#took the bastard rumors and RAN with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorusugurugurl · 1 year ago

Note

Here's some funny ideas I've got while at work today; a leisure streamer gojo who'd just simply streamed himself playing games naked except for his sunglasses and briefs. Rumors had it that each time his all-time top donor was replaced, the new one would get to see him ~fully naked~.

The Leisure Streamer is a Hottie!

Summary: Rumor had it the top donor of the-strongest-streamers chats get to see him naked! Now that you're the top donor will you get to see the goods or was it just a rumor. Time will tell.

Pairing: Streamer!Gojo x FAB!Reader

Warnings: language, nudity, masturbation, mutual-masturbation, skype sex??

A/N: I fell in love with this request! ugjskdkekd I love them so much! Thank you bonnie for such a great idea!! 💚💚💚

Part Two Part Three Part Four

On Friday nights, you always ran home from your last college class, avoiding people on bikes and walking by. You often got dirty looks thrown at you or the occasional ‘watch where you're going.’ But nothing would stop your stride. Friday nights were some of your favorite nights of the week. All because the-strongest-streamer live streamed on Fridays.

And the man, god fuck, he was the hottest!

Gojo Satoru, aka the-strongest-streamer, was a leisure streamer. He played games like Animal Crossing, Dream Daddy, and fluffy feel-good games in only his boxers and sunglasses. He was among the most popular streamers, not only for his looks but also for his happy-go-lucky attitude. But because of a particular rumor that started going around.

It was said in the forms online, in his comments, and even on Twitter that every time his all-time top donor was replaced, the new one would get to join a private stream with him and see him fully naked. That was just a rumor. He had denied the allegations and made it clear that the private stream was to have a meet and greet with his top donor.

The meet and greet was why you’ve been saving money for six months. You wanted to meet the man who had brought you so much joy in the last year. You stumbled across his profile when looking through videos online. You were looking for a cute cat compilation to ease the ache in your heart after your boyfriend dumped you. Instead, you found this goofball that had you smiling like an idiot on your phone.

You had been in a dark time when you first found his videos. You wanted to express your gratitude to him. Seeing him naked was not your goal in any way, shape, or form.

The second you got home, you slid over to your laptop and pulled up Gojo’s stream. He was sprawled out in his black and blue gaming chair; blue LED lights illuminated the room. Black sunglasses reflected his computer screen as he adjusted his headset.

“Tom Nook is a scammer.” He announced as hundreds of comments flooded in. “The little shit asks me to do all this for him! After all, I have to spend my hard-earned bells on upgrading the pavers. Kiss my nicely toned ass, you bastard.” You smiled, giggling as you dreamily watched him. “Ya’ know what? Next week, we'll play Sims or something; I’d rather build a house than have Tom Nook steal all my money.”

He adjusted his sunglasses as he slipped on some frappe, the logo conveniently covered so no one knew where he was. Several comments flooded in asking what he was drinking, and most people sent in small donations. All of these were things Satoru tried to answer and thank. He may miss a couple here and there, but he tried hard to get to everyone. God, he was so down to earth.

It was all of those reasons that had you clicking the donate button, sending a total of eight hundred dollars to him. Your cute little icon of a mochi popped up on his screens, flashing while music blared. The whole scene reflected off his dark sunglasses.

“Eh?!” The white tufts of his hair flowed as he moved in, focus glued to the screen. “Whoa! Whoa! Mochi-gurl-89, thank you so much for that donation!” With a chipper chime, you took the spot as his top donor. “And it looks like you're my new top donor! Just before the stream ended! I'll have one of my admins contact you so we can do our private stream. And with this, I adore you all, until next time this is the-strongest-streamer signing off!”

The second he ended his stream, your inbox chimed with a new message. As Satoru said, it was a message from one of his admins. The message was clear; you got a thirty-minute stream, maybe more if Satoru agreed. There could be no recording of your conversation or photos, which was perfectly fine. All you wanted to do was talk. After agreeing to all those terms and signing a nondisclosure form, you were sent a link to your private stream.

You had your camera off, your cute chibi mochi avatar taking up your screen as Satoru’s room was fully displayed. With a deep breath, you shook your hands, trying to ease your nerves as a door opened on Satoru’s screen. A second later, he plopped down in his gaming chair. God, he was so handsome. Fluffy white hair and chiseled abs like he was carved from marble; he was just your type.

“Hello?” he asked, “you there, mochi-gurl-89?”

“O-Oh! Uhm, yes, hi!” He stared at the screen, frowning just a bit as he saw your avatar instead of your face.

“Here, I thought I’d be talking to a fan. Instead, it's a cute mochi ball.”

You nervously giggle before clicking a few times and turning your camera on. You felt so plain compared to him. He was incredibly sexy, and you were just an average college girl. In your opinion, there wasn’t much to see.

“Oh.” Satoru breathed out, drawing your attention back to the screen. You swear to God, you choked on your breath. Because he had taken his sunglasses off, revealing cerulean eyes behind white lashes. “Wow, you're fuckin’ hot.”

“Oh! Uhm—”

“Fuck! Sorry, did I say that out loud?” he sulked back in his chair. “I'm so sorry. I'm not one of those creeps who stalk their followers. I, I was expecting—”

“A giant ball of mochi?” The sweetness of your voice seems to have him relaxing as he realizes you didn't mind his compliment.

“Exactly.”

You cup some of your hair behind your ear, biting your lip. “Sorry to disappoint, but thank you for the compliment.”

“And thank you for the generous donation! That means a lot to me.”

“Thank you for being such a beacon of light in my life.” Did popular streamers think comments like that were cringe? “I hope that doesn’t come off creepy or weird.”

“I've had fans send me their underwear. Being a beacon of light to you is the least weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

You can't help the wide, warm smile that spreads across your face. “You have no clue how happy that makes me. I went through a nasty break and the night that it happened. I found one of your—” his fingers played with the hem of his boxers. “Your stream—and you—” fingers gently lift the hem, and you focus on his face. “Uhm Gojo?” The man on your screen hums.

“Yes, mochi-gurl?”

“I—I heard about you getting naked for the private streams.” Using your hands, you shield your vision. “B-But you don't have to do that! I just wanted to talk.”

“Eh?!” peeking through your fingers, you watch the white-haired man turn red. “Naked! No! No shit fuck, I'm sorry! I'm not a perv, I swear to god.” He shields his face in his hands, grumbling some incoherent words that you can't make out.

Gojo didn't seem like the type to be a pervert, and from his reaction, it wasn't like you’d caught him fully undressing in front of you. If anything, he seemed more embarrassed than you. After gathering your thoughts, you leaned a bit closer to your screen.

“Gojo?”

His white hair flies as his head jerks up. “I-I know about the rumors! How I get nude for my private streams for my top donors, but that is nothing more than a rumor, I swear!” Your eyes widen as he stares directly at you, into your soul. “I promise you I wasn't about to do anything remotely weird.” His face is almost entirely red, and his bottom lip is between his teeth as he scans your features.

“Okay,” you tentatively begin, “then what were you doing?”

“That's the thing; it's going to sound ten times worse when I tell you what I was doing.” you motion with your hands for him to continue. “Okay, just promise you won't put me on blast or try to cancel me?” When you nod, the leisure streamer grumbles before tilting his head back. “I-I’m sorry, but you're really hot. Like super mega hot.” Thank god your room is so dark, or he could see how flushed you were. “So hot, my stupid dick decided to spot a hard-on.” He rolls his chair back just an inch, revealing the extremely hard bulge in his boxers. “I was trying to discreetly lift the waistband so you wouldn't see how hard I was.”

A string of ‘I’m sorry’ echoes on the other end of the screen. Gojo’s blue eyes focused on you, waiting to see how you reacted to the news. His shy demeanor and the bulge in his boxers have you shifting in your seat. Heat pools between your thighs. God, were you getting wet? Rubbing your thighs together, you confirmed that you were as you felt your arousal. You bite down on your inner cheek to prevent a moan from sounding.

“Hey, mochi-gurl? You're too quiet, and you look super pissed. I'm sorry.” Gojo’s voice seems to enhance your growing arousal. He sits back, cocking a brow as you peer at him with dark needy eyes through your lashes. “H-Hey you go-goo—oh fuck.” He watches as you stick your hand between your legs.

“You think I’m hot?” Your voice is so smooth, with desire.

“Y-Yeah, super hot.” Gojo follows suit, his hand reaching back down, fingertips slipping under the band of his boxers. “The hottest fuckin’ girl I've ever seen.”

Pressing your fingers against your shorts, you rub your clit in slow circles. “Gojo, you’re girlfriend won't find us doing this?” The man on the screen before you scoff, his hand sliding fully into his boxers.

“Girlfr-ahh—” his hand moved up and down, “fuuuck—what girlfriend? I-I go to the gym, hang out with my friends, and live stream.” Watching him stroke himself has you feeling feral. “Plus streaming half naked, well, let's just say girls don't like that.”

You rubbed your clit faster, “As a girl, I like it.” White brows knitted on your screen. “I like it a lot; it's so hot.” Gojo watched, head resting back against his chair as you slid your hand up your shirt, cupping your breasts, massaging yourself.

“Y-Yeah? Does your boyfriend like it?”

“I don't have one~”

Gojo growled, biting down on his lip. “Really?” He leaned back, spreading his legs apart. “Lucky me.” Pursing your lips together, you tilted your head back. “Fuck, you're so fucking hot, sweetheart.” something overcame you. A boldness you hadn’t experienced before. Taking the bottom of your T-shirt, you put it between your teeth and lifted it, revealing your bare chest to your favorite streamer. “Oooh fuck, you have the prettiest tits.” Gojo watched as your fingers moved elegantly over your skin, kneading your breast until your nipples were hard. “How rude of me, you’re showing me yours might as well show you mine.”

A choke sounds in your throat as you nearly release your T-shirt from between your teeth. Gojo had pulled his boxers down just enough to hook them underneath his balls, freeing his gorgeous cock. His cock throbbed and twitched underneath his hand as he gently began stroking it up and down. Watching him stroking himself, twisting his wrist, squeezing it just around the tip, causing his head to tilt back, and seeing that made you do something you had never done.

Gojo could hear you shuffling in the background before your screen suddenly turned, and he faced a couch. You plopped down, your shorts discarded. With his jaw dropped open, Gojo watched as you spread your legs as wide as you could in front of the camera and rubbed your fingers over your wet pussy. You had never done something like this before. Sexting, yes, but full-on masturbating in front of a stranger, this was something you never thought you would do.

“Holy, you're so wet.” his hand sped up around his cock. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking pretty.” his thumb brushed over the slit rubbing pre-cum over the tip. “God, I wanna taste you. I bet you smell fucking delicious.”

“I want to suck you off, fuck, Gojo~ fuuuck.” coding your fingers in your slick, you rub quick, fast circles around your clit, causing your legs to tremble. “Gojo~ Gojo~”

“N-No, call me Satoru, please.”

“Satoru~”

Goj—Satoru tilts his head forward, his burning gaze on you, watching you slide a finger inside your tight heat. You don't think you've ever been so aroused. Having a stranger watching you finger yourself as he jerks off had your walls clenching around your fingers. Satoru must have thought the same thing because his tip dribbles more pre-cum, his cock throbbing hard as he matches his pace with yours.

“Oh god, I'm so wet.” Slick coats your fingers as you rub your clit with your thumb. “I can't remember the last time I was this wet.”

“I can tell, god, you're soaked.” Glancing at the screen, you can see Satoru gritting his teeth. “Oh fuck, I-I’m so hard it hurts, I-I’ve never done this before. God feels so good; all my brain is thinking is, ‘dick hard, feel good.’”

The conversation dies down, replaced with whines, moans, and grunts of pleasure. Your eyes never miss each other. You both constantly look each other over, whispering each other’s names like prayers. You try to imagine how his thick, long fingers would feel inside of you instead of your own. You know that he could reach the sweet spots inside you that you loved. At the same time, Satoru imagines replacing his hand with your own while his fingers take the place of yours.

Both of you are so worked up that you find yourself dangling over the edge of an orgasm before you know it. Your legs are trembling, toes curling, while Satoru’s hand moves faster his other hand, reaching down, cupping his balls, massaging them. Both of you are lost in each other’s pleasure without even touching the other. There’s chemistry between you. Both you and Satoru can feel it through the screen.

“Oh fuck, of fuck, fuuuuck fuck!” Satoru leans closer to his screen to watch you. “Oh god, I can feel it coming; it’s gonna be a big one. Baby~ fuuuck, please tell me you’re close.”

