i don’t want to talk when i feel like that. i just want someone to tell me it’s okay.”

— and olga kisses the side of her head, whispering, “then that’s what we’ll do.”

— ale slides onto the couch beside them, her hand resting on estrella’s ankle. “you’re still benched next game, though.”

— “figured.”

— olga smiles, “good. now come help me cook. no more sulking. and stop breaking people.”

— “no promises,” estrella mutters, but there’s a small smirk on her face now.

[jockbroski34]

New Blood (Chapter 1)

This is my first TF story. I hope you enjoy and I have plenty of other ideas I've come up with for future stories.

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

I would’ve been surprised if you told me how my first day at my new school turned out. My dad was transferred to a different branch at the job he worked at, so we were forced to move to a different state. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss my old town, but it’s not like I was that close with most of the people I went to school with anyways. On the bright side, being transferred to a new high school gives me the chance to start fresh and make some new friends. Little did I know how right I really was.

The first day started out about as boring as you could imagine. The teachers reciting the syllabus, introducing ourselves to the class, the usual mundane activities expected for the first day. However, all of that changed during 3th period. It was algebra, and normally I could care less. But it wasn’t the class that caught my attention, hell no. Class started as usual. The class was packed full of students, with nearly every seat taken. About 3 minutes into the class, class was interrupted by an opened door and a large figure.

He must’ve been 6’3”, making me who is 5’10" look like someone who hadn’t hit his growth spurt in comparison. His brunette hair, short and spiked with the sides shaved, helped to accentuate his angular face and his alluring emerald green eyes. He wore a football shirt that fit snugly against his chest and his bulky biceps bulged out of the sleeves. His thick thighs made his jeans a tight fit. They could definitely crush a watermelon. Perhaps even my face, I thought, as I admired the handsome man.

“Sorry I was late, bro. Just got out late from my meeting with Coach”, the stud said, in a nonchalant, baritone voice. He sounded like your stereotypical jock.

“Don’t make this a regular thing, ‘bro’” our teacher grumbled. “I know you’re the team captain, but it doesn’t mean you can just barge in while I’m teaching.”

“Relax, dude. It’s just a one time thing.” he responded. Looks like he’s the big man on campus. He sure didn’t seem to care that he was late on the first day of school.

The giant scanned the room looking for a place to sit. First the right end of the room, then the middle, and then he looked towards the left, where I sat, and conveniently at the empty desk adjacent to me. For a split second, our eyes were staring right at each other, but my gaze veered the other direction out of embarrassment. The jock’s lips curved into a slight smirk as he began to walk into the rows of desks, accidentally bumping me with his massive size 15 foot.

“Sorry bro”, he said as he placed himself in the seat next to me. His nice round ass stood out to me as he made himself comfortable.

The class continued on as normal, but for some reason, I felt like I could concentrate even less than I could before. The beefcake next to me kept my mind preoccupied. He was the most attractive guy I’ve seen so far at this school, and I couldn’t help but be distracted by his perfect body. His toned body glistened, likely from the sweat of a morning jog, and I noticed a slight scent that affirmed that. I normally found the smell of sweat to be a little disgusting, but for him, it seemed to mix well with his natural aroma. The scent of a man.

“No. If a guy like him finds out that you’re gay, you’ll never hear the end of it,” I scolded myself in my head. I could already imagine myself being harassed by him and his meathead friends.

Strangely enough, just as I had been looking at him, I also felt like I was being watched as well. I must have been imagining things. I wouldn’t call myself unattractive, but I never caught the attention of other guys…let alone girls.

The teacher finished up with the material sooner than expected, so he stopped teaching for the rest of class until the bell rang. With about 10 minutes to spare before my next class, I reached into my pocket to grab my phone to kill time, but then I heard that same voice from before.

“Sup bro,” the hunk next to me greeted me. “I’ve never seen you before. You new here?”

This guy was talking to me. Wait, why was he talking to me? I was incredibly caught off guard, but I decided to play it cool and hide my embarrassment.

“Yeah, my name’s Jacob. My parents just moved into town the other week and now I’m here.”

“Damn, that sucks, but I hope you like it here. Nice to meet you Jacob. I’m Zach. You mind if I call you Jake for short?”

Most people called me by Jacob and I preferred it like that, but for him, I didn’t really mind.

“Sure, nice to meet you too,” I responded. He reached out his hand to shake mine, but my hand felt small engulfed in his meaty palms.

We spent the remaining time in class getting to know each other. The more I talked with Zach, the more I realized how we were basically complete opposites. He was as I expected, a stereotypical jock, only interested in sports and going to the gym and I was anything but that. I could tell through his attitude that he was full of confidence, maybe even bordering on arrogance, but he still seemed rather agreeable. Despite our obvious differences, we actually got along surprisingly well. I expected him to be some brute, some bully, but he was actually a pretty fun, chill guy. He actually gave me his number too. The bell rang and we both packed up our supplies into our backpacks.

“Hey man, so where’s your next class?” Zach asked.

“Room 214. Must be on the second floor,” I replied.

“Oh cool. I’m actually headed that way too. Don’t worry, I know this school like the back of my hand!”

We walked up the stairs to the second floor and down the hallway.

“Hey, so lunch is coming up and I don’t know if you have anywhere to sit yet,” Zach inquired.

I had completely forgotten about lunch. At my old school, it wasn’t uncommon for me to sit by myself. I was the kind of guy who didn’t really mesh well with any crowd and I had few close friends.

“I don’t, why?” I responded.

“I just figured that because you’re new, you might want somewhere to sit. You can come sit with us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the guys on the team are cool. I doubt they’d mind since you know me.” I imagined myself feeling out of place amongst the burly football jocks. Still, it was better than nothing.

“I might take you up on that offer,” I replied.

“Great, bro!” Zach smiled. His bright grin was contagious, and I felt a smile on my face as well. “I hope to see you there.” He patted me on the shoulder with his firm hands before we parted ways. Our classrooms, however, were conveniently right next to each other.

I felt like I could concentrate even less than I could during 3rd period. Thoughts of early US history blurred in my mind as the image of Zach lingered. Why was he being so nice to me of all people? Despite my curiosity, I started to think of him as a friend. For some reason, I felt myself drawn to him.

After an eternity, the bell rang for lunch, and I walked to the cafeteria. I got lost on the way there, as I was still unfamiliar with the layout of the building. As I walked past each table, I felt the impression that I was an outsider. Most tables were full of students, with few seats left open for me. It was like everyone else already knew each other, and that there was no place for me. Until I heard that voice again.

“Yo, Jake!” Zach shouted, his words breaking through the endless sea of mindless chatter. I turned my head to the right and saw him and several other members of the football team at a large table. How did I miss it? It’s a big table for big guys. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Sorry about that, bro. Come sit down!” He moved over, giving me room to squeeze in. He introduced me to the team, and it seems like he already told them about me, so they were eager to meet me. I recognized one person from my previous class.

“You’re…Bradley right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but call me Brad. No one except my brother calls me that anymore.” he answered. He wasn’t as tall as Zach, standing at a respectable and exact 6 feet tall. He was, however, a lot bulkier than Zach, who was more toned in comparison, but he wasn’t fat. His hair was shaved into a short blonde buzzcut and he had deep blue eyes. I recalled him falling asleep for a bit during last class. The bro must not have gotten enough sleep last night.

Zach, Brad, and the other guys talked about sports and working out after class, and other stuff that a stereotypical jock would talk about. I did my best to include myself in the conversation, but I felt kinda lost keeping up and I felt like a bit of a poser compared to them. I knew only basic level sports knowledge and I had never lifted a weight in my life. If only I was more like them.

Despite that, I actually got along with them better than I expected, and I was glad to know that they were more like Zach than I had anticipated. They did make fun of me for not knowing certain players or who won the game last night. However, I didn’t get the impression that it was malicious, but rather more playful, like how one would joke around with his bros. Even though I clearly looked and felt out of place, I found myself enjoying their company and I tried to absorb whatever knowledge the jocks discussed like a sponge. What felt like an entire day of hanging with the bros was only half an hour as the bell rang and the crowd of students emptied the cafeteria to depart for their next class. I said my farewells to Zach’s friends and made my way to my next class. Zach, instead of staying with his fellow teammates, pursued me and joined me, walking at my side.

“Hey, thanks for sitting with us, bro. I told you they’d like you.”

“Of course…” I replied, unsure of what to say, but I smiled. “I did feel like a fish out of water, but I did have a good time.”

“No worries, bro. I kinda figured you would feel out of place, but you did great. Give it time and I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Zach smirked. “You just gotta get out of your comfort zone, man.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” I was surprised at Zach’s different perspective. “Maybe I could be as strong as the rest of you are and throw balls around someday,” I joked, as the idea of me being like one of them felt unrealistic to me.

Zach chuckled and gave me a wink. “Who knows? Life is full of surprises. Anyways, my class is this way, but I think we have the same class next period. Later, bro!”