“S-So close.” a sharp inhale of breath sounds, “Oooh fuckin’ shit, Satoru, I’m gonna cum~.”

“Oi.” your eye hazily find him, “look at me when you cum.”

That, god, that was the hottest thing anyone has ever told you. “Cummin! Oh fuck, Satoru~! Satorruu!” the screen that leaves your body almost doesn’t sound human as you squirt all over your couch. Even though your orgasm is the hardest one you’ve ever experienced, not once do your eyes leave his.

“Good girl~ good fuckin girl.” his praises leave your cunt twitching. “Oh fuck, gonna fill you up all the way. Tell me you want it. Please.”

“Yes~ Satoru, inside~ inside~!”

The veins and his neck protrude as he slams his free fist against his desk, causing his setup to shake. Ropes and ropes of white cum spurt out of his cock. The sticky substance coats his abdomen, on the top of his thighs and hand.

“Fuck~ fuck~fuuuck!” His hand continues, moving up and down his shaft, milking his cock for all that it’s worth. “Fuuuck!” he hisses out through clenched teeth.

Several seconds pass, both of you breathing heavily, recovering from your orgasms. Swallowing hard at your dry throat, you slowly pull your fingers out of you with a wince. Satoru was the next move, grabbing some tissues off his desk and cleaning himself up. You can’t help but laugh softly in the silence of cleaning yourselves.

Hearing the angelic sound leaving your mouth, Satoru focuses his blue eyes on you. “What’s got you giggly over there?” much to his disappointment, you slide your shorts back on before sitting back on the couch.

“That was one hell of a meet and greet.”

Satoru’s lets out a rough laugh.”Yeah, it sure as hell was. I think I owe you a proper meet and greet.” The streamer let out a content sigh. “Are you free tomorrow night? I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have.” he leans back, fixing his boxers.

“Think you can keep your boner down long enough for that?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I can’t make any promises that it’ll behave.”

“Huh, what if I don’t want it to behave?”

Flushed cheeks darken in color as Satoru’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Goddamn, you're so hot. Who knew some chick with a mochi avatar was going to have me stroking my cock tonight.” God, he was so cute, both physically and in personality. “Which is super cute, by the way. Did you do it yourself, or did you have an artist commission it? Because I am in dire need of some new avatar artwork for my videos.”

“I drew it myself. I’m a freelance graphic design artist.”

“You takin’ commissions right now, Miss oh-so-hot-and-talented?”

“If I get this job I want tomorrow, I might have to take a brief break. But I would make an exception for you.”

Satoru opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a knock on the door behind him. “Shit, sorry, I gotta go; I promised my roommate I would help him hook up a computer upstairs.” With one final glance in your direction, Satoru, for once, was elated over a rumor that had spread about him over the Internet. “Tomorrow same time, mochi-gurl?”

“Sounds great, Satoru.”

After bidding farewell to the exceptionally hot man, you pass out on the couch. From the excitement of getting to meet your favorite streamer to the intensity of your orgasm. The combination of those contributing factors knocked you on your ass. While your neck was stiff, falling asleep like that on the couch allowed you to get some of the best sleep in months.

You woke up refreshed and ready for your interview that morning. Satoru had put a peep in your step as you walked into the coffee shop you had an interview with. The owner wanted to develop a new logo design for the shop. One that was both warm, welcoming, and had an adorable mascot.

“Wow,” The man across from you flips through your portfolio, “you're talented. You’re just a freelance artist?”

“Mhmm, I don’t like big corporations. I would rather help out small businesses and help support our local community.”

The man interviewing you brushes dark bangs out of his face, his tongue running over his lip piercing. “We love supporters of small businesses. People like you that keep our place going.” He brushes long, dark strands of hair before his dark eyes leave the page before him, meeting your nervous gaze. “Which is why I think you would be a great fit. Your art is exactly what I’m looking for when I think of our logo.”

“Really? That’s so good to hear. I promise you I won’t disappoint you. I’ll be sure to make your dreams come true.”

Your interviewer shuts your portfolio, handing it back to you. He held out his hand, his nails painted black, and his rings on almost every finger. When you first walked into this cute café, you were intimidated by the stranger. He was covered in tattoos and piercings, and his gauges were huge, but he couldn't have been any nicer. So, without hesitation, you stood up, shaking his hand.

“I'm looking forward to doing business with you, Geto.”

“Same goes for me; I’ll give you a tour and introduce you to everyone.”

Rainbow Dragon Cafe recently went viral for its excellent coffee, pastries, and aesthetic. Not only was it a café, but it was also a gaming café. There is a bar where people can enjoy their coffee and booths where they can sit down and work on projects if needed. On one wall, there’s a large flat-screen TV playing compilations of different streamers talking to the camera as they play games. A large sectional couch was set up in front of it so people could sit down and watch if they wanted to.

The other wall was set up so that people could take photos with the company's logo behind them. That was if they had a logo, which is where you came in. For the next few months, your job was to help the owner, Geto Suguru, design and revamp his menu and website. Once you succeed in your mission, a cute neon sign with the logo will be placed on the wall, covered in fake vines and flowers. It is the perfect spot to take photos and hashtag the cafe in their posts.

“This is Shoko; she manages the front and helps run orders to tables.” A woman with dark brown hair waved at you casually as she passed a cigarette in her mouth and headed for the front.

“Taking a smoke break, I’ll be right back.”

Geto led you into the back, where an espresso machine hissed. “Back here is Ryomen Sukuna; he is my best barista.” The muscular, pink-haired man in front of you, covered in tattoos, slammed a rag down on the counter.

“I'm not some fucking barista; I’m the king of coffee.”

“Right, king of coffee, sorry.” Geto introduced you to several other workers. Most of them were just high schoolers working there as a part-time. Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki waved at you before returning to doing their inventory. “And you’ll meet my girls eventually. They said something about getting more couches or pillows for the front. They’re the head of our social media team.”

You lean over the counter with Geto, overlooking the shop that you were hired to help. “I love the setup you guys have. It’s got my creative juices flowing.” Glancing at the TV, you watch a compilation of different streamers reacting to jump scares. “But I’m curious. Why make it a gaming cafe?” Geto follows your gaze, humming at your question.

“That’s all because of my best friend. I didn’t want just to run a cafe and bookstore; I wanted to do something different. He pitched the idea. A place for people to sip coffee, read a book, or play video games.”

“Sounds like he’s a good friend.”

“He is.” Geto jerks his thumb in the direction of a door. “He rents out the basement while I live in the loft upstairs. He's an investor; you might get to meet him if he ever drags his stupid ass out of the basement.”

“Oh, that wou—”

Before you finish your sentence, the door Geto is still pointing at is slammed open. “Suguru! Hey, do you think I could borrow that blue shirt of y-you—” God, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter, you might’ve passed out? Blue eyes that had been locked and focused on the night before met your gaze. You almost didn’t recognize him because he was wearing clothes. “H-Holy shit, mochi-gurl?!”

Your favorite leisure streamer, the man you had masturbated with the night before, was standing right in front of you—more like towering over at a total of six three feet. Words seem to evade you as you stutter. “G-Gojo?” Why was the room spinning all of a sudden?

“Hey, I thought we went over this last night. You can call me Satoru!” his smile fades as soon as it appears on his face. “Sweetheart? Oh shi—” He’s rushing forward just as your world fades to black due to shock.

This was a dream right, it had to be a dream!

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

988 notes · View notes

maudeeloise · 2 years ago

Note

Do you think you could do a Jacaerys x reader where they are childhood enemies but get betrothed and when things are going well in their marriage Jace misinterprets a moment with reader and someone else and accuses the reader to be pregnant with a bastard until it’s born looking exactly like him and he must reconcile and win reader back.

Sworn Enemies || j.v

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warning : none

You weren’t surprised. When your mother mentioned it and your sister ran into your room to check on you a few moments after your talked with your mother.

You were a noble and you had known since the very first that you would be bethrothed with another noble. Unfortunately, your family was being too close to the Targaryens that the first person they chose for you to marry was the last person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

The marriage was rocky and was filled with arguments — even about the smallest things. Your marriage was built by loath instead of love. You couldn’t stand his arrogance and he couldn’t stand your stubborness. Your hatred towards each other was so deep in your blood that it became the reason you ended up with his child.

Just like any other night, there you stood in different sides of your shared chambers. The bed seperating you as you had argued since the past hour.

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Jace’s voice roared, filling the room with his anger.

“How dare you accuse me of something I didn’t do?!” You matched his tone, firm and loud.

“I am not accusing you of anything!” His jaw clenched slightly. “That baby is a bastard and you know I’m right.”

You bit back your tongue once you processed his words. He called your son a bastard. He called his own son a bastard.

“You are insane.” You spat through gritted teeth. “You have no proof on what you believe in, however I do and you’re too terrified that I might be right.”

“Nonsense!” He shook his head. “I’m not terrified of anything because I know I’m right.”

“Then take a look at your own son!” You pointed at the crib which was placed beside your side of the bed. “You have refused to even take a peak of him since he was born. Do you despise him that much?”

“He is not my son!” His voice boomed through the room.

A sudden cry broke from the baby, stealing both your attentions. You rushed towards the crib and took the baby gently before rocking him in your arms. Whispers of sweet nothings followed by a humming of the first song which came to your mind, eventually died down the cries. It only took a while before the baby went back to his slumber.

Disgust written on Jace’s face as he watched the two of you. “We need to get rid of him as soon as possible.”

Your face fell in surprise at his suggestion. There was a long moment of a pause before you moved to place the baby back on his crib. A long sigh left your lips in disbelief.

You were tired of convincing him. If you had to be honest, it hurt you every time. You wouldn’t care if he was mocking you nor he was treating you as if you had betrayed his family, but it was his son he was hating. His own flesh and blood he planned to banish.

“Are you really that insisting?” Your voice broke. Your heart aching. But you forced yourself to keep a fierce look on your face and your posture straight.

Jace let out a scoff. “You were the one who betrayed this marriage.”

“I would never!” Your voice heightened, but it wasn’t anger. You were exhausted. “I may despise you with every inch of my body, but I would never do such. I love my family and I would do anything to keep our names clean, so don’t you ever start a rumor just because you got tired of me.”

“Got tired of you?” Jace taunted. “I had wished for your death since forever, but I have never started such rumours.”

“Then whoever did!” Your chest moved up and down. Your eyes were filled with desperation, silently pleading for him to believe you. “You may hate me for the rest of your life, but that is your son, Jacaerys! Just for this once, I am asking you to second your beliefs.”

“He is not my son!”

“Take a look for yourself!”

That was the last thing you said before you exit the room. It was starting to become too much for you. Your chest hurt from holding back tears. You didn’t want to seem weak in front of him, or else he would’ve thought he won the argument.

Once you found yourself in the middle of the empty hallway, you broke down. A hand covering your mouth to silent the cries as you fell down to your knees.

On the other side of the door, stood a hesitant Jacaerys. If he had to be honest, a part of him wanted to believe you, but he had to big of an ego and a habit of always wanting to be better than you, so he was persistance of his opinion.

His eyes stared at the crib for a long minute. He was arguing with his mind whether he should just leave the room or do as you ask. His hands were fisting the material of his coat.

“Fuck this.” He said before walking up towards the crib.

His angry expression was soon replaced by a soft one once his eyes caught a glimpse of the baby. His mouth fell open slightly. The baby was a carbon copy of him — brunette hair, brown eyes, his nose, his lips. Shame masked his face the longer he looked at the baby.

He stumbled back in surprise. His hands were holding at the crib to steady himself. Guilt rushed through him like a wave of tsunami. You weren’t lying. The baby was his heir, his firstborn, his own flesh and blood.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys x you #jacaerys fic #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys imagine #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys velaryon x you #hotd x y/n #hotd jacaerys #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic

2K notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 1 year ago

Text

The Wolf's Guard

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The love between a wolf and their darling is unbreakable, even if that darling is a Bolton.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

~~~

If the Starks were known for anything, it was their honor, duty, and family values. Everyone in all of Westeros knew it, from the poor to the rest of the Great Houses, as many had bore witness to those traits at play. The wolves of the north, the pack that'd once been called Kings, had bent the knee willingly during Aegon's Conquest and from then on, were known as Wardens of the North.

The glorious House Stark of Winterfell. Robb still vividly remembered the days in which he and his bastard brother, Jon Snow, were taught the history of their ancestors. Brandon the Boisterous, Cregan Stark, Rodwell Stark, Rickard Stark... Robb knew their names well, knew the significance of their importance to his bloodline. They were his ancestors, warriors with wolf's blood coursing through their veins, and blood that ran through his. Just like them, Robb is heir to Winterfell, the firstborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. And while Robb's heart valued honor, duty, and family over all else, there were times when he wished he hadn't been born first.

The first time he took his mind off his duty as heir (a duty everyone constantly reminded him of every waking moment) was when Roose Bolton brought his second-born son, (Y/N) Bolton, to Winterfell when they were children to become a ward under Eddard Stark. He'd heard about the stories and rumors surrounding the family and their ancestral home, the Dreadfort. Their history was as lengthy as the Starks, with their own ancestors having been once called the Red Kings. While Starks were honorable, Boltons were cruel, cunning, and dishonorable with a tradition of flaying their enemies that they were forced to give up upon being bannermen for the Starks. However, there were rumors they still flayed their prisoners after days and weeks of torture.

Robb and Jon exchanged whispers while their father spoke with Roose Bolton, an unremarkably ordinary-looking man despite the eerie aura that surrounded him and his sons. His eyes were striking, a color so pale and odd that they made shivers run down the spines of the two boys when he looked in their direction. But the prickle of uneasiness that poked at Robb vanished when (Y/N) looked toward him. Jon immediately ducked behind the barrel they'd chosen to hide behind but Robb held his gaze and was rewarded with a grin.

"Robb," His father had called out, "Come."

Robb immediately obeyed, jumping out from behind the barrel and striding over to his brother. At the age of seven, Robb knew his place as heir very well so he made every attempt at showing everyone the manners and way of nobles he'd been taught. Ned placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and smiled down at his son. "Why don't you show (Y/N) around Winterfell, Robb? His father and I have much to discuss."

"Yes, Father." Robb nodded, his auburn curls bouncing off his forehead. Domeric Bolton, eldest son of Roose and heir to the Dreadfort, similarly set his hand over his younger brother's shoulder. (Y/N) peered up at his father and then at his brother, lingering even after Roose gave him an approving nod.

"Go on," Domeric murmured gently and (Y/N) looked back at Robb with a growing smile.

Robb spent the rest of the day showing (Y/N) around Winterfell, his chest puffing out with pride each time (Y/N) seemed impressed about something. Jon and Theon trailed after them, providing input that (Y/N) largely ignored in favor of giving Robb his full attention, something surprisingly made him squirm. He finished the tour by introducing (Y/N) to his mother and his younger sister, Sansa. Catelyn greeted (Y/N) politely, more kindly than she treated Jon at least, and offered to get some sweets for them after dinner while Sansa clung to her skirts and watched them.

It wasn't until a few days later, when the boys were giggling on a stack of haybale after their latest mischief that Robb had a thought that would continue to emerge: 'I wish he were a girl.'

As they grew and reached their fifteenth name days, they both began showcasing the faithful traits of their house. Robb grew gentler, less mischievous, and showed a strong sense of honor. He continued reading his histories and studied faithfully under the septa, training nearly every day with Ser Rodrick Cassel and accompanying his father whenever he ventured out on hunts or to meet with others. (Y/N) seemingly grew a taste for blood, something that emerged during training. He went easier on Robb than the others, incredibly apparent as Theon and Jon would end up bruised and bloody by the end of each session. But despite Theon's complaints and Jon's worries about (Y/N) fatally injuring someone, Robb could never shake the astonished, fluttery feeling whenever he saw (Y/N).

"Come on, boy," Ser Rodrick called to the staggering Jon and Robb couldn't help but wince at the trickle of blood going down his nose. Jon wiped it away, his black hair clinging to his dirt-speckled sweaty face. Nobody had to look at Theon to know the boy likely looked pale as winter snow. (Y/N) pointed the - thankfully - wooden sword at Jon and cocked his head to the side, a wide grin across his face.

"What's wrong, Snow?" (Y/N) taunted, and Jon glared at him, throwing aside his sword and marching right up to (Y/N). The Bolton laughed when Jon grabbed the sides of his chest armor, his teeth digging into his bottom lip before he rammed the end of the sword into Jon's temple. Jon cursed loudly and released him to grab the side of his head, the blow working as intended when (Y/N) slammed his foot into Jon's chest piece and knocked him back.

"I believe that's enough, aye, lad?" Robb straightened up at the sound of his father's voice, craning his neck to watch Ned step out of the nearby building and approach them with a grimace. He gently clapped the back of (Y/N)'s shoulder to congratulate him, his eyes remaining locked on his bastard son's panting form. "Go see Maester Luwin, Jon."

"May I have a word in private, Lord Stark?" Ser Rodrick asked, earning a curt nod in response. (Y/N)'s eyes followed the two older men as they walked further away from them, their voices drowned out by the hustle and bustle of servants working and guests chatting. His lips formed a noticeable pout, one that made Robb chuckle as he helped take the chest piece off him.

"They're going to send me home." (Y/N) muttered bitterly.

"They won't," Robb assured him, handing the piece off to a nearby servant and giving them a thankful smile. (Y/N) huffed, the air coming out in a small cloud, and he tossed the sword aside into the dirt beside them. Robb caught a brief look at the knitted brow, sullen expression on his face before (Y/N) turned on his heel and stormed away. Immediately, Robb followed without a second thought, keeping his eyes focused on the boy until they reached the Godswood.

"Leave me alone, Robb." (Y/N) muttered grumpily, slumping down on the ground beside the water and roughly tugging blades of grass from the ground.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Robb responded, taking a seat beside him and gazing out into the water. The Godswood had always been a place to seek peace or advice from the Old Gods, a place Robb could visit to clear his mind or simply escape for a brief moment. (Y/N) pursed his lips and Robb smiled, pressing his fingertip against (Y/N)'s cheek and gigging softly when he swatted at his hand. "Come on, tell me."

"Nobody here likes me. They're scared of me." (Y/N) said quietly, tugging more grass out of the dirt. "Lord Eddard is going to send me home to the Dreadfort, I know he is. Father's going to be mad at me but at least Dom will be there."

Robb stared at him, noticing the way he pressed his lips together to stop them from quivering. "I like you." He revealed softly and (Y/N) tilted his head toward him, eyes flickering between Robb's vibrant blue eyes. Robb's stomach twisted and turned, heat rising up his neck and covering his ears like fire.

"How much?"

"A lot." He admitted, the branches above them gently rustling together with the wind. The sound eased his nerves, eased the dread threatening to bubble up and consume him. "If you were a lady, I would ask Father to let us wed."

(Y/N)'s lips curled up at that. "The Old Gods do not care if we're both men, Robb." He reminded him, that familiar grin working its way onto his face. Robb smiled again, setting his hand over (Y/N)'s and putting an end to his constant grass tearing. "Would you kill for me, Robb?"

"To protect you, yes," Robb answered immediately, no poundering needed. He'd kill to protect any of his loved ones. His parents, Jon, Theon, Sansa, little Arya and Bran. His father spilled blood for his late sister, Lyanna, during the rebellion and Robb doubted his father wouldn't do it all over again for her. "Would you?"

"If you asked." Then, (Y/N) leaned forward and clumsily mushed their lips together, sending a jolt down Robb's spine and a heat throughout his face. He'd kissed a young lady once or twice in secret and out of curiosity but despite his brief experience, he moved nervously and just as clumsily.

Things rapidly changed from then on, behind closed doors at least. To the servants and residents of Winterfell, the two remained the same close friends as always, but away from prying eyes and curious ears, they were inseparable lovers. Robb's lingering stares grew and any ladies his mother asked him about were brushed away for one excuse or another. The sneaking around, the subtle touches, and innocent gestures, it was all exciting for them but Robb grew to prefer how hungry (Y/N) always seemed for him. It felt good to be wanted, felt good when he whispered loving confessions and laughed at (Y/N)'s eye rolls and flustered smiles.

Until, as quickly as their relationship began, they were just as quickly swept away from each other.

Not long after (Y/N) sixteenth name day, news arrived at Winterfell of Domeric Bolton's death. An illness in the stomach, the first letter from Maester Uthor read, but the letter from Roose informed him of a new family member who'd potentially caused the death of his brother: a half-brother by the name of Ramsay Snow—a bastard of the North. With Domeric dead, the title of heir fell on (Y/N)'s shoulders and took him away from Winterfell and back to the Dreadfort. Jon and Theon eased with his absence but Robb's heart broke into pieces. As a secondborn, (Y/N) could do as he pleased and remain by Robb's side forever if he wished, but as an heir?

As much as his absence pained him, Robb ensured to write (Y/N) many letters, most with secret messages only the two of them could understand. He detailed any events that'd gone on, small or big, silly or tragic. He wrote to him about the pups found by Jon and the one he'd claimed, about the royal visit at Winterfell and his father's new position as Hand, Jon joining the Night's Watch, the saddening news of his sister's wolf being killed. The letters stopped when Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell called the bannermen to war.

Robb focused on the war, on avenging his father and bringing his beloved sisters home before they could be harmed by the Lannisters. The Bolton's joined the effort, of course, but Robb hardly saw (Y/N) during the start. They both had their duties, their own men to command, and many more things to worry about. But, the reunion had Robb nearly collapsing.

He'd seen him, caught a brief glance during a battle with Lannister's army. It'd been enough to make him fight even harder, and they'd won in the end, returning back to camp to treat their wounded and count the dead. Robb had been swept away, his new title as King of the North forcing even more responsibilities onto his lap, but he managed to keep his racing mind focused enough to manage the tasks at hand, nearly forgetting about the glimpse until that night.

Dragging the wet rag over his sword, Robb thought about his father. He thought about all the things Ned would say to him, the advice he'd give to him. His father knew of battles and rebellions, he knew of war. Robb only knew what he learned as the war progressed. Sure, there were many older men who'd fought alongside his father, who still had the taste of war in their mouths, but none would compare to the knowledge of Eddard Stark. He sighed quietly, gazing over his reflection and failing to hear the person entering his tent.

"King of the North, aye? Has a pretty ring to it." He tensed immediately, first due to surprise and then because of that familiar voice. His head whirled around, eyes wide and heart pleading. (Y/N) grinned at him, splatters of blood still covering his skin and clothes from a battle the Boltons and few others had ridden out to, but it suited him perfectly. The sword fell with a loud clatter and Robb darted up from his seat, unable to restrain himself from flying into (Y/N)'s embrace. "Missed me, hm?" He laughed.

"Of course, I missed you, you bastard." Robb exhaled, leaning back to grasp the sides of his face, disregarding the blood that smeared onto his palms before he crashed their lips together. An almost animalistic growl-like noise emitted from (Y/N) throat and he kissed him back more roughly, as were most things with (Y/N). The Bolton backed him up until Robb fell back onto the bed, briefly knocking the air out of him. (Y/N) hovered above him, eyes glinting with a familiar look that sent heat rushing to his stomach.

"Sorry 'bout Lord Eddard, Robb." He murmured, dipping down to brush his lips over Robb's cheek and down to his throat where he dug his teeth lightly into him.

"I heard of your half-brother, (Y/N)." Robb sighed again, the familiarity of it all making him lightheaded. His beloved had always been all tongue and teeth. (Y/N) snorted softly into his throat, a short chuckle leaving him at the mention of Ramsay's demise. He'd died in his sleep, or so Lord Bolton had said.

"Never liked him, anyway." (Y/N) told him, rising back up to press their lips tightly together, teeth digging into Robb's bottom lip and tugging lightly. "I have news, Robb."

"Can it wait?" Robb knew the answer but he hoped pulling (Y/N) closer would change his mind. (Y/N) chuckled again and moved his hips, a lazy smirk spreading across his face when Robb cursed softly under his breath and reached down to fumble with their pants.

"No, My King."

"Gods, you're the worst."

A sadistic little bastard but Robb loved him anyway. (Y/N)'s amusement faded away and he inhaled heavily, planting his hands on the sides of Robb's head and staring down at him. The seriousness made Robb straighten up, despite their rather compromising position, and he nodded for (Y/N) to continue. "My father plans on betraying you, Robb. Your rejection of Walder Frey's girls gave way for Father. He plans on marrying one of his daughters for an alliance. He wants to kill you." Robb's blood ran icy cold. War always had its fair share of traitors and cowardly, slimy men.

"Are you certain?" Robb sat up in the bed, forcing (Y/N) to lean back and stand again. A traitor in their midst and Walder Frey's ego. Two problems Robb hardly had time to deal with. (Y/N) reached out, fingers dipping under Robb's chin and tilting his head up.

"Give me your command and I'll bring his head to you by early morrow."

786 notes · View notes

nozo-muu · 3 months ago

Text

HE KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING, RIGHT?

Pairings: Lip Gallagher X male!reader, (implied) Ian Gallagher X Mickey Milkovich

Genre: typical best friend’s brother trope, questioning sexuality, mentions of alcohol and drugs, kissing

Author's note: This is for male readers. I’ve used my shameless OC, Rust Anderson, as the main character, but this can be viewed as an x Reader too (if you change Rust's name to yours lmao, I just don't like using y/n, sorry). I’ve added another OC of mine, whose name is Carina Flores… I also love changing characters' personalities, so sometimes they might be a bit OOC (sorry in advance).

This is supposed to be the night that was mentioned in this fic ;)

God fucking damnit, this took ages. I'm not a big fan of the ending, but oh well.

Gosh, he was perfect… The way he walked, the way he talked, the way his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. Everyone knew him, everyone liked him, the kid the Andersons had adopted, rumored to be the bastard child of some CEO from the north side. He had the heart of an angel, which was weird to see in the southside.

He could always be seen sitting next to his friend Carina Flores, another adopted orphan in the neighborhood. The duo was inseparable, having met in foster care before being adopted, him by the Andersons, her by the Flores, and luckily living in the same city. They hung out so much everyone assumed they were dating.

It was a normal Friday; he, Carina, and their two friends, Mandy Milkovich and Ian Gallagher, were hanging out during a break.

People loved talking about those four, an unlikely group, really. Two kids from “problematic” families, the token smart and pretty popular girl and the unbelievably nice child of the Andersons.

“I want to go home already…” Carina whined.

“Only two hours of torture left.” Ian replied.

Engrossed in their conversation, they didn’t hear some older guy approach them.