The rest of the day went by quick, and was relatively uneventful. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, school was over, and I could finally go home. I thrusted myself into my bed, overwhelmed by my first day of school., but for once, I was actually kinda happy to be there. I met Zach, Brad, and a bunch of other guys on my very first day. Zach specifically lingered in my mind, and I recollected every inch of his body in my mind. I started to get hard picturing every exquisite detail, and I couldn’t help but bust my load to him. Eventually day turned to evening and evening turned to night, and I closed my eyes, wondering what the rest of the year had in store for me.

The next two weeks came and went and I became accustomed to the new school and my new friends. I went to class, ate with the football team at lunch, and I even started to hang out with Zach more. He offered to help me with the gym if I helped him with some of his schoolwork. I agreed obviously, as I wouldn’t mind building some muscle. It was always good to help a bro out and also I just wanted to be closer to him. As I helped him with math and science, he helped me with lifting weights and exercises. I struggled at first, but eventually I started to notice some improvements and I could tell he was proud.

Whenever we finished studying or working out, we spent the rest of the night watching sports or playing video games. Zach had to explain the rules to me, but I started to understand football on a surface level. Other than that, I got invited to a party at Brad’s place, and I had a great time partying and drinking with Zach and the football team. During those weeks, I was probably the happiest and most social I have ever been in my life.

The following week was when everything changed. One day before lunch, I was approached by someone who I have never seen before. He wasn’t very tall, standing at a modest 5’8”. He looked babyfaced with his nerdy, boyish looks and blonde hair, and his glasses helped to emphasize his meek blue eyes. I think he was a year below me.

“My name is Braden.” He said. “You’re the new kid who’s friends with Zach, right?”

“Yeah I am. My name’s Jake…I mean Jacob.” I responded. For a second, I found myself using the name Zach and the other jocks called me.

“I think you should stay away from him. He’s bad news.”

“What’s wrong with Zach?” I asked. Zach had been nothing but good to me since we met. I couldn’t imagine him having any malicious intent. He even took care of me at the party when I was black-out drunk for the first time.

“Ever since my brother started hanging out with him, he started acting… weird. He was never into football or anything, but now he’s on the team and he looks and acts like a completely different person.”

“I…What are you talking about?” I was seriously confused about what he meant.

“I’m serious! Unless you want to end up like just another jock…”

“Hey, Jake! How’s it going?” Zach cut in, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we were talking about him. “And you’re Brad’s brother, right?” Braden avoided eye contact with his brother’s friend.

I felt a sense of urgency, as I felt like I was going to be late. “I’ve gotta get to lunch. It was nice meeting you, Braden!” I said as me and Zach walked to lunch together. What the hell was his deal anyways?

“Braden’s a weird dude. Don’t worry about what he says,” Zach informed me, trying to ease the mood.

Later that week, I was hanging out at Zach’s place again after a workout, helping him with the algebra quiz that was next class. I helped him understand the concepts better and we wrapped up reviewing the study guide, so we finished and we laid down on his bed.

“Hey man, I’ve been thinking…” Zach started, but he sounded rather hesitant, unlike his usual confident self. “What would you think about joining the football team?”

“I…” I was honestly kinda surprised. Why would he want me, of all people, to join? I wasn’t unathletic, but even working out with him would not have prepared me to play football. “I’m flattered you would want me, but I don’t think I have what it takes. Plus, I’m not like you guys at all,” I answered.

“That’s fine, bro. Me and Coach can help condition you to become the jock I know you want to be.”

“Condition?” I was confused, unsure about what he meant by that.

“I know how much you want to be like us, bro,” For some reason, the word bro sent shivers down my spine. He had a devious look on his face. “And I can see your potential. That’s why I chose you. It helped that you’re the new kid anyways so no one will notice if you turned into another jock. I made that mistake with Brad and now that kid Braden won’t leave me alone.”

Zach paused, realizing that he said too much, but at this point, there was no going back. Despite his malicious intent, I got hard at the thought of being one of them, of being one with the team. My friends were always there for me the past few weeks and we had a strong bond despite our differences. I looked up to them, and wished I was more like them.

“That’s not the only reason I chose you…” Zach rolled over, climbing on top of me, his heavy, muscular body pinning me down, his legs straddled between mine, his sweat from the workout from earlier spreading through my nostrils. “I knew you were gay. I could just tell. But that’s okay, because so am I. You’re cute enough as you are now, but I think you would look better standing side-by-side with me, looking, thinking, and acting like me. Don’t you agree?”

I was overwhelmed by the situation, and by Zach’s sudden change in behavior. But I subconsciously nodded as my cock throbbed in my pants. Whether my mind or my dick was thinking first, I could not tell you.

“If you join the team, I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine. How does that sound, bro?”

I tried to weigh my options. I thought about the kind of person I was. Who was I before I came here? Before I met Zach? I…I was nobody. I didn’t have any friends here. Zach took me in. My mind was fixated on the man in front of me. I realized I longed for him. I longed for the team and my bros. I longed for football. I longed for working out. And that’s when everything became clear. I longed to become a jock like him.

“That sounds awesome, bro,” I answered. Bro? I never said bro before. I guess Zach was really starting to rub off on me. I gave into temptation, but I knew that it was what I secretly desired ever since I met him.

“That’s a good bro…” Zach responded, obviously pleased with my answer. A seductive smirk lit up his face as he pressed his lips to mine. We enjoyed that moment for what felt like several lifetimes, but in reality it was actually only a few minutes of sweet passion. At this point, I felt like my cock was about to burst. At this point, I desired him. Zach noticed the raging bulge in my pants. “I know you wanna fuck, but I can’t give you what you want just yet. You will meet me in Coach’s office after class tomorrow. After we finish your transformation, then you can cum.”

“Yes, bro…” I muttered, keeping my erection under control. The rest of the evening was surprisingly normal between us, almost like the erotic scene that had just taken place was something out of a fever dream or a hallucination. We played some video games to kill time and to lighten the mood. The only reason I knew it was real was because of the firm erection that lingered in my pants. Eventually I said goodbye to Zach and went home.

“Remember to meet me after school. And just remember, you can still back out if you want…but I have a feeling you won’t,” Zach sneered, looking down at my pulsating serpent. Despite his words, however, I knew that my mind had already crossed the point of no return.

The next day was unbearable. The anticipation of what awaited me after this long day was killing me. What made it worse were the classes where I had Zach. He could tell that I was finding it hard to focus, and it felt like he was edging me with his mind. I could barely concentrate on the algebra quiz we studied for the night prior. I could only think about joining the football team and I imagined what it would be like to be a jock. I’d be big and strong, sexy, athletic. I would fit right in with all my bros. Working out together, practicing together, winning and celebrating together.

During lunch, Zach announced that I would be joining the team, and the group of football jocks cheered and welcomed me to the team. One of them said it was only a matter of time until I decided to join, and I couldn’t really deny it. I looked at each member of the team, and I wondered how I would look compared to them. For a second, I remembered Braden’s words, but I quickly shrugged them off. He made it seem like my transformation would be a bad thing, but a nerd like him could never understand. This is what I desired. This was what I was destined for. And I kept those words in my head, as the clock turned to the end of the school day.

As soon as the final bell rang, I immediately rushed over to the locker room. I saw Zach in his white and red football uniform, missing only his helmet, and, having never seen him in this outfit before, I thought he looked perfect in it. And soon, so would I.

“You’re here early, bro,” he said. “You’re even more eager than I expected. Coach isn’t here yet, but I can explain the details to you.”

He led me towards the back, where he pulled out several pieces of clothing that would become synonymous with my new identity. A jersey already stitched with my name on it, tight compression pants and a compression shirt, football cleats, shoulder pads, a jockstrap, and a sturdy helmet that would adorn my head like a king would wear his crown.

“Put it on.”

I complied. I was a little disappointed at first, as the clothing looked at least a size above what I would normally wear. “No worries, you’ll grow into them quick, trust me.”

As I put on my new uniform, I started to become curious. What was this all about? So I asked him, “What’s the point of all of this anyways?”

“I guess there’s no reason to hide it anymore,” he responded. “To be honest, I was kinda like you once. I wasn’t really athletic like I am now, but my dad was actually a professional football player. He was forced to retire early due to a bad injury, but despite that, I wanted to do what he couldn’t. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never be the player I wanted to be. That all changed when Coach learned of my struggles and we worked together to make me into the football jock I had always dreamed of. Eventually, after about a year of testing, we found a way and that’s how I became who I am now. For once, I was strong, athletic, and confident, and it never felt forced or fake. Like this was who I really was all my life. Since then, similar studies were done at different high schools and colleges across the US. You wouldn’t know about any of that, because it’s all behind closed doors. Eventually, I found you and I realized that you were probably just as lost as I was, so I kinda took advantage of that. Sorry, I guess I’m not the kind of guy you thought I was.”