“Hey! We’re throwing a party tonight. We're inviting everyone, you guys should come.”

Rust turned around, looking up and down at the other boy.

“We’ll think about it, thanks for inviting us, tho.”

“Cool, hope to see you tonight.”

With that, the guy turned around and disappeared.

“Seems like we have something to look forward to tonight, then!” - Mandy exclaimed, shoving Carina’s arm slightly.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Ian replied.

“We can meet at mine before… 6.30 sound good?”

“Yeah!” The other three exclaimed.

…

It was around 6 when the doorbell first rang. Rust ran down the stairs and opened it to see Carina, who was carrying a bag full of clothes to get ready.

“You sure do come prepared.” Rust said sarcastically.

They made their way to Rust’s room, which was neatly decorated with witchy and music stuff. Turning on some music, they started getting ready, up until about half an hour later, when the doorbell rang again.

Carina was putting on her makeup when Rust came back with Ian and Mandy behind him.

“Wow, you guys took this seriously!” Ian said while observing the mess in Rust’s room and the elaborate outfits they had picked out.

“Antes muerta que sencilla” (I prefer being dead than looking boring), Carina retorts.

Rust chuckles, taking out a bottle of vodka from under his pillow.

“Let's get this started then!” Rust wiggles the bottle while grinning.

“Fuck yeah!” - Ian exclaims.

They changed the music to something more lively to get into the party spirit and started taking shots.

The time to get to the party approached. It was 8h30, and the alcohol had already started working its effects.

They made their way to some warehouse the guy from before had given them. Rust and Karina were dancing around while Ian and Mandy were laughing together, seeing how excited their two friends were for the party.

Once they arrived, they noticed how lively the atmosphere was. A bunch of people were dancing, making out in the corners, talking… and the bar wasn't short of drinks.

“I could go for another drink.” Ian said, looking at the group.

“Yeah, downing a whole bottle obviously wasn't enough.” Rust replies, chuckling.

“Mandy and I are going to go dance, we’ll join you guys later.” Carina said.

The guys waved them goodbye while they made their way to the makeshift bar the students had created. A guy from an upper grade greeted them.

“Oh shit! Another Gallagher. I’ve seen your brother around here somewhere.”

“Lip is here?” Rust exclaimed, raising an eyebrow.

“He did say he had something to do…” Ian replied.

“Ok then, what should I pour you guys?”

“I'll take a vodka soda, better to not mix alcohols.”

“Yeah, I'll take one too.”

The guy poured their drinks and handed them to the pair.

That's when they felt a hand on their shoulders. Turning to see who it is, they see Lip, cigarette between his lips.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” Rust exclaimed, smiling.

Ian rolled his eyes and turned fully to his brother.

“You didn't say you were coming.” Ian stated dryly.

“I didn't know you guys would be here. Why bother telling you.” He looked around. “Where are the girls?”

“Somewhere, dancing around. We were gonna join them.”

Lip looked up and down his brother's best friend's body, admiring how well he was dressed and how his clothes hugged his figure.

“I'll go with you guys, my friend ditched me for some chick. He won't be back anytime soon.”

Rust chuckled and Ian sighed. They made their way to the dance floor, where their two friends were already dancing. Rust immediately joined them, but the two brothers stayed a little behind, moving a bit awkwardly.

They couldn't help but chuckle at how their friends were commanding the attention, already having people join their circle while dancing.

Mandy had already started flirting with some guy, Carina was shining under the spotlight put on her, and Rust, well, let's just say he was a little touchy with a girl that he had started dancing with.

It was a weird feeling, but Lip felt a pang of jealousy… was it jealousy? He didn't really know, but what he did understand was that he wanted it to stop.

When he looked around, he found that Ian had disappeared, but he caught a glimpse of him walking out with someone… Was that Milkovich?

To be honest, he couldn't care less right now. He looked back at the other three, deciding to join them. There was nothing to lose, right?

As he was approaching, Rust grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the circle beside him.

Even though Rust was still dancing with a girl, this action made Lip’s heart skip a beat. And the way he was looking at him while still grinding on her. He knew what he was doing, right? He had to.

After a little while, Lip and Rust made their way to the bar again, where they ordered another round. Once they got their drink, Lip got up.

“I'm gonna go for a smoke.”

“I'll go with you, I need some fresh air.”

They got out via the back door and sat on some stacked crates not far away.

The weird intimacy of the moment made Lip's heart rate accelerate. It was rare for him to feel like this for anyone, let alone a guy. He sighed.

This made Rust smile.

“No luck with the ladies today, huh?”

“Hmm. Can't say the same about you. That girl was enamored. And the guy at the bar was almost drooling while looking at you.”

“Someone jealous?” Rust said jokingly.

He really didn't know, did he? The effect he had on people. The way everyone would feel welcome by his demeanor. The way he would be so enticing while dancing, the way he made Lip's heart rate speed up…

“No.” He said while exhaling the smoke. He handed it to Rust with a raised eyebrow.

“No thanks, I have enough with the edible Carina gave me.”

Lip chuckled.

“How… how did you know you were bi?”

Rust looked at him, raising an eyebrow, shocked by the sudden question. He didn't feel like joking around, so he answered truthfully Lip's question.

“Trust me, you know. A sudden crush on some guy you know, the urge to kiss him…”

Lip hummed.

“Why? Someone caught your eye?” Rust asked.

Lip sighed, looking at him. The alcohol had clouded his thoughts, and the weed wasn't helping his case. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Rust's.

Rust let out a muffled sound. He debated whether or not to pull back. But god, he had wanted this for so long.

When Lip pulled back, he looked at the other boy. He was scared, to say the least. What the fuck did he just do? Did he ruin one of the best friendships he had?

“I'm sorry, I got carried away. I…” Lip said.

“Lip…”

“It's just… I… I don't know what came over me. You just looked so good, and I wanted to kiss you… I'm sorry.”

“Lip, I didn't pull away, did I?”

He looked up, surprised by his response.

“Can I… do it again?”

“Bring it on.”

They made out for a while until they decided to go back inside since it was getting cold. They spent the remainder of the night dancing together. Luckily, people were too drunk to remember, and Ian was still somewhere with Mickey. Oh, and Carina and Mandy… they didn't care and were occupied with something, or rather, someone else.

#male reader #x male reader #shameless x m!reader #shameless x male reader #fanfic #lip gallagher x male reader #fanfiction #mlm #mlm fanfic #lip gallagher x m!reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher x you #jeremy allen white x reader #jeremy allen white x male reader #gay #bi #Spotify

92 notes · View notes

bloodsherry · 16 days ago

Text

things we said after we kissed

🔞-slightly

“No one can know.” Dazai’s mouth trailed down the line of his neck and his hands—codicious, clumsy, hungry—mapped his body. Chuuya threw his head back and bit his lip until the metallic taste of blood flooded his palate.

And Dazai, who was a fucking menace, parted his legs with his knee and pressed against Chuuya’s crotch, drawing a groan from him.

“Why would I want anyone to know?” Dazai teased before nibbling and sucking on the tender freckled skin of Chuuya’s neck, just below the choker.

“Slug, I wouldn’t dare, what if someone thought I liked your drool? How awful.”

“Shut up and use your mouth for something useful.”

He couldn’t see Dazai for the lack of light, the bulb illuminating the dusty file hardly helping, but Chuuya knew the bandaged bastard well enough to know he was smiling.

“Whatever my dog wants.”

Chuuya clung to Dazai, draping an arm over his bony shoulders to pull him closer. They had learned, thanks to a bottle of imported liquor they had stolen from Ace, that kissing and groping over their clothes was more effective than chasing and beating eo through the hallways.

It was a pity, Chuuya thought, as Dazai reached under his shirt and splashed wet, needy kisses down his neck, collarbone…, that they hadn’t discovered this much sooner.

Chuuya rubbed against Dazai’s knee, moaning louder when he felt the brunet's erecti0n.

“If you're a good boy, I'll suck you dry.”

Dazai held his breath. It was satisfying to leave Dazai speechless in the middle of a mission or playing in the arcade, but it couldn’t compare to turning the brunet into incoherent mush simply with his hands.

Or his mouth.

“I’ll be the best,” Dazai promised, quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he traced a path of kisses and bites across the redhead’s chest. “You have my word.”

“Your word is worth shit.”

No one could know.

It was a secret, their dirty secret. Dazai brought their mouths together in a soft kiss, too soft. Chuuya bit Dazai’s lip hard to set his own rhythm, one that would mute the pleasant heat in his chest, the moisture in his eyes, and the pressure in his throat.

No one could know, or he would be taken away.

“C-Chibi,” he gasped, his lips swollen and wet. Chuuya sucked greedily at Dazai’s upper lip. Don’t think. Don’t think. “Slow down, if you keep this up…”

Before he could finish what he wanted to say, the door opened and something fell to the floor—a bundle of files. Chuuya’s heart raced, fear paralyzed him, and a million scenarios, all catastrophic, ran through his mind at full speed.

Dazai slowly pulled himself to his feet, ran a hand through his fluffy, messy hair and took a long glare at the intruder.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t see anything! I mean… What’s there to see?”

By now, everyone knew Double Black, and of course, the rumors about the Black Wraith of the Port Mafia had spread so far that everyone conveniently forgot that Nakahara Chuuya was a singularity in a trap made of flesh and bones. They didn’t talk about it, how could they? But Chuuya secretly hoped that Dazai had done it on purpose, that he had created such a bloodthirsty reputation for himself so that when people looked at them, they wouldn’t see the

real monster, but the fake one, the one wrapped in shadows and bandages. God, he was ruined if that filled his chest.

Dazai gave the intruder a beatific smile as he began to beg.

No one could know.

Everyone dies.

No one could know or—

Everyone he loves dies in the end.

“Get out,” Chuuya ordered, and he didn’t have to repeat himself. “What the hell did you say to him?”

Dazai tilted his face, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

It was a secret. They decided this the first time they kissed on the rooftop of Port Mafia’s tallest tower, hidden and practically glued together because the cold was unbearable and the false sense of warmth—liquid courage—that the alcohol gave them was not enough.

Chuuya cupped Dazai’s face tightly, and Dazai sat on his lap, his thighs trapping Chuuya’s hips as if trying to get under his skin.

It was a secret they would take to their graves.

Chuuya pushed him harder against the wall.

“Shitty Dazai, this idiot know now that we are—”

“…Fucking?” he purred. Chuuya jumped and Dazai let out a laugh that echoed through the corridor. “Breathe, Chibi, or you’ll shrink and disappear~”

“I’m fucking serious!”

Something crossed Dazai’s face—something ugly and terribly human—but it was so fleeting that Chuuya couldn’t catch it before it disappeared under the brunet’s usual mask of coldness and indifference. Chuuya pressed his lips together, drawing a thin line to keep the forbidden words from escaping.

He wanted to wipe that hollow expression from his partner’s face, wanted to paint his stupid bandaged face with hundreds, if not thousands, of stupid emotions. He released Dazai from his grip and stepped back to compose himself. They weren’t on that line, they would never be on that line.

“Don’t worry, no one knows.” Chuuya hesitated and Dazai smiled, but it was a flat, hollow, empty smile. “Never. I promise”

That was good.

It was what he wanted, but a part of him didn’t feel good about it.

No, no one could know.

No one could know, bc then it would be real and Chuuya feared that he wouldn’t be able to control his stupid feelings.

Especially not Dazai. What would the bastard do if Chuuya gave him his heart? Would he reject it? Or worse, maybe he’d accept it, tear it to pieces until it was unrecognizable, and then mock his audacity.

Or maybe, just maybe…

That was the worst part, maybe Dazai…

—end.

#enewrites #skk #soukoku #pm skk #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x dazai #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #angst

59 notes · View notes

fraugwinska · 11 months ago

Text

Hiya Guys - Anyone up to read a fic I wrote to battle my little writers block? :> I know jack shit about Alchemy, so I drew a lot of my references and ideas from FMA - But I've already planned for a second part, and thanks to the lovely @impale-me-radio-daddy I have some good pointers and sources to dip my toes in more into the mechanics of Readers ability! ;> Until then: Have fun with this!

"Again, thanks, but no thanks, Carmilla. The whole 'overlord'-thing isn't my cup of tea."

The demon in front of you sighed, closing her eyes for a moment - maybe to not appear as aggravated as you knew she was. Carmilla Carmine has hounded you to join the other big players of Pride who called themselves overlords and acted like they were above everyone else. But you had no intentions or aspirations to mingle among the power-greedy wannabes and parochial moguls, as you told her - in much more diplomatic words - multiple times. The fact that she hadn't tried to force you into compliance only spoke about the power you held, almost wasted on you. Almost.

"I really think it would be...", Camilla started again, but your patience had run thin.

"...beneficial for all involved. It's like a broken record player at this point, no offense. And I hope you'll finally take my 'No' as an answer - Cross my heart, you'll be the first person to know if I change my mind." The warning tone in your voice and you standing up from the chair opposite to her office desk made her give you a sharp, cautious look, but she retreated.

"I understand. I won't press you on the matter anymore." She said, tactically calm, and raised her hands in surrender.

You just nodded her a courteous goodbye and exited her office, chin high as you walked down the corridors of her headquarters and out into the streets of the city. Hell was always busy, but the afternoons were the worst - everyone tried to do their last errands before nightlife took over Pentagram City and people weren't out for shopping or dinner, but for cheap and easy fucks or fights. A little kid - a cannibal child by the looks of its pitch-black eyes and sharp, pointed teeth - ran into you, preoccupied with its popsicle that looked too much like a tongue for your taste. Its mother, horrified, stammered apologies and pulled it hastily away, eager to get in some distance to you. You smiled at them - it may have looked a little malicious to them, although you meant it as genuine. But you knew she knew you were her. The one they called the Alchemist.

You made your way through the parting crowds, just wandering around. You had nothing to do really, and you generally enjoyed just walking through the city you've come to know for only a year. It didn't take long after your fall to get you the infamous name - Only the Radio Demon Alastor rivaled you in the speed you climbed up in the hierarchy of Hell. Tales were told, some true, some heavily exaggerated, some utterly ridiculous. Have you disintegrated demons into their very elemental parts? Yes you had. Have you taken out a whole district because you were catcalled? Not quite, you did that because those bastards from Mayhem Square decided to raid your laboratory and sprayed very vulgar and disgusting things on the walls after they destroyed your latest experiment. Have you sacrificed your loving family in exchange for the ultimate knowledge in alchemy before you died? Definitely not.

You laughed softly about the rumors. What loving family had been there to sacrifice to begin with? You were a war orphan. Abandoned and alone, only taken into a makeshift home and earning your living by signing up for human experiments when you were old enough to be smarter than just steal from abandoned crops and trash cans. If someone ever wondered if one could inject radioactive waste into a person and what the outcome would be, they would've found their answer in your blood and cells - a pinch of insanity, a lack of empathy and painful hallucinations. In exchange for your years of help and your resilience, you were offered a university tuition. You quickly took to science, studying biology, chemistry and, outside of the curriculum, alchemy. To the very last day, you wished you'd studied physics just to finally figure out the universal gravitation formula.

Your career had ended very shortly after your graduation, when you came back to work in the very same lab you've come to be tortured as a teen. But now you were the one experimenting on desperate souls that no one would miss. The only set rule you wouldn’t deviate on: No experiments on children. One of your subjects, overtaken by the pain your hands caused, had gone mental and stabbed you with the syringe you've used on them. Stabbed you many, many, many times. A fitting death, you thought. Your next time awaking, it wasn't with the sight of the tiled, sterile laboratory, but the busy street you just walked on.