I had no idea that’s how Zach truly felt. I sympathized with him despite him hiding so much from me. We came from different backgrounds, but we both wanted the same thing. To be better, and to be stronger. Even after he poured his heart out to me and told me the truth, he was still Zach to me. I cared for him and he cared for me. He opened my eyes to a new world full of different possibilities. And so, I pushed my lips into his and our tongues wrestled for dominance. We were stopped by footsteps approaching. We returned to normal as Coach walked into the room, oblivious to the fact that we were making out seconds prior outside of our rosy cheeks.

“So you’re the kid Zach’s been talking about. I’m Coach Myers.” the man said. “I’m guessing he told you everything. Do you have any questions before we get started?”

“No sir,” I answered.

“In that case, let’s go into my office.” I obliged eagerly. There’s no going back. “Have a seat, sign these forms, and put these on.” They were earbuds. I signed my name on every form, formally granting my consent to join the team, and likely whatever changes would occur to me. In front of me was an old TV with a VCR. “You will watch and listen to this video for the full duration. You will notice some changes and you might feel a little uncomfortable. All you have to do is relax and focus on the video.” I did as he said. I sat down in my new football uniform, and I put the earbuds in both ears, and then finally put my helmet onto my head. With everything prepared, Zach turned off the lights, and the TV turned on, playing a video.

With the helmet over my head, my peripheral vision was restricted. I had little choice but to look at what was directly in front of me. My eyes became fixated on the screen in front of me as they became entranced by the flowing spiral. As I fell deeper into a trance, I felt as though my mind and body were on the opposite ends of the world. The audio was hard to make out, but somehow I felt like I understood it, at least subconsciously.

After a period of time that my mind couldn’t possibly comprehend, the imagery began to change. I started to make out clips of football players, playing football, being part of a team, throwing and catching the ball, tackling my opponents, strategies and plays. I learned the proper workouts and techniques and exercises that a football player would do. What at one time felt foreign to me felt like common knowledge, like I had done this my entire life. It was muscle memory, no pun intended.

It was at this moment that my body started to change. No. Change isn’t the right word. Evolve. I noticed my average-sized arms start to bulge, my biceps and triceps inflating like they were being pumped. Next, my shoulders expanded and became more sturdy, making my shoulder pads fit a little better. Then, my chest pumped out, my pecs eager to fill the empty space in my oversized jersey along with my new six-pack. Following that, my legs thickened until they felt tight in my compression pants, and my ass inflated like a balloon into a nice, round bubble butt. Below that, my feet grew longer and more wide, filling the size 15 shoes that my formerly size 11 feet would have had trouble walking around in. My penis, still erect, grew from an average 5 inches to an impressive 8 inches, feeling more and more aroused by the increasing stimulation and the surplus of testosterone flowing through my body. Finally, I felt my blonde medium length hair thin and become more like my teammates with shaved sides and a short top. Any chubbiness in my face disappeared as my facial features sharpened, especially my jawline and my chin, giving myself a more masculine look.

While all of this was happening, my mind was swirling and every part of me was being drained or replaced. I found that I was losing interest in most of my old hobbies, but the idea of playing and watching sports, working out, partying, having sex, and hanging out with the bros felt so much more enticing and appealing than it did before. I started to realize that I didn’t really care much about school or learning anymore, and that playing sports was the only real reason why I came to school. I was never the best student, but I always did my best. However, I realized that none of that mattered as long as I kept good enough grades to stay on the team. C’s get degrees, am I right? At worst, I could always bribe one of the smarter kids to do my homework for me.

Then, my mindset began to change. Before, I was introverted, polite, and humble. But now? I was outgoing, confident, and cocky, and I started to love the idea of that. It started to become unbelievable that I was ever not like this. I was always like this. As the changes in my mind were taking effect, I felt part of me overwhelmed by all the changes and trying to resist, but that stray thought was snuffed out like a candle, as the rest of my thoughts were drained from my mind. Any part of my former self’s mind was absorbed into my balls, which were swollen to the size of grapefruit at this point. As the changes in my body and mind reached its climax, so did my aching cock. As the video concluded, the words became more clear, and I could make out one phrase repeating over and over.

“You are a jock.”

It was at this point that I could finally release all my pent-up frustration from the past 24 hours. It was the best orgasm of my life. And just like that, load after load of my burning, sticky cum flooded my jockstrap, and with it, the memories of the old me were released from my body.

“Looks like someone made a mess,” Zach teased. “No worries, bro. It happens. How do you feel?” he asked as he put his arm around my shoulder. This time it felt different though, because I truly felt like one of the bros.

Jacob was gone. Jake took his place. I’m Jake, Jake the jock. My memories felt distorted but they were starting to become clear. I grew up always with a ball in my hand. I was naturally talented in any sport I played, but I gravitated towards football. I played it at my old school and I was among the best on the team. However, my dad got a new job and we were forced to move here. Thankfully, we were fortunate to live near a school with a gifted football program. I became friends with Zach and the football team, and naturally, I signed up for the team. And Zach? He was not just my bro or my best friend. He eventually became my boyfriend and the rest of the team supported our relationship. All of this felt so real to me, and a cocky smirk appeared on my unfamiliar face.

“Bro…I feel awesome,” I responded, my new, deeper voice matching both my new physique and personality. I looked down at my new body. It was like I hit puberty for the second time. I stood up, realizing that I was now several inches taller, now standing at a solid 6’2”. I was almost as tall as Zach, and I didn’t have to look up at him now. I felt like we were finally equals in terms of body and status.

“I told you you’d look amazing, bro,” he said as he gave me a peck on the cheek. “You should clean yourself up and get ready for practice. The other guys will never let it go if you come to your first practice with cum staining your uniform. Oh, and thanks Coach. Glad you could help both of us out.”

“Always glad to help out my star player,” Coach chuckled. “As for you, I think you turned out better than any of them yet. You might even give Zach a run for his money.” I felt a sense of pride being compared to him.

I quickly left Coach’s office and cleaned myself off. I changed into clothes that Zach lent me that would fit my new body better, and ran off to practice. Before that though, I stared at myself in the mirror so I could get my first glimpse of the new me. The person in front of me was completely unrecognizable to me, but I quickly grew comfortable with the jock in the mirror and I smiled at the person I had become. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the flexing hunk that stood before me.

Time passed and my new life became more and more normal to me. I would go to school, hang out with the football team, go to practice, work out, and then hang out with Zach. It became a natural routine to me, and I was never happier. My grades dropped a bit because I was focused on football. It’s not that I can’t care about learning. I just don’t want to. Coach says it’s alright as long as I pass my classes.

For the first time, I felt a true sense of camaraderie with a group of guys, and especially Zach. It felt like we were joined at the hip. We were a pair both on the field and off it. We’re currently undefeated this year and I think we might even reach regionals.

Most of my classmates and peers barely noticed my changes since I was already new and to them, I blended in as yet another stereotypical football jock. The only people with an immediate reaction were my parents. They were a little surprised by my sudden changes, but they were supportive of my new passion for football and they were glad to see me making friends and staying active. I did remember one person who definitely would mind my changes.

Braden.

A week or so after my transformation, he walked up to me, obviously disappointed, with a look of shame on his face, and told me that I should’ve listened to him. I brushed aside his comments. He called me a dumb jock. I told him I was happier this way, but he refused to believe me. He wouldn’t accept it. He said that he was going to expose the football team somehow, and change everyone who was affected back, including me and Brad. He stormed off, hoping to find some way to expose us.

I didn’t show it on my face, but in my mind I was furious. I genuinely didn’t want to turn back and I didn’t want the football team to be suspended or shut down. I thought about Zach, about his dreams, and about mine. I wanted nothing more than for the two of us to live out our dreams together of being the best football jocks ever. I couldn’t let Braden figure out the truth. I have to stop him. I started to brainstorm ideas on how to keep him quiet.

A devious idea entered my mind. He wouldn’t want to snitch on us if we turned him into a jock first. He was obviously a little envious of me, of Zach, even his big brother. I’m sure he would grow to appreciate the idea if he just accepted it. Besides, I’m sure he would make a sexy football jock with his looks already. The idea of turning someone into a jock, corrupting them, awakening their true desires became so appealing to me, just like Zach had did for me. He’ll understand one day.

[babydaddyleorio]

seamless phantom

01. Chrollo

Chrollo sat on the couch, his head thrown back over the edge and throat on full display. His eyes were closed, and his legs were spread wide. Tonight, he dressed in loose black slacks with his tie undone around his button-down. His fingers danced in the air as if he were conducting a concerto as he listened to the classical music playing from the radio on top of the stool in the corner.

“How’s that file coming, Shal?” Chrollo suddenly asked. The blonde on the other side of the room pauses his typing at his boss’ sudden voice before leaning his head back in his chair.

“Almost ready!” Shalnark called in his usual chirpy voice.

Chrollo hummed in response, going back to his music. Shalnark waited, whispering “c’mon” repeatedly under his breath impatiently for the loading bar on the screen to finish. Finally, a popup appeared that said complete.