It had been a throwback to your childhood, really. No home, no one you knew, no money. But now you had your power. And OH, what a power it was, effortless and gloriously embedded in your being. Paired with your absence of empathic feelings you quickly gained souls under your belt. Mostly lower-rank and no-name-demons, you left them intact, unless your scientific curiosity got the best of you.

Of course the Radio Demon had sensed the birth of another powerful sinner right below his nose and you had the displeasure to meet him not even a month after arriving. While Carmilla seemed to have the strong aspiration to have you among her fellow Overlords, Alastor's ambition went in a completely different direction. First he wanted to be sly and get you under contract, and when you laughed in his face, well... he wanted to consume you and your power, rip you limb from limb and put an end to your existence.

Alas, you were way too powerful for his liking. The moment his claws sunk into you, the moment he would break a limb and rend flesh, the wound was closed up and the bone repaired. You weren't just good at disintegrating - the principle of equal exchange applied to rearrangement and repair too. His conjured voodoo-minions fell apart into cloth, ash and thread at your will, and his ego took more than just one hit that you resisted, that you held your stance, didn't even move out of his way but buried your feet deeper into the ground with a cold smile on your face - that you were equally as powerful as him. If not a little more. Time and time again your paths crossed. Where Alastor was Entertainment, you were Rationality. Where he was Chaos, you were Order. He was looking for the end of his boredom, you for the ultimate knowledge. His smile a facade to hide his frustrations, your stone cold face a facade to hide the joy you felt with every missed blow from him. You were attracting opposites, the only overlap was your shared egocentrism - You knew he believed himself above you. And he knew you thought the same about yourself to him.

So that's why Carmilla was trying to convince you to join the overpowered. So you would change from an unpredictable threat to those hot-shots into a controllable part of them. What a shame, truly, that power was never something you aimed for. Your only ambition was to further your knowledge about existence, about the nature surrounding you, about yourself. You craved understanding and finding order in the chaos. Especially since Hell was the ultimate chaos.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you suddenly felt a strange sensation. You were just walking past the outskirts of the Cannibal Colony to round (and avoid) the Doomsday District to make your way back home, but now something had drawn your attention. A sixth sense, a force, an itch at the back of your head. Electricity was in the air, and you only had time to rearrange the particles of dust and debris around you into a makeshift shield when a black tentacle burst from the ground and smashed it into pieces. When the cloud of dust around you settled and you coughed, you were met with the sight of Alastor in the middle of the street, his smile as wide as ever.

"Normal people go for a courteous 'Hello', you know.", you stated and straightened yourself.

"Ah, but my darling, you and I both know we are not normal. Or people." Another tentacle darts at you from behind, its tip sharpened like a spear, but you were quick to dodge and let the appendage crash into a digital advertisement for VoxTech newest useless and frivol products. The screen flickered for a moment before returning to its previous content, but the damage was already done - the pole was bent and the screen had a hole in the upper-left corner. You turned back to Alastor, giving him a displeased glare.

"What is your issue with me today? Do I wear the wrong shoes? Maybe my hairdo isn't to your liking? You seem to be a little more... enthusiastic than usual. And not in a good way."

The Radio Demon twists his cane in his hands with a sneer, his burning, narrowed eyes not leaving you as you crossed your arms in boredom and tapped your foot.

"The issue on hand, my dear, is that you encroach onto my territory yet again. How about this: A final fight, you and I. The winner gets to decide if the loser is eaten alive or is granted a merciful death."

"Huh. You sound like you've had a really bad day."

With the flick of your wrist, you rearrange the ground beneath him, shifting solid stone and concrete into sticky bitumen and tar. You can't hide the grin when he struggles to stay upright, his polished shoes glued to the spot, but his smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens.

"I take this as a yes, then."

Before you can even think of a comeback, your view is obscured by a swarm of his minions. They're coming at you from all sides, claws outstretched and snarling. With a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand, you let them fall apart into their basic elements, pieces of stained cloths and clouds of foul smelling ashes falling all around you. Alastor's grin is as wide as ever and you see the telltale glow of his power around him - and before you can even blink, he's right in front of you, his shoes still sticking in the viscous black matter where he formerly stood, his claws reaching for your neck, your head. You feel his razor-sharp fingertips scraping the skin of your throat, not deep enough to really do any damage, but still droplets of your neon green blood dripping from the cuts. With a grunt you grab him by the lapels of his coat and throw him over and above your head, and while he flies through the air, his laughter echoes through the streets. He's having fun, you know that. But deep down inside... so are you.

"Your back alley voodoo tricks are getting a bit repetitive, Alastor. At least make it interesting."

He lands a few feet away, gracefully like an antelope on his bare hooves, and the static of his laugh sends shivers down your spine.

"Who am I to deny a dying lady her last wish?"

His shadow detached from his body, the pitch-black entity’s teal grin a stark contrast to his red, glowing eyes, the wickedly growing antlers and his pale skin. The immaterial monster opened its maw wide with a deafening screech, and it shot forward at blinding speed. You finally moved, darting away from the shade as it swished towards you - it almost looked like a morbid ballet as you avoided as much contact with the ground as you were able to, frantically thinking of what his shadows are made of so you could destroy it. He had never stooped down to use it in your fights, and you knew that they had to be more than just abscence of light, as sentient as it was. The basis of Alchemy was simple: You can't form something out of nothing, but if you knew the compounds, you were able to rearrange, dispatch or destroy almost anything. You tried to buy yourself more time to think by another high jump into the air, only to hear Alastors static next to your ear, a hand wrapping around your waist with a grip that was intended to hurt and another on your chin, holding your face in place. Your instincts told you to twist under and out of his grasp, to rearrange your skin into something harder to prevent his claws from tearing into you, but find yourself unable to move. A hiss from below you makes your eyes dart to Alastors shadow - it has your own in an iron grip, holding it hostage in its black claws.

"Is that interesting enough for you, darling?", the demon above you purrs into your ear, but the question was unnecessary, answered in his laughter and his ironclad hold of you, your body pressed against his, arms frozen mid air and useless like a marionette without it's player. His hold around you is painful - it would crush a lesser demon easily, but luckily, you weren't lesser. And you still could, even without the usage of your hands, will your side he pierced with his talons to at least harden enough with the iron you drew from your blood so he couldn't tear you apart that easily.

"It's certainly interesting that you have to resort to gagging my shadow to subdue me."

The words were all but pressed through your gritted teeth. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape at this point. This part of his magic, his shadowmagic, was one of the only things you practically knew nothing about. And lack of knowledge, as usual, meant lack of power. In this case - the power to get out, to flee and regroup.

The touch on your waist disappeared for a second before appearing again, stronger now and accompanied with a pain shooting from where his fingers had dug themselves into the weak metallic coat underneath your skin. You hated the quiet whimper your body unwillingly let out at the sting, reminiscent of the scalpels that were used on you many times, so long ago. He chuckled, deep and guttural right below your ear before leaning his head down to your eye-level.

"Subdue you? Oh, no, no, no my sweet Alchemist. This fight is over, as you are well aware and I'm pleased to say that at last, I am the one victorious. The deal was the choice between eating the other alive or granting a merciful death. I just have yet to decide what option to choose."

He releases his claws from your jaw and rakes his nails down your neck and collarbone, his face inches away from yours, red eyes glowing even brighter and his smile that reached his ears with open delight as his claws tear deeper and deeper into you, his static now drowning out the sounds of your pained gasps as darkness grew from the ground, encasing you.

"I... really hate you, you know?", was the only thing you could bring yourself to hiss. His snicker was dark, malicious and infuriatingly cocky.

"Oh darling. I hate you more." And then it all went dark.

You opened your eyes. A blank, charcoal canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. A monochrome dimension for monochrome creatures. Everything had a certain damp feeling to it - the air, the atmosphere, even your own skin felt slick, damp and oily to the touch. Freezing. Unfamiliar and strange.

"Where are we?"

You still felt Alastor’s long fingers holding you in place, but the pain was gone, replaced by a burning heat where he pressed your back into his chest, a stark contrast to the coldness of the air surrounding you. Clean air. You felt no specs of dirt, dust or carbon on your tongue, the air tasted neutral and smelled void, the flavor almost painful in your throat.

"This, my dear, is a little pocket dimension I've crafted. To be specific - it's the one I've crafted the moment I met you."

Your eyebrows arched up, and his shadow let yours tilt your head just enough so you could see his face and his overly excited grin. His words struck a chord and the penny dropped - He, in his deluded mindset of superiority, had anticipated this day to come ever since your first encounter. This wasn't just a spur of the moment, he had planned this, crafted a punishment for the - to him - inevitable scenario that one day he'd finally get his comeuppance. Where he'd finally beat you. Planned to get you here to destroy you.

"It's not very... showy, considering it's created by Hells Greatest Showman himself." Your voice betrayed you. You wanted to sound bored, neutral, indifferent - but every syllable dripped with hidden defeat. Alastor had purposely created a place that you couldn't decipher, that held nothing you could use to defend yourself.

"Au contraire, darling. I think this is the most appropriate stage for our final performance."

His voice was dark, low, and vibrated from the bottom of his chest. His breath was hot and wet on the nape of your neck and the tips of his fingers on your chin burned. You could feel his excitement reverberating through his body. He was looking forward to this. To eradicate you. You closed your eyes. Rationality told you there was no use in defiance.

"So, Alastor. What's it gonna be? Are you a man of your word or aren't you going to kill me the way you've promised? What was it? Eat me alive or make it a merciful death?", you asked, but the only reply was his grip around you tightening and his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck. It was a pain so sharp and yet so tender that it made you almost moan. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, and you hated how you could feel his lips on your skin curl into a smirk.

"My poor, little alchemist. I thought you, as a woman of science, knew that one has to define the terms you work with."

His fangs grazed the soft flesh of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail along the bite marks they had left. A shiver ran down your spine and your skin broke out in goosebumps. The grip on your jaw tightened and he tilted your head to the side, exposing your throat to him even more.

"Killing is just one mundane interpretation of our deal. There is more than one way to eat you while you breathe, my dear, and as for a merciful death... well..." His hand left your waist, wandered down over your hips to the hem of your pants and slid beneath. "... the meaning of that will depend on how this plays out."

The tips of his claws dragged over your underwear and your back arched, subconsciously pressing yourself against his broad chest as much as his shadow allowed it. He chuckled darkly at the reaction he drew from you, his fingers rubbing your core through the fabric, and your eyes fell shut in furious pleasure. You were unable to stop the whimpers and quiet moans that came from you, and he laughed at every sound he forced from you.

You understood the principles of biology and chemistry enough to understand why your body reacted the way it did to his touch. Hormones released, muscles tensed, senses sharpened, brain focused - and all that with one purpose. Carnality. Sexuality. Lust.

You understood the social components : Alastor, despite his infuriating personality, was a powerful and attractive demon. He was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for the hungry ones - you maybe lacked empathy, but you weren't blind.

What you didn't understand was that, despite your deep dislike you felt for the Radio Demon, despite the many times you've fought each other and how he's tried to erase you multiple times - your emotions were telling you that you craved his touch, wanted what he was threatening to do, what he was implying with his words and emphasizing with his actions, his hands working themselves towards your slicked heat and with his lips still on your throat.

And the worst thing was, he knew.

He could sense it, probably even taste it, in the scent of your arousal and the taste of the sweat on your skin. He could read it in your body language, how you subconsciously tried to move against his fingers, how your body melted into his when his teeth scraped over your collarbone and your breath hitched when he sunk them deep into the soft flesh of your neck once more.

The force behind his jaws was sharp and without any mercy, but it only lasted for a moment until it became deliciously soft and firm, his lips soothing your tormented skin after the beast within had taken its fill of your blood just as he breached the last physical barrier of your underwear and dipped two of his digits into you. He forced a soundless sigh from your lungs with the way his fingertips caressed you, igniting a feeling inside you didn't know you could feel.

The satisfaction you got from giving and receiving physical pleasures up until this point mostly to serve your biological needs, impersonal. The connection that existed between partners was short-lived and never personal, almost medical, with the barest minimum of any physical contact necessary, just enough so the mechanics of your hellish body came to the desired effect of pressure release to let you focus on more important matters.

But with Alastor, with his mouth still feasting on the sensitive, marked flesh at your nape and his dexterous fingers working between your thighs, nothing of what was happening was impersonal. Medical. There was no need - But want. A craving desire that arose like a hot flame deep inside you, making the pleasure you were given intensify and left you almost in a frenzy, to try and get more of it. A feeling almost animalistic, something raw and purely instinctual that you wanted to prolong instead of getting it over with.

There was no logic to the way your body reacted, no formula you could apply to ease your frustration at the way he touched you - he played your body like he knew it by heart, a strange turn of events. While you seemed so illogical in your behavior, he was strangely tactical. You were frantic, he was calculating. Every touch, lick and nibble was done with an intended purpose. And in return your reactions to it were completely without rhyme or reason. You couldn't stop the moans spilling from you as he dragged his long fingers in and out of you in an agonizing speed, the pad of his thumb teasingly rubbing over the little nub hidden between your folds, your hips were moving on their own, in sync with his movements as much as they his shadow's grip on yours granted you.

"I... don't t-think...", you gasped with another cruel flick of his thumb against your sore clit, "...you can c-count that as.. e-eating."

To your frustration his motions did slow down, the thrusts and motions he drew from you fading, the tension within building so painfully inside of you, uncoiling so suddenly just to be denied. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and he retreated his lips and teeth from your throat.

"I'm nothing but a connoisseur, darling - one has to prepare and season his meal properly in order to feast."

The sudden loss of contact made you whine in your throat as his hands withdrew, from your wetness as well as your neck and chin. The air felt even colder against your heated skin now, and you shivered when your limbs suddenly contorted, were rearranged by ghostly hands. From the corners of your eyes you could see Alastors shadow force yours into something of a bridge position, back arched, arms bound over its head and legs spread - and through the unexplainable connection between you both, your body followed, having no other choice but to obey what the immaterial shapes dictated.