“Boss, it’s done.” 

Chrollo slowly opened his eyes, his gaze focused on the ceiling as gravity made his hair hang behind him. He slowly sat up straight, stretching his limbs as he rose from the loveseat’s cushions. He walked towards Shalnark, sticking one hand in his pocket as the other rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension built there.

“What did you find?” He asked as he came behind Shalnark, leaning his head down with excited eyes to see the computer screen. Shalnark started typing rapidly before a profile popped up.

“Let’s see, her file says that she got in this morning and is currently staying at the Hunter's hotel. She has a party scheduled in a few hours that she’s hosting ⎯ It’s to celebrate the launch of her latest fashion line.”

“Think I can make it?” Chrollo asked while briefly glancing at him, and Shalnark tapped his chin while trailing his eyes to the side.

“Well, it is on the other side of town, plus it’s a fancy event meaning you’d have to dress appropriately, and there's bound to be a lot of people there since she’s pretty popular. So in conclusion, I’d say it’s possible, you might have to break the speed limit though.”

“I believe I can manage that.” Chrollo nodded with a smirk, lazily stretching his arms in front of him as he clasped his hands together.

“I also should mention that it’s invite only, so you may have to steal someone’s identity to get in.”

Chrollo yawned in disinterest. “Can you print me an ID real fast for a guest?”

Shalnark nodded. “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

Chrollo was always fascinated with Shalnark’s skills. And he watched with humorous eyes at how easy it was to get his hands on an ID that did not belong to him.

“Alright, here you go.” Shalnark handed him the plastic card and Chrollo thanked him.

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” Chrollo said, saluting as he walked out of the motel room he was in. 

“Good luck!” Shalnark shouted as Chrollo left, but he didn’t need to wish it because Chrollo always got what he wanted, and he currently had his eyes set on you.

⎯ 🕸

Shalnark was right about there being a lot of people here tonight. 

Chrollo whistled under his breath as he made his way into the hotel’s foyer. The guests all looked to be pretentious snobs showcasing phony smiles. Chrollo humorously upturned his lips to fit into the crowd around him. What Shalnark forgot to mention was that it was a masquerade party that was being hosted tonight. Chrollo's eyes were covered in a black, studded design and his hand twirled the stick it was attached to between his fingertips.

“Vincent Yoshino.” Chrollo read the fake name on the ID out loud, raising his eyebrow in consideration with a head tilt. “Has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

He walked further into the building, taking note of how the people were mingling. He checked his watch, 5 more minutes until the party began. He could take this opportunity to quickly scope out the layout of the first floor, maybe he’d go right now while he still had time to spare. As Chrollo reasoned with his thoughts, he was unaware of the Louboutins that were marching in his direction.

“Hello, handsome.” 

Chrollo paused, glancing beside him to see a tall woman. She had tanned skin, a flawless bob, and blinding crimson lipstick. The dress she wore was nice as well, hugging her figure as she walked closer to Chrollo.

“Good evening.” Chrollo politely responded, nodding his head with a grin.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” She drawled, giving him a once over with a smirk. “Would’ve remembered a catch such as you.”

Chrollo chuckled, mentally wishing that this woman would find someone else to bother.

“Well, I typically don’t like showing my face at large events. I am not a fan of socializing with others, you see.”

Take the hint, Chrollo thought to himself tiredly.

The woman eyed him ravenously before extending her hand.

“My name is Chiyo Hano, but everyone calls me Chi-Chi.” She said and Chrollo remembered reading her file on his way here as well. She was a very famous model, known for her sculpted face. 

Chrollo grabbed her hand, shaking it softly. “Vincent Yoshino, nice to meet you.”

The party was beginning to start, and Chrollo took that as his chance to slip away. He walked in, and he saw you standing above the banister, smiling largely while waving at your incoming guests.

Chrollo smirked and effortlessly grabbed a drink from the waiter's platter as he passed him.

Let the games begin.

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [1].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, secondhand stress HHAHAHAH. WORD COUNT. 2.9k.

TAGLIST. @seokgyuu @spjhyn @bat-shark-repellant @writingmeraki @lotties-readings @jenodreamer @gyuspeach @lexawoah13 @dvalitaes @agustdiv1ne @enhacatalog @soobs-things @tocupid @wonsays @kgneptun @sarang-ae @peaceout97 @outrologist @prettypei @luv4cheol @captivq @kueey @matcha-binz @loveherrschxr @haechology @bitehee @laylasbunbunny

NOTE. and so it begins!! grabbed seventeen’s “second life” and gave it to beomgyu’s band, by the way. future chapters will be a lot longer bcs this one is sort of just an introduction. please lmk what u think so far!!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 1 — the consequences of working with a choi.

One.

“I told you I won’t do any romance dramas!”

Choi Soobin isn’t usually one to throw tantrums. He’s gentleness itself, says the media. The loveliest, most humble and soft-spoken angel to have ever graced South Korea’s entertainment industry. Interviewees praise him for being so kind and warm. Award-winning actor Lee Minyuk decided to adopt him the day they first met while working on a drama just a year ago.

He’s so nice, so sweet, so lovely— a stark contrast to the roles he usually plays, but that doesn’t take away from the songs of praise that articles and Twitter posts usually string along with Choi Soobin’s name.

All of this is true of course. As long as you’re not contractually obligated to babysit his whiny, picky, six foot tall ass every single day.

“Soobin, why don’t you give it another—”

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs, crossed armed on the sofa with a tattered script sitting on the low coffee table before him. Manager Lee feels a headache kicking in. Why is this bastard acting up when the interns are in the office? Those two simply wanted to deliver the scripts for Soobin to pick from, but they are looking at his actor’s surprising behavior with wide eyes. Now, it’s going to be his job to make sure that they don’t run their mouths about the nation’s alleged first love actually being a spoiled brat.

“Soobin,” Manager Lee exhales for the nth time. This script is from Writer Kang. The Writer Kang! She wrote this script with you in mind as the lead. Can you at least maybe reconsider—”

“I’m not doing it.” Soobin won’t budge. He’s got a visibly troubled and offended look on his face and his manager wants to smack him upside in the head. How could he not understand that this is an opportunity of a lifetime? “Hyung, you know the reason why I even signed to this company in the first place. I’m not doing it. Absolutely not.”

He picks up the script like it’s a dirty rag— disgusted expression to match— only to reveal a page that suddenly prompts him to throw the entire thing across the room. The two interns flinch. Manager Lee feels his hair turning gray by the second.

“There’s a kissing sce— agh! Gosh! What will my soulmate think if she sees me kissing another woman?!”

“Soul...soulmate?” unfortunate intern number one voices out hesitantly.

“Is...Choi Soobin seeing someone right now?” asks number two, and Manager Lee wants to retire early. His actor is still ranting on and on about how there’s no way in hell he’s taking on this role. He doesn’t really wanna deal with that right now.

“No. He’s not seeing anybody. He’s never been in a relationship before.”

Manager Lee knows this because he’s been Soobin’s manager since the young star was still seventeen, when he was still as nice and well-behaved as the tabloids made him out to be. That same kid is now a grown adult and shuddering over a possible kissing scene in a screenplay. “Ahh. I can’t do this, I seriously can’t do this, hyung!” Fame does change people. Manager Lee wants seventeen year-old Soobin back.

“Then...then who is his soulmate…?”

It’s hard to imagine that an A-List star like Choi Soobin is suffering from unrequited love. “A woman from his past life,” answers Manager Lee. “Or so he says.” The interns look at him. Come—come again? their expressions seem to say. Manager Lee lets out an exasperated sigh. This one’s even harder to comprehend.

“Hyung,” Soobin finally calls out for him. Lee returns his attention to his artist, who’s now flipping through the other scripts on the table with an even more disgruntled expression. “Hyung, are these all the offers I have? They’re all romance! Don’t we have other options?!”

“The CEO wants you to expand your roles, Soobin,” Manager Lee flatly replies. “Your fans too. You can’t keep doing action-mystery-thrillers forever. It’s a waste of your visuals. They want to see you in lighter things too.” He walks over to pick up the first rejected script from the floor, dropping it in front of Soobin, who is currently a deflated balloon.

He’s changed. But sometimes it feels as though his artist hasn’t grown up ever since they first met.

“If you take Writer Kang’s drama, you’ll get even bigger, Soobin.”

“I’m not interested in fame,” Soobin mumbles, shoulders slacked and dejected. “I just want—”

“If you gain ever more fame, expand your reach, won’t that mean your soulmate can find you sooner as well?” Soobin takes the bait. He flinches upon hearing the word he’s been chasing after ever since, a glimpse of consideration flashing through his expression as he nips down his bottom lip. Manager Kim lands a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, kid. You shouldn’t waste opportunities like this.”

Soobin lets out a breath. “I’ll...I’ll give it some thought.”

Dear god, finally. Manager Lee ushers out a sulky and troubled Soobin out into the hall with the script hugged against his chest and tells him to relax for the day. “Don’t overthink it. Just do what you want to do,” he says, after gaslighting him into positively considering the role. Still, Soobin needs this. He’s been stagnating since his last project, Study Group. He needs to switch up genres if he wants to improve.

“Wow,” intern number two exhales the moment Soobin leaves the premises. “You really are a veteran, sir. But does Choi Soobin’s soulmate really exist? Who is he looking for?”

Manager Lee shrugs and drops onto the sofa with a grunt. “Beats me. He doesn’t even know her name.”

*

Two.

“Yeonjun! Choi Yeonjun, look over here!”

“Choi Yeonjun, you look good today as well!”

“Please give a heart to the camera!”

“Fuck! Choi Yeonjun, you’re so fucking hot!”

That last one made Yeonjun’s mouth twitch into a smirk, and the screaming instantly became louder. Unintentional, but he relishes in the attention, anyway. He flips down his sunglasses to block the flashing lights from the cameras (causing another unintentional pandemonium), and his manager (Kim Noona, he likes to affectionately call when she’s about to yank out his hair roots for misbehaving) quickly ushers him into van before his rabid fans break through the bodyguards’ defenses and jump him.

“Good work today,” says Manager Kim as they start to drive away from the fansign venue. Yeonjun has his window rolled down and is blowing air kisses to the crowd. Ignorance is bliss, Manager Kim decides. “However, you don’t have time to run a catwalk on the way to the van tomorrow since you have another schedule immediately after the fansign. Try to strut for two minutes max tomorrow, please.”

“‘Kayyy,” Yeonjun hums, rolling the tinted windows back up and leaning back into the car seat with a satisfied groan. They’re on the way back to his apartment now. Time for him to start his routine. “Noona, do you have all the letters I got today?”

“Look to your left.” 

And there it is indeed— a stack of notes and envelopes and perfume-drenched messages of love and adoring affection. He flits through each one, skimming over every note and every letter like he’s looking for something. “Sleep early tonight,” Manager Kim tells him as he knits his brows, nearing the end of the stack. “You have a shoot in the morning, in case you forgot.” 

Yeonjun is back at the first letter he started with. Nothing, he lets out a sigh. Not one that he’s looking for.”

“Noona,” he calls out. “I’m going live right now.”

There’s a bump on the road.

“No, wait—”

[🔴 yawnzzn is live].

“Hehe. Yeonjunnie is here—!”

Manager Kim abruptly stops the car. Thank fucking god the road isn’t too crowded. She watches Yeonjun from the rearview mirror as he smiles at the outstretched camera and makes casual greetings and hello’s to the viewers, heart racing in fear. “Right now? I’m on the way back home. Can’t wait to get a nice shower once I get back.” Okay, she lets in a deep breath, starting the car once more. Yeonjun isn’t doing anything weird yet. Better to drop him off as soon as possible.

“Nooo, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’ll order once I get home. What do you guys recommend?”

He’s being normal. He’s acting fine. This is good.

“Ramen? That sounds good. Kimchi jjigae is also yummy.”

Maybe he just wanted to interact more with his fans, yes. He’s always been like that. Maybe he won’t say anything rash this time.

“Oh! The video with Mark Lee from NCT? Did you see us hugging? Hehe, Mark and I look good together?” They’re almost at his apartment building. They’re almost here. Once they arrive, Yeonjun will turn off the livestream and Manager Kim can finally fucking retire for the day. “That’s cute. But it’s too bad. I’m already interested in someone else.”

Screeeech!

The car stops. “Yeonjun.” But Yeonjun’s live stream is still ongoing. “Turn off the live.”

Yeonjun is smiling at his phone in painful ignorance. Manager Kim doesn’t miss the one second glance he spares at her. One second. One mere second before he starts inciting chaos even more. “Who? That’s a secretttt. I don’t want to tell you.”

Manager Kim’s phone starts buzzing. “Yeonjun, turn it off.” The buzzing won’t stop. Her personal phone starts going off as well

“Ah. Should I give you a hint?”

There’s an incoming call now.

“Choi Yeonjun, turn off the god damned—”

“Okay!” Yeonjun suddenly exclaims. He flashes a knowing smile to the camera, but his dearly stressed and overworked manager knows that it’s directed to her rather than the thousands of people witnessing the artist she’s in charge of stirring his third rumor of the week. Her phone won’t stop buzzing, it can be used as a fucking vibrator at this point. Choi Yeonjun is lucky he rakes in most of the agency’s profits— otherwise his contract would be terminated by now. “I have to go. My manager looks like she’s about to fire me, hehe. See you all tomorrow! Mwah!”

Just like that, the live stream ends, but Manager Kim’s phone is still incessantly ringing and beeping and giving the signal that Choi Yeonjun will once again go trending on Twitter— not in the way the company wants. Again. “Kim Noona?” Yeonjun calls out. “The light is green. The cars behind are honking at us.”

Manager Kim’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeonjun.” And they start moving again. “What are you gonna do once you get home?”

“Post a damage control photo. Got it.”

He knows. He knows yet he keeps pulling the same shit every week.

“Good...good— just,” his manager lets out a sigh, and they arrive at the front of his building. “No matter what I tell you, you won’t stop pulling these stunts, aren’t you?”

“Nope.” Yeonjun flashes her a grin, unbuckling his seatbelt, ready to slide the door open. “Thanks, noona! See you tomorrow!”

With that, Yeonjun leaves with a bounce in his step right after the mess he just made.

The problem is, Manager Kim can’t tell him to stop either after knowing exactly why he’s doing all of these scandal-bait, potentially career damaging things. It’s not something she can believe in, and it’s definitely not within the realm of reality. But after seeing the look on her artist’s eyes when he said— how many more headlines must he make until you can finally find your way back to him?

Well. All Manager Kim can do is work PR to their deaths for damage control.

*

Three.

“Why don’t we kick it off by listening to your latest single?”

Studio lights burn the set. Five seats are settled in place, four against one for an interview with one of the hottest K-Rock groups of the generation. Yeong-Il released a new single just earlier in the week, and it’s topped the charts ever since release. 

If I am given a second life I may live and breathe differently compared to now

Lee Heeseung looks happy to be here. So do Yang Jeongin and Lim Jimin. Choi Beomgyu, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now, complete with the faraway look on his face as he’s clearly not paying attention to the comments the host is making, instead drowning in melody and lyrics hummed by the speakers.

Among the streets we’ll walk past each other without knowing

“It’s quite different from our usual music, no?” Heeseung laughs.

I hope we remember each other

“Right!” Jeongin chimes in. “But I think we should hear from the man who produced and wrote this.”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Beomgyu, are you awake?”

Even if a second life That’s different from now comes to me The one thing I can say is That I’m going to be by your side

“Beomgyu!”

“Ah.” Beomgyu finally wakes up. He catches the concerned and nervous glances of his friends-slash-bandmates. Beomgyu takes the microphone from Jimin, tapping it once, before saying, “What do I do? It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this by myself.” Jeongin fails to hold back a snort at his lack of sincerity. Jimin sends him a nudge with his elbow. 

“Hey, this isn’t the first time you’ve written a song. Quit acting coy,” Heeseung manages to salvage the conversation, invisible sweat dripping down the side of his face. Beomgyu finally decides to stop stalling and answers the question.

“Well, anyhow, I think you can tell from the lyrics. Second Life is about a love that extends beyond lifetimes— promising that even after we’ve lived, died, and reborn as different people, there is still no one I’d love but you.” There’s some coughs from his bandmates. Beomgyu presses his lips into a smile. “That’s it.” And passes the microphone back to whoever reaches out for it first.

This kind of behavior from Yeong-il’s guitarist and vocalist isn’t new. 

The problem is, even though his team and fans are used to it, not everyone is, so the show’s host is taken aback by Beomgyu’s complete lack of care, unaffected and impenetrable. He stifles out a cough, flits through his cue cards. “O—oh, how romantic!” he exclaims. “I’ve noticed that a lot of your other songs that Choi Beomgyu-ssi has written seem to have a similar theme. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, it’s not really a secret, and it’s honestly pretty obvious,” Beomgyu answers, earning another nudge from Jimin. 

“He doesn’t seem like it, but Beomgyu is the biggest romanticist out of all of us,” Heeseung saves the day once more. Choi Beomgyu has been once dubbed as the biggest hurdle in every interviewer’s career. Nobody knows if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he really is just like that.

“We—well, can we ask what your inspiration is for writing this kind of music?”

It’s not a new question. It’s a question asked interview after interview to Choi Beomgyu whenever they release one of his songs riddled with his signatures of reincarnation, second lives, and first loves. But he’s always avoided answering them, sometimes going as far as outright telling the host that he doesn’t want to answer.

Though his bandmates are indeed both dreading and looking forward to the day Beomgyu would finally make a public answer to that million dollar question—

“Myself.”