Alastor stood aside, waiting, watching intently as your trousers were pulled messily down your legs by invisible claws, revealing the soft skin hidden beneath. They dragged the fabric over the swell of your hips, under your rear and over your thighs. For a few agonizing seconds everything was still, the monochromatic world around you in perfect silence, the only visible life your panting breath and Alastors everlasting static. When the last bit of fabric left your body and you were completely bare, he stepped in between your legs, raking his claws over the inside of your thighs before coming to a rest on your hip bones. He looked smug, he looked manic, and most of all he looked hungry. His tongue swiped his sharp teeth, coating them with thick, dark saliva, and you shuddered with a mixture of humiliation and anticipation alike.

"Well now, I think it's time to dig in, right dear? Especially since the table's so nicely set and all."

The impact of his burning mouth on your dripping sex was beyond the comprehension of words, all your synapsis concentrated at the singular sensation of the demon below you working his jaw with gusto and enthusiasm only a cannibal like him could, teeth and tongue and lips unabashed and unapologetic in their efforts to elicit sounds from you that bordered on the screams he loved to broadcast. You could feel him smiling at each and every breathless moan he wrenched from you, you could feel his cold red eyes burning holes into you as he kept eyeing you from below, tongue buried to the root in you, his claws pressing painfully into your flesh in a vice-like grip, threatening to break and rip at the soft skin when you tried to suppress the mewls in an effort to deny him his self-righteous satisfaction.

"Darling, I know you're normally the one who takes others apart - but I just have to wonder what you will look like undone."

You were pushed even closer, even more at his mercy as he forcefully shoved his face deeper between your legs, his black, twisted antlers piercing into your stomach, leaving dainty puncture wounds that stung and begand to trickle with your blood. Your breathing became more desperate with each minute, more keening and so much harder to keep steady - when one of his dexterous hands joined his mouth between your legs and curled the long digits deep inside you in search for the certain bundle of nerves - located an inch inside the vaginal opening, on the upper vaginal wall - that his skilled tongue had neglected so far. Your mind went blank and your whines became constant, unchecked and vocalized so much louder when he found what so many demons (and humans, if you were honest) thought to be a myth - the Grafenberg spot.

He hummed in self-satisfaction as you moaned shamelessly now as he rubbed and probed, curling, stroking, doing everything at once with his fingers on the spot while his mouth worked at your sensitive clit above, suckling hard, bordering on painful licking and even biting. You struggled in the immaterial grasp of his shadow, wriggling on his mouth, the intense, uncontrollable, uncontrolled and unrivaled sensations sparking from your core leaving you desperate for release, for any kind of relief, the pressure of it building so unbelievably fast in you, his movements, the vibrating static and his quiet laughter sending you towards a feeling that you knew, once experienced, wouldn't leave again. You hated that you loved what he was doing, hated that he was able to do what so many others had failed to, that your mind was consumed by pure, undulated desire for the damn Radio Demon as he - in a twisted sense of your own profession -destroyed and rebuilt you simultaneously with the same kind of unceremoniously fervent frivolity that was oh-so-characteristic for him.

Your eyes fell shut, a vocal and shuddering breath escaping you as you felt your end coming nearer and nearer, every flick of his tongue and every slight graze of his teeth were a thousand-fold amplified and yet purposefully too little to finally grant you the relief you yearned for so badly, to put out the element of fire within that threatened to burn you alive.

"Alastor... Please...", you managed between breaths. The words felt sour and sticky on your tongue, but you knew he was waiting for them. You had never begged for something before. Not for mercy when some of the researchers went over the limits of their set experiments on you. Not for recognition when papers you wrote were released in your colleagues name. Not for your life when the thick needle in the hand of the deranged patient rose to the sky, ready to strike. But for Alastor, you begged.

Your plea earned you a victorious glare and another harsh suck on your swollen nub that made you cry out in pleasure and pain. With a last stroke of his tongue in tandem with his fingers against the exact right spot and a firm flick to your clit, your climax felt like you were falling apart into particles and atoms, crumbling around the mouth of your arch-rival. He had been right. Definition was everything, one of the rare things the Alchemist and the Radio Demon could agree on - He promised death, and that's what he gave you: A metaphorical one, devastating, humiliating and everything but merciful. Each spasm was a shovel burying your pride, each sob as he licked you through the ebbing waves of your high a eulogy for the respect you had for yourself. But this death, as disgraceful as it was, was pure bliss, was what ascencion must feel like.

Your body was slowly released from its restraints, feeling heavier than it should as you were dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and you closed your eyes again, feeling oddly empty when he removed his mouth and fingers and stood up to his full height, towering above you. You didn't even struggle even though your limbs were free now, just sighed and turned your head to look up and face Alastor as you heard the clicks of his heels next to your face.

He looked disheveled and wild - a mess of tousled red hair entangled in sharp antlers and sticking messily onto his sweaty forehead, the corners of his mouth glistening with your fluids and his blackened eyes alight with mischief. You could see the outlines of a massive erection through his strained pants, a small consolation that the ordeal he had put you both through hadn't been above his biology too. But before you wasn't the jovial trickster that all of Pride knew and feared, and it wasn't the tactical torturer that had worked you over the edge of your emotions either. This was the animal, the demon within, the monster hell made out of a man in its essence - limbs cracked and elongated, spine twisted and curved, aura dark and almost glowing in green. And it was stunningly beautiful. It was such an incongruous appearance, contrasting his normally smooth, proper and almost human demeanor so much that it might become your new definition of a paradox.

His hand suddenly went behind your head and roughly grabbed you by your hair and dragged your head up, just enough so he could bend on his waist to be on eye-level with you. It stung beautifully at the roots, and you hissed at the delicious pain as you met his gaze.

"Th͑an͊k y͈͝o͔̲͒u̧ͥ f̌͌or̬ t̜ͦhe̬ͯͅ m͉̋ȩ̞͙al,͍ l̵̅͝it͓͙ͤt͘lè̍ A̰̞l̇c̭̙̕h̏̒emis̏͑t."

His voice was distorted and thick, it sounded sticky and heavy and even unhinged. For a moment, you saw his wish to bite you, to tear into your jugular and finally dismember you reflected in his ticking eyes. And in that moment, defying all logic and instincts, you would’ve let him do it. But the strike didn’t come, and the moment faded, along with his monstrous form. He shifted back to the demon you knew, hair still out of place but expression a mask again, a play, a facade. But there was a strange conflict behind his smile, a weird furrow in his cocked brows.

“I believe with that the deal is fulfilled.”

Alastor snapped his hands, and you fell, through darkness and light, fire and water and earth and wind swirling around you until you hit concrete ground. Quickly stumbling to your feet, you blinked. You were dressed again, back in Pentagram City, back at the exact spot where you turned the corner just before...

You whipped your head around, but the Radio Demon was nowhere to be found. The street before you was empty, car horns and gunshots and bomb explosions filling the air coming from the Doomsday District. For a moment you panicked - had it been just another one of your hallucinations? You thought you had left this special side effect of your brain behind in the living world, but you were smart enough to consider the chances of possibility. It would explain everything. Your hand snapped to your neck - no lacerations, no bite marks. Contradictory evidence. It didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened, but it increased the likelihood of the perceived experience being just your brain playing its cruel tricks on you. Just like it did now, flooding your nerves with a faint feeling of... disappointment.

You shook your head and sighed, turning on your heels to continue your walk home. When you put your hands in the pockets of your lab coat, a wrinkled piece of paper brushed your palm. Confused, you pulled it out and unfolded it, your eyes widening as you read it with a gasp that got stuck halfway in your throat.

Until next time, my dear. And if you ever crave more, there is always a table set for you. A.

It read in an obnoxiously neat, cursive handwriting. In a hue of crimson red.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #alastor smut #reader x hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hate fuck #reader hates to love it and loves to hate it #cryptic al makes an appearance

254 notes · View notes

lavandadiana · 22 days ago

Text

🜲 I wrote this in two hours. Spoilers for episode 6. Written before episode 7.

🜲 This has been on my mind all day...

°✧˖°✧˖°

"Why do you want to win the X title, Yang Cheng?" Xia Qing asked. Her doe brown eyes stare into his dull grey-blue eyes. "You know why, Xia Qing..." Yang Cheng's voice cracks with grief and anger.

"Yang Cheng... He's dead... We can't bring people back from the dead. We can't turn back time." Her voice is thick with concern and sadness.

"X's fans believe he's omnipotent. If I gain the title of X, then MG says that they'll spread a rumor that I can have the power to go back in time. With the help of the X title, I can."

"I can stop him from killing Shang Chao, or-" "Or kill the person that shot Shang Chao... Are you willing to go that far to save Shang Chao? Are you willing to kill someone?" Xia Qing asked, fearing the person who her little brother looked up to.

Yang Cheng didn't respond. "Yang Cheng, look me in the eyes and tell me that you won't kill someone..." He didn't meet her gaze.

"Yang Cheng-" "I have to go. See Ya, Xia Qing. Tell Pomelo I said hi." Yang Cheng stood up. He grabbed his helmet and put it on. He used his powers and ran off, leaving a conflicted Xia Qing.

Xia Qing sighs. She grabbed her purse and looked up at the sky. "Shang Chao... I think we're losing him... Why did you have to die?" Xia Qing wiped the tears from her eyes and walked away.

"Look, it's E-Soul!" "He's probably patrolling." "He's such an attentive hero!" Yang Cheng paid them no mind; he had somewhere to be. He arrived at the cemetery in no time. He laid down a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, pink roses, and red hibiscus on Shang Chao's grave.

Each flower holds a different meaning. White chrysanthemums hold the meaning of death and grief, pink roses mean romance and friendship, and red hibiscus means riches, fame, and delicate beauty, but they can also mean fleeting glory, fame, and beauty.

"Shang Chao... I- I miss you. It's been 5 years since that bastard killed you. I'm sorry that I wasn't fast enough... I'm sorry that I didn't believe in myself... I could've saved you... The bullet was meant for me... It should've been me..."

Yang Cheng kneels on his grave, tears cascading down his face. "Part of me wants to die in battle so I can see you again, but another part wants me to live and win the title of X so I can bring you back."

"I tracked him down and I begged him... I begged X to use his powers to bring you back. He says that his powers don't work like that... I don't believe him... I think he doesn't want to deal with the consequences that bringing the dead will have."

"Shang Chao... I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you this; I love you, Shang Chao... And I know you love me too... Your dad gave me your journal a week after your funeral. Alongside your schematics and blueprints, there were doodles of me and you together, heart doodles of our initials, and poems about me..."

Yang Cheng took a deep breath. "I thought that I liked Xia Qing, but it was just a crush. You were the one who made my heart beat. I'm sorry that I didn't realize sooner."

"The 21st hero tournament is starting soon. There's also a new hero... Well, technically not really. Nice died, and his manager replaced him. Do you remember Enlighter? Yeah, he's God Eye now. And the Nice replacement? He's now The Commoner. He's ranked 10 now."

"But don't worry, I'm still higher~ Even if it's only a rank higher, but I still have more experience than him." Yang Cheng smiles for a bit before it falters. He slowly stood up. "Don't worry, Shang Chao. I'll bring you back... no matter what. I promise that I will win the hero tournament and claim the title of X. Soon, you'll be next to me, whether it be in life or death." Yang Cheng kissed the top of the grave and used his powers to run away. He had a hero to find.

#tbhx #to be hero x #凸变英雄x #tbhx episode 6 #tbhx ep 6 #tbhx e soul #tbhx yang cheng #tbhx shang chao #🜲diadrabbles

28 notes · View notes

cyncerity · 25 days ago

Text

After 4 long years

Sizeshifter Tommy is back >:)

Strap in yall cause it’s lore time

part 1

College fuckin’ sucked. Of course, it was easier and harder than highschool in some ways, but right now, 5 pages into his 20 page intro to psychology reading assignment that made no sense, he’d give anything to be back in those locker lined hallways.

His mind flashed back to that time; being kicked down, seeing kids whisper and call him a freak, being shamed and taunted by his classmates and slammed into the walls for daring to defend himself.

Ok, maybe the psych wasn’t that bad, but still. Half of this shit didn’t even look like english to him.

His saving grace in college was that his best friends followed him there. Ranboo was in this class with him, and while Tubbo knew nothing about psychology, he was good moral support. He’d been hyping the other two up in their group chat while Tommy and Ranboo had been complaining nonstop, god bless him.

Tommy was alone in his room doing work, with Tubbo and Ranboo in their shared dorm. He lived close enough to the school that he didnt feel the need to get a dorm, plus he far preferred living with his family that knew about his…complications over living in a building full of judgmental strangers. He did, however, sleep over with Tubbo and Ranboo a lot. And sure, maybe he’d had a few incidents at the dorm, but Ranboo and Tubbo always covered for him flawlessly. He didn’t want- no, he couldn’t handle this new school finding out about what he could do. What he was.

That was what he looked forward to most about college: a fresh start. This school was so much bigger than his old one, and the rumors that had spread like wildfire when he was a kid had now dwindled to ash. He knew that one bout of gossip could stoke the flames again, but Tommy was (arguably) an adult now. He could handle his powers a lot better than he could before. In elementary school, he tried so hard to not let his family know that he’d maybe once or twice accidentally shrunk in class or panicked and ran to the bathroom where he grew and scared the shit out of everyone in there. His home life was fine, but his social life took the hit so he wouldn’t have to face his family. Once his family learned and he was free to practice balancing his powers at home, his school issues dwindled. In high school, he met Tubbo and Ranboo, who of course heard the rumors but thought nothing of it, considering Tommy hadn’t ever told or shown them anything. But then they learned, too, and Tommy was more than happy for the secret to only be shared between the six of them.

Even if Tommy only shared his secret with a few people, the idea of kids being around who weren’t prone to avoiding him because of rumors made him confident enough to try making friends again. It was hard, mostly because he was hardwired to believe everyone was against him, but that was nothing a little false confidence and maybe too much bravado couldn’t fix. Soon enough, there were people who were chatty and friendly with him outside of Tubbo and Ranboo, hell, some others who even asked him to join them for social things, like he wasn’t a burden. It was foreign, strange to a kid who’d been feared for so long.

It was awesome.

“You still working in there, mate?” Phil called from behind the door, jolting Tommy out of his distraction. He sighed. “Yeah, only 15 pages left to go!” He responded sarcastically, making his father laugh. “Alright, just be sure to get some sleep, you have Tech’s early class tomorrow. He’s driving you, I presume?” “As always.” “Sounds good. Love you, kiddo.” “Love you too. G’Night, dad.”

Tommy heard the footsteps fade away from his door, and looked back at his work. Eh, this class was at about 4pm tomorrow anyway, he’d see Ranboo before that and bug info out of him. It was getting late, and he knew that if he didn’t wake up in time, Techno would leave him behind. Bastard had done it before, and had the gall to call Tommy out when he walked into class late like it hadn’t been his fault. Prick.

~~~

Tommy could feel eyes on the back of his head.

Nothing he wasn’t used to, he was stared at a lot in high school, but not at college. No one had a reason to. But someone was staring at the back of his head and making his skin crawl unnaturally, and he was 85% sure it was that boy who’d walked in a few minutes ago that he thought he’d never seen before. Techno had stepped out of the room temporarily to grab some papers he planned on handing out (the joys of being a Teaching Assistant and having your own class), so Tommy didn’t even have anyone to complain to.

Luckily, Techno stepped back in with the papers in time for class to start, and began to try and settle the class down. “Ok, ok, good morning guys, i’m sure you’re all totally awake for your 9am Classics class.” Techno announced, to varying responses of false enthusiasm and groaning. “Incredible, I can’t wait till you all run this country with that attitude.” Techno responded with equal sass. “Now, let’s start off class in an interesting way. We have a new student! I’ll be honest I didn’t read the info the university sent so I know nothing about them. Would you mind introducing yourself?” Techno gestured to the back, and Tommy turned to see the boy he was sure had been staring at him now glaring daggers at his brother. Blond hair, purple hoodie, green eyes, nothing really special about the kid. ‘Well, at least I know I’ve never seen him, if he’s new here.’ Tommy thought, before a much worse idea popped into his head. ‘What if he’s from my high school? What if he starts spreading rumors about me? What if he went to elementary with me and saw what i can do firsthand? What if-‘

“Purpled.” The boy introduced, voice completely devoid of feeling. “Just moved here, started classes late, needed the English credit for my gen eds and this was the only open class.” “Perfect. Thank you, Purpled.” Techno responded, turning to look at his chalkboard. The second Tommy turned back to pay attention, the eyes were on him again, and some animalistic sixth sense that he’d always blamed on his weird shifter bullshit flared.

‘predator’

That was new. Tommy was used to his admittedly more animalistic side occasionally seeing people as ‘prey.’ Some mostly buried hunting instinct that told him to take advantage of creatures weaker than him, which included humans a lot of the time. It didn’t happen much, but it was in the same vein of instinct as the one that told him to ‘protect’ or ‘store’ when he was safe with people he cared for, or told him to ‘hide’ or ‘keep close’ when he was sad or scared around them. Unfortunately, the ‘prey’ thing just came with the territory, and had been triggered a few times when Tubbo had insisted on trying to outrun him while he was giant. He didn’t love thinking of his friend as prey, even subconsciously, but he’d learned to manage.

He’d never felt the instinct that a predator was nearby.

He didn’t like it.

“Does anyone know who Perseus is?” Techno asked, snapping Tommy’s attention back to class, though the hair on the back of his neck stood raised. A girl raised her hand and spoke “He’s the greek hero who killed Medusa!” “Good.” Techno replied. “Now, I’m going to throw you for a loop here: why?” The class was silent for a moment before someone sheepishly raised their hand, “Because she was a monster?” “Though certainly part of it, not quite.” Techno answered. “See, Perseus was very close with his mother Danaë, who was being pursued by King Polydectes. Polydectes knew how protective of his mother Perseus was, so he sent him off on a quest to retrieve Medusa’s head, believing that he wouldn’t survive and he could marry Danaë without him interfering. Can anyone tell me what’s so interesting about Medusa as a monster?”