—they certainly did not expect him to answer with the truth.

“What?”

“The tracks were inspired by myself,” he says, face flat, free from any sign of humor or jest. “I’m still waiting for my first love from my first life. There must be a reason why I still remember her and the life we shared. Doesn’t that mean we’re both destined to meet again?”

Silence washes over. Everyone on set is looking at Beomgyu, waiting for him to laugh or smile or crack a joke or some shit just to give an indication that he wasn’t at all serious with that statement. Their managers are frozen. They’re all looking at Heeseung to finally and neatly wrap things up before the mood gets worse.

Heeseung gets the signal. He quickly snatches the microphone from his friend and starts making bullshit up and praying to god that this part gets edited out. “Aha—ahaha, Beomgyu really likes to remain in character! That’s how much he takes his music seriously! Anyway—”

The rest of the interview turns up normally. No unexpected backstory reveals or trauma-dumps. No mentions of possible supernatural phenomena whatsoever and that’s mostly because Beomgyu decided to keep quiet for the rest of it.

He’s seriously a ticking time bomb, all but him share the same thought upon exiting the studio, until Heeseung finally confronts him about it when they reach the van.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to nag me,” Beomgyu groans. “We can ask them not to air that part, anyway. I’m just getting impatient.”

Impatience.

That’s a mutual feeling shared by all three of them. 

Twenty years. That’s how long they’ve been waiting. Centuries, if you count the period in between their previous lives and now. But when the person they’ve been waiting for finally shows up— patience will be a virtue that they’ll need to learn to strengthen. Patience. They’ll need to be a hell of a lot more patient if they want to take back what they lost.

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Pet names (hazbin edition)

If you guys want me to do some of the other usual characters i write for when it comes to hazbin, let me know! i usually go on ahead and do 3 separate posts for "series" like this but given that these are such short posts with little substance... ill be leaving it up to you guys!

Characters: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Alastor

Notes: reader is mostly gn, make reader for angel, fem reader for vaggie, otherwise I will do my best to provide gn/alt variations for any gendered names/names that are traditionally gendered, very short post only really focuses on names rather than scenarios, Alastor is a late addition to the post but his part can be seen as either platonic or queer platonic, use of "they" in this but its not that a pronoun hc i just copy/pasted the thing and didnt feel like editing the pronouns LMAO

CWs: none

CHARLIE

What they call you: Will call you anything you want to be called but I feel she has a love for some of the less common nicknames: Sunshine, Pumpkin, and so on! More often than not she calls you a shortened version of your name

What they like to be called: Similarly she's fine with anything you want to call her as long as it's nothing too dirty or mean, funny enough Sunshine also fits her!

VAGGIE

What they call you: Given that Vaggie canonically calls Charlie "Babe", I don't think it would be too far of a stretch to assume that she would call you the same as a general pet name! Also tends to call you by your nam

What they like to be called: She likes being called by her name, but if you say it when shes in the right mood shes fine with a lot of things!

ANGEL DUST

What they call you: If I said any examples I wouldn't be able to say this blog isn't NSFW/lh but also... It wouldn't be a surprise that he calls you some more vulgar names.. but in a non sexual setting? Babe is his go to for you!

What they like to be called: To the shock of absolutely no one... Love bug is a pretty basic one that hes pretty receptive too, but if you somehow find one in the same vein thats more unique hes going to be all over it

HUSK

What they call you: Sugar, Hon, Babe are his main three asides from simply saying your name. I mentioned before that affection isnt really his thing, at least not being open or overly so... I can see this spreading to verbal stuff too.. he does love you, of course

What they like to be called: Stud, though he seems to try to fight himself to not roll his eyes... Handsome, Lover, just to name a few

SIR PENTIOUS

What they call you: Darling, Dear, Dearest, Love, things like that that kind of give an "older" feel since hes from the victorian era... actually I can see him dropping a few that were popular when he was alive! Also calls you by your name... simply saying someones name is nice, it feels personal and intimate you know, in the right setting

What they like to be called: Happy with whatever you call him, you can call him Handsome or Sweetheart or even a Cutie Patootie... it doesn't matter, hes going to wear it like a badge of honor!

ALASTOR

What they call you: He already calls people things like Dear/Darling, so this ones a given! Can see him calling you Lovely as well

What they like to be called: Prefers his name but under the correct circumstances he lets you call him Hon in return

[faraway-sunshine]

We Interrupt This Blog To Show You Something Awesome

Omori has a Lego Ideas set! This awesomeness is brought to you by designer FoodIsScarce.

Under the cut, I'll be showing more images, explaining my thoughts, and give clarifications on how Lego Ideas works for this set. But if you want to skip that, link is here.

Lego Ideas Neighbor's Room and White Space Set Breakdown

To start off, this set has a whopping three components, all of which stand alone.

First, we have Neighbor's room!

The colors are honestly so nice in this mock-up. Lego has a fairly limited palette, but being bright and poppy works really well here.

Compared to the in-game room, it's pretty compact, but that makes sense so it doesn't dominate your shelves. Everything important is there, to outstanding detail. The leaves may ride up higher above the doorframe, but it doesn't break the immersion for me. It all feels like a piece of really nice fanart or even concept art.

The yellow cat is the centerpiece and I am very impressed with it. It isn't as stretched out as the original, though that's affected by the build size, but the shape of the paws, ears and head are spot-on and the face sticker really sells it.

Also, building the set sideways so it's smooth? Genius in my books. Sure, the minifigs won't stick, but all the smooth edges in this make the set stand out from Lego's lineup without seeming like a jarring oddity. Kind of like Omori's world compared to a bunch of other RPGs, really, so it's fitting.

I guess if I have a nitpick it'd be that the leaves are entirely different in vibe due to being all fluffy and rounded instead of the big sharp shapes in the original, but I don't think that's even really a bad thing. Just part of the Lego-ifying process. Also I groan at how I know I will place the cat's eyes wrong. Stickers are the bane of my existence. For Yellow Cat though, I would in theory persist.

Next, we have Mari's picnic blanket!

Gotta be honest, this caught me off guard, even as someone who was keeping track of this project for a while, but this is AWESOME. Colors are nailed, the existing basket and fruit pieces translate so well, and I just want to place all my fave figs on it immediately. I do hope that Mari's square could be subbed out with something with studs to keep her in place, as nothing else seems to be (maybe the basket has a 1 by 2 piece keeping it locked?).

I think it's an excellent choice even if it doesn't appear in either main room because you can plonk it by any other set or the huge pile of loose bricks you haven't gotten around to sorting yet and boom. You've just made a new corner of Headspace!

Last but certainly not least, White Space!

The computer and tissue box I think were really well done. Smooth place also tickles my fancy. I'm not as sold by the suspended light bulb; some white walls that maybe has a claw on the side would have helped sell the room more to me, I think. But it's solid.

And then you get to my favorite part in the room:

Original creator, you have my vote.

What about the minifigs?

This set still has you covered!

In this current iteration it includes six minifigs for your main characters as well as the cat and snake seen in earlier pictures. Everyone except Hero and Mari seem to be those shorter models, which always used to annoy me as a kid cause I couldn't bend the legs, but gets a pass here because remembering that height difference is nice.

The hair is a hot point of contest with the comments and Reddit posts. I'll explain more below, but Lego Ideas has rules about custom molds for new figures, so these were the closest the creator could get. And hey, I think Hero is spot on!

All the outfits and faces are custom prints, which are far easier than custom molds, and I think were done really well! Basil's top might be a bit bright, but otherwise the colors are perfect, and so is all the printing.

I also saw that Mari, Basil and Aubrey all had one extra face, which is rad. Not sure yet if Hero and Kel do too or if it's just the girls (I should assume Omori is just slate-faced as ever).

Just one more note: I love how spoiler-free this set is. You know everything in the first few moments of play. Our community is really bad with spoilers, I admit, so this is perfect for a shelf.

Here's some pics of them in action:

How does Lego Ideas even work? Is my vote worth it?

Short answer: Heck yeah!

Long answer:

Lego Ideas is a really popular program with a lot of new builds all the time, and people put a lot of work into both the models and promoting them just for the off-chance of it becoming a product.

I compiled some questions you might have based on this set specifically, but there's plenty of info yourself if you want to learn more.

How does a set get selected?

Lego Ideas has three intake periods a year for products that get over 10k signatures between the last period and that date. Each intake only has a select few that actually get to that mark; the record number in 2021 according to Wikipedia is 57 in one 2021 intake. It sounds like a lot, but in the site's 10-year run it's had over 135,000 ideas shared, not including a bunch that would have been struck down prior to going live due to breaking rules.

Each set gets 60 days to meet that goal on first launch, then an additional 365 once 100 people have signed on. Getting 1,000 supporters gives you an extra 6 months on top of that, and 5,000 (the halfway mark) another 6 months.

Meeting that 10k mark is non-negotiable for that specific set to receive the expert review through Ideas, though successful ideas that are lower may spark inspiration from their own teams.

Do I need to pledge money?

No! Lego Ideas is not a Kickstarter or crowdfund campaign. Those ask for money as they need a way to produce and distribute the product. Lego handles this on the creator's behalf.

All you need is to make a free Lego account and click the support button. You don't even have to enable email notifications on signup.

Where will I find the set then if it's made?

Anywhere else you find Lego! Even toyshops I go to have a small shelf for Ideas sets. If none of your local retailers have it, it'd be on online storefronts worldwide.

But Omori is a licensed product!

So are most of Lego Ideas' concepts that make it to becoming a set! Out of the 65 sets announced and confirmed for production (or who have already had their run!) just 29 are not tied to an IP.

So Omocat will be involved?

Yes. If the idea gets far enough, Lego would reach out to Omocat and any other copyright holders of Omori to discuss how to proceed. They will also get a say in any tweaks, and likely make a licensing fee off of Lego.

However, due to the Ideas streamline, the set likely won't be sold on Omocat's storefront (and if they are, it'd be because Omocat got a few sets to sell from them; they'll never be exclusive to Omocat's store).

Will the creator get paid?

If it makes it, yes! Lego Ideas people get a 1% cut. It's not much, but for all the work it gets to 10k I think it's earned.

But Omori isn't for kids!

Guess what: Neither are most Ideas! They're packed in black boxes and kept near the architecture and more advanced Technic sets targeted towards adults. Each set also has an age recommendation based both on set difficulty and the IP.

Is Omori even appropriate for Lego as a brand?

Omori is on the list of approved IP for Lego Ideas. This may be reviewed, but I think it will remain appropriate both because the set does not portray any of the concerning content in the game and because of the nature.

Lego says they won't make sets for franchises built around graphic violence, alcohol, or sex. Omori lacks all that. I doubt it would be yanked down based on that.

I don't care about Omori. Why should I support this?

First, why did you make it down here?

And second, look. I get it even as a fan. But if we can get an Omori set even to the review stage, that opens up the door for people to try with all other kinds of indie franchises. Undertale, Oneshot, Stardew Valley, Hollow Knight, whatever you think of!

Lego Ideas is a portal to Lego working with IP that isn't just owned by a mega corporation, and I think that is awesome.

I signed! What else can I do?

Spread the word! Reblog this post, tell your friends about it, repost (with links and credit) to other social media. Every little bit helps on the road to 10k, to catch Lego's attention, or even just to inspire someone else with a set idea they worry is too niche to share.

Cause this isn't just about Omori. It's about supporting the creativity of a dedicated fan who spent a long time working on something clearly inspired by a game held closely. And I am always going to support that.

Thank you for reading this far! If you're a regular, sorry for the break, lol. I will get back to regular posts soon. I just had an exam so am still a bit drained.

LINK IS HERE FOR A SECOND TIME: https://ideas.lego.com/projects/a73aaefc-9bc2-44f8-b106-63d66817fd1a/official_comments#content_nav_tabs

[angelwishess]

୨୧ TWST HCS !~

Heartslabyul | Savannaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomfiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

— Rambling / Details utc~

Since Heartslabyul is based on Alice in Wonderland, I thought it’d fit for everyone to look super unique in some aspect!! Ace is the only one that wears a varisty jacket, Deuce has the most piercings, Trey has a bunch of different glasses, and Cater has the most accessories !! And Riddle….. hes Riddle idk /j

Riddle: He is a pretty boy and no one can convince me otherwise. I didn’t add it but i imagine hes rather pale, and gets embarrasingly red in the heat. Has the most beautiful purple-blue eyes and almost looks like a doll honestly. Slight, reddish freckles if u look hard enough lol (I also hc that he gets a white streak of hair after Book 6, but I forgot to add it 😭)

Ace: I didn’t add it, but I imagine he wears a varsity jacket instead of the school blazer!! The thought of him looking like a typical disney show bully was just too funny to me. Much messier / fluffier hair, and has such long, dark lashes that it makes every girl he’s ever known jealous. He knows it too, and hes an ass about it, will flutter his lashes whenever someone mentions it. Had stud piercings because yes !!! (Regarding the varsity jacket, I’ll draw how I think it looks some time :3)

Deuce: Slightly longer hair, but he tries his best to keep it neat. Has alot of ear piercings, but he tries to cover it up with his hair 😭. Super pretty bottom lashes , and a nice beauty mark underneath his eye. Has really pretty lips :3 He tries to wear both his nrc and dorm uniform as correctly as possible (struggles to tie a tie and has to redo it like 50 times) (<- His tie still ends up a lil wonky lol)

@skibidibabygirl DEUCE MENTIONED

Trey: I will be honest, I struggled alot with him 😭. Couldn’t think of anything major, but I thought it’d be nice to give him colorful glasses teehee. I would’ve done something better with that but I couldn’t find any good refs 😭, but i imagine he has a lot of cool looking glasses he just switches up cuz why not its silly and i like it HEHE. I added two little beauty marks on him too, as well as some gold ear piercings. One being a lil hoop like Cater’s :33. Idk if its noticable but I made his shoulders broader too!! That man is built no one can convince me otherwise baking weirdly has a lot of arm strength involved 😭

Edit: I imagine him to have a bunch of glasses like these!!!

Cater: Fashion KING. He LOOVES to accessorize. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, you name it !! I added some lil chain thingys on his tie too :3 Slightly longer blazer, and oversized pants. I gave him lip piercings just because it looked cool tbh HAHAHA, messier hair and two beauty marks under his eye to match Trey !! <3 He has painted nails, and I also gave him a hair clamp that makes his lil ponytail into the shape of a diamond if you look at him from behind. Customizes his uniforms as much as possible, the opposite of Deuce LMAOO

[leighsartworks216]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Sylus x gn!Reader

I don't remember anymore how this idea came to me but I needed to write it. Makes references to other stories in the Raven series

Warnings: spicy but no smut, collars, leashes, muzzles, marking, ownership, master/pet, light bondage, halloween, slight swearing, established relationship

Word Count: 2,667

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You glare at the twins with a hardened fury that could scare any client of Sylus’s into pissing their pants and apologizing to you for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, this is Luke and Kieran. They don’t crumble under the stare. They laugh.

It’s stupid, you decide. Before, well, you were open to the idea. Miss Hunter needs “Skye” to make an appearance at a Halloween party thrown by her colleagues and friends, so it’s only natural he’d want to bring his partner along to join in on the fun. She didn’t argue against it, but she did warn about keeping you - hm, how did she put it again? Ah, yes, on a tight leash.

Why’d she have to say it in front of these chuckleheads?

The black collar is lined with spiked studs, connected to a long leather leash. Sure, fine, whatever. You even like the idea of wearing it, so long as the leash is in Sylus’s hand.

But a muzzle?

“Awe, c’mon! We don’t get to go, so you might as well let us have some fun with it!”

“We can run out and grab you a box of milk bones, if you’d like.”

Sylus wraps an arm around your shoulders and steers you away from the twins before you can successfully wrap the leash around their necks. “You’re dismissed,” he orders with a wave of his hand. He takes the muzzle from you, idly studying it.

You glare over your shoulder at Luke and Kieran, who snicker as they finally do as they’re told. The sound grates on your nerves until the door closes and shuts them out.

You shift out of his hold easily. He perches against his nice, expensive desk as he watches you pace back and forth, fiddling with the leather collar and leash in your hands. He sets the muzzle aside and crosses his arms.

“What are you thinking about?”

A lot of things, quite frankly. Your position as the fearsome guard dog of the great Onychinus leader, Miss Hunter and her little friends, the party, your costume, your increasingly complex feelings on being “owned” by someone…

You know Sylus doesn’t own you. You know, if ever you wished it, you could walk right out of here and go on into forever, and he would let you. It would hurt. But he wouldn’t hold you back.

Is it so wrong if you want him to…?

Your body has never been yours. As a kid, it belonged to the streets and the failed help programs of the city. As a teen, it belonged to your damned tormentor, the Devil. Even when you escaped as a young adult, you didn’t know enough about who you were anymore to hold any claim over yourself. You fought, you struggled, you became cleverer, and scarier. You became the Raven. And for the short time you’ve carried that name, you have learned to own yourself again. Even the ring on your pinky, that eternal promise mirrored on Sylus’s own hand, could not steal that from you.

Maybe it’s not quite ownership you want to give up, then.

You want to keep owning yourself, but you want him to, as well. You want to be that hopelessly loyal guard dog to him. You want to be obedient to his commands, and defiant in order to protect him. You want to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at him the wrong way. You want him to watch….

You want to be wanted.

And you are, aren’t you? He has never made it seem like he wants anything else but for you to be by his side. Not only that, how many times has he made it clear that he belongs to you? How many more times must he before it sinks in? Before you can grasp the fact that he wants to be your hopelessly loyal guard dog? That he wants to be obedient to your every command and defiant in order to protect you? He wants to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at you the wrong way, and he wants you to watch him do it.

He impedes your path, stopping you in your tracks and tilting your head up by your chin. He’s frowning. There’s a furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, more insistent than before.

Wrong? Is anything wrong here? The twins’ meddling in messing with you, maybe - but they weren’t exactly wrong. You are his dog on a leash, a dangerous animal that will bite if given the chance.

But… so is he.

You’re two wild, vicious animals. You’ve lashed out to save yourselves. Done horrific things in order to keep the weaker dogs from challenging you, and even worse things to those who dared to try. But you hold his leash, and he holds yours. You could so easily choke him with it. He could choke you with it. And yet, you are at peace - content in your mutually assured destruction.

“Sweetheart?”

You breathe in deeply. You hold the collar out to him, the leash loosely coiled and dangling from your fingers. He glances down at it, but his attention is focused solely on you.

“I want to wear it,” you say quietly. “But only if you’re the one putting it on.”

Something flickers in his eyes. The furrow in his brow is gone, replaced with silent understanding. He releases your chin. Long fingers wrap around the collar and leash, pressed between your palms as he holds your hand. “What about the muzzle?”

You grin slightly, playfully. It’s that same satisfied smirk you had back when he first met you. “I may need it around all those people, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “If you behave, I’ll give you a treat after. How does that sound?”

He takes the collar. You can’t deny the thrill that runs through you as you watch him deftly undo the silver buckle. You stare up at him as he wraps the leather around your throat. He stares right back with a hungry look in his eyes as he slowly tightens it.

The leather is surprisingly soft. Not for a dog, that’s for sure. You’re almost grateful the twins regard you with enough respect to buy a collar made for humans. Almost. Not enough to let this whole incident slide unpunished. You think a little target practice to try shooting off the rings on their horns is a good warmup.

He tightens it a little more than necessary. You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, or the soft sigh that escapes through your nose. You’re rewarded with the familiar press of lips to your own. “Good dog,” he hums teasingly. You hate how much you love it.

He loosens it back up, enough to sit comfortably without rubbing your neck raw. His face is still tauntingly close to yours. Every breath fans over you, daring you to close the gap.

But you don’t.

He draws back once the buckle is secured. The leash hangs down, long enough to reach your mid-calf. “I wonder if you know any tricks,” he muses with a smirk and that cocky head tilt he does. He nods over to his desk. “Sit.”

You narrow your eyes up at him, but you smile. It reminds you of the commands he usually uses to control you during negotiations, and just how you both came to the agreement of using them. And like the good little pet you are, you saunter over to the desk and pull yourself up to sit on it. Back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in your lap. He loves it.

He follows, standing in front of you and picking up the muzzle from his desk. It’s a basket muzzle, shaped to fit a human’s face instead of a dog’s snout. Silver bars weave together in an imprisoning array. Two straps hang in loose circles, held together by silver buckles. Sylus deftly undoes them, while his eyes appreciate the line of the leash that trails down your body and disappears between your thighs.

Holding the basket with one hand, and a strap in the other, he reaches forward to place the muzzle on your face. You turn, dodging the contraption, to catch the meat of his thumb between your teeth. He chuckles. “Behave. Be a good dog, won’t you?”

You bite down slightly harder, enough to leave a mark without breaking skin, but don’t let go. He smirks, leaning down until he’s at eye-level with you. “Here I thought this pup was properly trained. Do I have to tame them myself?”

It’s intoxicating, the playful yet almost threatening lilt in his voice. If you didn’t have a party to go to for Miss Hunter’s sake, you would love to test the limits of your handler even further.

As it is, you do have a party to go to, and time is ticking away.

Your teeth release his flesh. Left behind is a pretty red mark with indents from your canines and incisors. You stare into his eyes as you slowly lick the mark. His eyes follow the swipe of your tongue, darkened with desire.

With no more protests, he affixes the straps around your head - one that goes over your ears and one that goes under. The metal cage over your nose and mouth is cushioned by a strip of soft leather. It’s restrictive, but it’s not uncomfortable. If you wanted to, you could speak… or bark, if you felt like it.

Sylus places a kiss over the metal wires with a devilish grin. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand traces your jaw, fingertips dancing over the straps, to your neck. He idly brushes over the studs along the collar, trailing down the line to reach the D-ring at the front. It’s large enough that he could hook his finger in it, but why do that when there’s a perfectly good leash right there?

The metal clasp of the leash jingles lighty against the ring. You can hear the leather sliding between his fingers as he pulls it from between your thighs. It creaks as he wraps it around his hand. He tugs on it experimentally. You’re jolted forward. The collar is tighter against the back of your neck, straining toward the pull.

“I enjoy it, too,” he hums lowly, for your ears only. He keeps the tension on the line as he leans in to press soft kisses at the edge of the muzzle. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, falsified wariness shining back at him. They flutter shut as he smiles against your skin, trailing his lips lower and lower, over the straps of the muzzle and to the top of the collar.

“I wonder…” His breath is loud in your ears, mixing with your heartbeat, as he leaves an open-mouthed kiss at the line where skin meets leather. “When we get back…” His teeth ghost over your pulse. “How I would look in your place?”

Your eyes snap open and lock onto him. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze with a wide smile. “Would you like that, my beloved?” He kisses your cheek. “Me, collared and chained, obedient to your every command?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I wonder how obedient you really are. Does this dog bark?”

He pulls tighter on the leash, causing you to strain your neck against it. “Growl?”

He suddenly slackens the lead. You’re unsteady as you press your hands into the desk for support. Before you can growl at him, his fingers are pulling down the collar to get to your sweet spot. His teeth nibble at it, pulling an unexpected sound from your mouth. “Oh? So they can whine. Do you howl, too?”

He kisses your skin more intently, sucking on it and leaving little bites, soothed by his tongue. One right below your jaw makes you whimper. “Good dog,” he whispers. His free hand pets your hair, the one holding the leash coming to rest beside your thigh as he leans over you. “Maybe I should cover your whole neck like this.” He bites harder at the spot. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Would you like that, hm? Being mine?”

You nod. You're on cloud nine, mind fuzzy from elation. He tugs at the leash again, this time pulling it behind you so it presses up against your trachea. You gasp in response, fighting to keep sitting upright even as your head is strained back.

“Speak.”

“Yes.”

He slackens the lead again, breath growing heavy and with a growl at the back his throat as he goes to work devouring you. “Good dog.”

-

Miss Hunter greets you a few paces from the door with wide eyes. She stares at the (very fresh) marks littering your neck, some hidden by the collar and some with oddly suspicious teeth marks. She gives Sylus a dubious look. “Just who needs to be muzzled here?”

He smirks lazily. “The difference is who gets bit, kitten. I would hate to rush your coworkers to the hospital tonight.”

She glares at him, before glancing at your neck one more time. “Somebody’s gonna think this is some weird BDSM thing…” Nonetheless, she moves on. “What are you two supposed to be, exactly?”

“Can’t you tell? After all the effort we went through…” He sighs, feigning disappointment. “I’m a vampire. You seemed so insistent on it, because of my red eyes, remember?”

His costume is very toned down - some custom-fit vampire fangs and some nice clothes. Kieran suggested the fake blood, which runs from his lip down his chin.

“And what are they?”

You think Luke snuck into Linkon City for supplies purely to mess with you further, because while Kieran was handing Sylus a bottle of fake blood, Luke was handing you fuzzy animal ears and a fake tail. If it weren’t for the muzzle, you probably would have bitten him when he pat your head.

“My pet werewolf, of course.” He gestures to the leash. “This is just to ensure they don’t go on any rampages while they’re here.”

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh, is that the only reason?”

He tilts his head back at her. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid our relationship is rather exclusive. We’re not looking for a third member right now.”

Her cheeks heat up as she sputters out, “Th-That’s not what I meant!” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Anyway, everyone’s inside. Just, don’t scare them off,” she gives you a pointed look, “and keep your fangs to yourself.” She turns it on Sylus.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’m as docile as they come.”

She shakes her head again and runs off, slipping inside the house where the party is taking place.

A warm hand scratches you playfully behind one of the fake animal ears. “Ready?”

You turn to him and crook a finger to beckon him down to your height. Even without a collar to control him, he does as you ask, until his sharp eyes are level with yours. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the sudden feeling of the leash at the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He huffs a laugh once he realizes what you’ve done.

From the outside, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Your leash pulls at your own collar as you hold it around his neck, pinched together at the front with one of your hands so he can’t pull away. From there, it trails down to his own hand, where it’s still wrapped around in his hold.

From the inside, Sylus’s eyes glance down at your mouth, and how he wishes the muzzle weren’t there so he could kiss you. You lean forward until the cold metal wires of the muzzle brush against his ear. “I’m looking forward to my treat.”

He turns his head to meet your eye, a wicked little gleam shining back at you. “So am I.”

---

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