Tommy lifted his hand high, while everyone else stayed silent. Tommy knew Techno normally made it a point to not call on him, since he knew that Tommy knew it all by heart cause he’d had greek stories read to him for years. But when no one else knew, Tommy got to talk, so Techno gestured and he explained. “Medusa was one of three gorgons with her sisters Stheno and Euryale, and their mother was Echidna, more commonly known as the mother of monsters. Medusa was special because she was the only one in her family who was mortal, so Polydectes couldn’t realistically send Perseus after anyone but her or it would have been obvious that he was trying to get him killed.” “Exactly right, Theseus. Wonder how you know that.” Techno answered, the class chuckling quietly as Tommy rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what I learned.” a voice interrupted. Techno looked to the back and Tommy turned, facing the stranger again. His muscles tensed despite himself. “Speak up? You’re allowed to speak out in this class, I want to know opinions.” “I heard Medusa was human, once. That she was a priestess to Athena who disrespected her goddess by having sex in her temple with Poseidon and was cursed because of it. I thought that’s why Athena helped Perseus kill her.” Purpled finished, and Techno nodded slightly. “You’re right about Athena helping Perseus; she’s the one who gave him the shield to let him see Medusa, and Athena is often depicted with Medusa’s head on her shield. But we’re talking about the greeks right now, and the backstory you just told me wasn’t about Athena and Medusa, but Minerva and Medusa, their Roman counterparts.“

“I didn’t think monsters could just be born in Greek mythology, though.” Purpled stated. Techno’s normally stoic face shifted slightly to interest. “You wanna explain? I’d love to hear, genuinely.” “I mean, think about it,” Purpled started, “most monsters in myth are either people cursed by Gods, or the children of people who were cursed by Gods. The Minotaur was a cursed child cause it’s dad pissed off Poseidon, Scylla was a woman who made Circe jealous and was turned into a six headed sea monster, and Lamia was a queen who had an affair with Zeus and Hera turned her into a child eating half snake monster. I mean, there are plenty of animalistic monsters from Echidna, like cerberus, the hydra, and the chimera, but every humanoid or somewhat sapient monster wasn’t meant to be like that. They were made against their will.”

Tommy shuddered. The eyes were on him again, if only for a moment.

‘predator’

“Wow, someone did their research before showing up to class.” Techno chuckled. “But you aren’t wrong. Historically, the Gods have a history of messing with humans. No matter if you’re looking at the Greek, Roman, or even Norse pantheon, a common theme is that Gods don’t understand why they shouldn’t take advantage of mortals.”

The eyes were back. They didn’t leave this time.

“After all,” Techno continued, “they’ve been around much longer, the humans exist because of them, and they give the humans everything. So to them, taking advantage of us is justified.”

Staring, burning holes into his back. Tommy felt his breath speeding up.

“Just one more question, sorry if I’m taking up too much class time, but I want to know your opinion.” Purpled spoke up, and Techno gestured for him to continue, clearly not at all upset by his lecture getting interrupted. “Say Medusa was human once and had been turned against her will, and for arguments sake wasn’t hurting anyone. Do you think that Perseus still would have been justified in killing her on the sheer basis that she was a monster? Does she deserve to die-“

‘predator’

‘hide’

“-just because she isn’t human?”

Tommy doesn’t stick around to see his brother’s brows crease and eyes widen in the subtle way that means he’s disturbed. He doesn’t stick around to hear the answer, he can’t handle it. He runs, practically knocking his chair over in a desperate run to escape the eyes. He’s never felt like prey before. He hates it.

He runs down the hall and into the first closet he can find, not even bothering to turn the lights on before sliding down the wall and burying his head in his knees, crying quietly out of sheer panic in the darkness. He doesn’t know what’s come over him. His hands are reaching for his phone before he knows what’s he’s doing. He opens his texts with Ranboo, knowing that Tubbo won’t be awake before noon at the earliest. He isn’t sure what he sends, really, just sure that it’s some kind of SOS. He shuts his phone off and shoves it back in his pocket, but feels it buzz in response. Not even ten minutes later, he hears the slamming of sneakers echo down the hallway, and momentarily has the clarity to be thankful that he’d remembered to say where he was in his hurried “help i’m having a panic attack” text.

The sneakers slow to a stop and the door opens slowly, illuminating the closet for the first time since Tommy had entered. He looks up from his knees, and sees…was the closet always this big? He turned to the door and found Ranboo, a giant, over 50 times bigger than him and looming over. When…when did he shrink? Tommy hadn’t even realized. And damn, did that make him feel so much worse. He hadn’t accidentally shifted in months. He couldn’t help but bury his face in his knees again, but noticed the light turn on and heard the door shut. “Tommy?” he heard Ranboo’s quiet voice, and felt something get closer to him. He looked beside him, and saw that Ranboo was lying stomach down on the ground beside him, giant face right beside him rested on folded arms. Tommy murmured a vague quiet response before dragging himself over to his friend and climbing onto the crook of their elbow, pressing himself into his friends cheek. “You just need to be here for a bit? I locked the door already.” Tommy nodded, and he was fairly sure Ranboo felt the motion against their skin, since they lifted a free hand and cupped it around Tommy’s back in comfort, seemingly content to lay there until Tommy felt better.

They laid there for a while, until Tommy’s breathing evened out. The panic had mostly seized, drowned out by the instinctual satisfaction of being around someone he cared about. Eventually, Tommy pushed himself off of Ranboo’s arm and onto the ground, lying on his back just staring at the ceiling. Ranboo took the hint and flipped over, lying right next to his friend. “…so, wanna talk about it?” They questioned, voice carefully quiet for Tommy’s smaller size, and Tommy sighed. “I…I don’t know if I even can. I don’t know what happened. I-“ he sighed, frustrated that he couldn’t get his thoughts out. Ranboo patiently waited. “Y’know how I get the weird instincts that sometimes confuses people with prey?” Tommy admitted quietly, shameful to even say it out loud. Ranboo nodded supportively, though, unfazed as ever at Tommy’s words. They’d gotten used to his weird instincts, and Tommy appreciated that he could never smell fear on his friend when he talked about seeing them as prey occasionally. “Well, I was in class today and I just…something was wrong. There was this new kid, and he was staring at me, and he just…I don’t know, triggered something in me? I felt…I felt hunted. Like a rabbit who knows a wolf is hiding in the bushes behind it. Ranboo, I’ve never been hunted before. I don’t know what was wrong with this kid, but he messed with my instincts so bad that I felt like I had to hide or he would- i don’t even know. I’m just getting myself worked up over nothing. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ranboo said, their voice as gentle as ever. “That must’ve been terrifying-” “We were talking about Medusa today.” He interjected, figuring Ranboo should know what happened to make him actually get up and run. “The guy brought up a common thread with Greek monsters; how they’re made because people piss off the gods, how their existence is a punishment.” Tommy’s words became choked with tears, but he continued regardless. “He asked Techno if Medusa deserved to die just because she wasn’t human.”

Neither of them made a move for a minute before Ranboo slowly sat up. Tommy looked up at their face and saw the mix of horror and sadness staining it, almost in shock. “Oh…oh, Tommy…” Ranboo said, guiding his hand behind Tommy and carefully scooping him up to their chest in a gentle imitation of a hug. Tommy sat still for all of two seconds before he felt himself very suddenly and quickly grow back to his normal size as he hugged back tightly, digging his nails into Ranboo’s shirt to ground himself. Ranboo, to their credit, didn’t falter once at Tommy’s shifting and only hugged tighter in response. Tommy didn’t want to cry again, he just finished and had to almost be out of tears at this point, so he settled for burying his face in Ranboo’s shoulder and if a few more tears slipped out, they were kind enough not to mention it.

They sat like that for a while, clinging to each other like lifelines until a knock sounded on the door, startling Tommy into a shrinking a few inches before he cursed to himself and went back to normal. “Uh, occupied?” Ranboo shouted awkwardly. “It’s a broom closet, kid, that doesn’t work here.” A gruff, toneless voice answered, and Tommy relaxed as Ranboo went to unlock the door. Techno, thank god. Sure enough, his big brother entered the room looking mildly worried, which in Techno-isms roughly translated to absolutely panicked. “What happened, and are you ok?” Techno asked, kneeling to be level with Tommy. “Yeah, yeah, Tech, I’m fine, I promise, just…the subject material hit a little too close to home today.” He sniffled, and Techno nodded in understanding, pulling his little brother into a hug. “I said no, in case you’re wondering.” He said after a moment, making Tommy laugh softly. “Right, not like you’re biased or anything.” “I believe people should be punished for poor decisions they choose to make, not things they can’t control. My bias has nothing to do with this.”

Tommy snorted and wiped his eyes as Techno helped him up, looking over to the other teen.“You leave class early, Ranboo?” “It was almost over, it wasn’t a huge deal, we were just getting an early start on homework.” “I’ll shoot your teacher an email anyway, just to make sure you don’t get points docked.” Ranboo mumbled a thank you and followed them out of the classroom to Techno’s office to grab the stuff Tommy had left when he ran, only to find someone sitting outside it.

Tommy stiffened. Great, him again.

“You need something, Purpled?” Techno asked, clearly trying to remain professional. Purpled glanced up and stood, quickly sticking his phone in his hoodie pocket. “Just wanted to apologize to you and your…kid? brother? cousin?” “Brother. Continue.” “Brother. Got it.” Purpled answered Techno, before turning his attention to Tommy, finally looking directly in his eyes instead of at his back.

‘predator’

The instinct ran in his head, but it wasn’t nearly as bad this time. Maybe because it didn’t feel like getting hunted when the hunter had his hands empty right in front of him. “Just wanted to say sorry for…I’m not quite sure, honestly, but I feel like you running out of the room was my fault. If I overstepped some unspoken classroom rule and made you upset, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to make such a bad impression on my first day.” Purpled’s voice remained carefully neutral, but Tommy could sense genuine remorse behind it. He relaxed. Maybe he had been thinking too much about it. After all, it wasn’t like Purpled was purposefully trying to get in his head with that comment, there’s no way he could have known. “It’s alright, man, you didn’t do anything. The comments just brought up some…uh, unpleasant memories of high school bullies, is all. You couldn’t have known.” He stepped towards the kid, hand outstretched. “I’m Tommy Craft.” For the first time, he saw the kid crack a smile as he shook his hand. “Purpled Bedwars. It’s nice to formally meet you, Tommy Craft.”

Tommy could have sworn he felt something familiar at the contact, his instincts flaring in equal parts recognition and warning, making him feel vaguely lightheaded. He shook his head lightly to clear the vertigo and when he opened them, he could have sworn Purpled’s green eyes were greener than they’d been a moment before. More saturated, almost toxic.

He blinked and they were normal.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his gut and smiled.

“Same to you, Purpled Bedwars, same to you.”

~~~

Purpled hadn’t been thrilled to start school this late. Hell, he hadn’t been thrilled to start school at all. Still, it wasn’t often that he got a message from Dream much these days, so he knew it had to be important. And sure enough, it had been.

But was any of this worth going to actual school for? Purpled didn’t need a degree and he didn’t need a new job, he had one. A bit under the table and vaguely legal at best, but hey, money’s money. But school just distracted from his job, and he hadn’t had to retain that much information in one day in years. He was barely able to stay on his feet for the walk back to his apartment, though by some miracle he got to his door without passing out. He unlocked it and took about three steps into the living room before he collapsed onto his couch, backpack and shoes left strewn behind him.

“Purpled? That you, kid?” Purpled groaned at the shout. “Yeah, I’m home.” “Finally,” said his brother, rounding the corner and making his way to the couch. “So how was your first day of school?” “Fuck off, Punz, I know what you really wanna know. And the answer is yes.” Punz’s eyes widened, staring at Purpled. “You’re sure?” “Absolutely. That crazy smiley faced bastard was right, he just needed me to verify it.”

And verify it he did. Purpled had been dubious at best when he’d been sent to this college, expecting to come home and announce to Dream that he was wrong and to leave him alone. He’d walked into that classroom and sat for about 5 minutes before a blond boy had sat right in front of him, and his eyes were drawn straight to him. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t have been possible, there wasn’t a chance in the world. But the world hated Purpled and Purpled hated it, so when he looked at the boy, only one clear instinct ran through his mind:

‘predator’

“That’s that, then.” Punz said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “What…what do you do now?” “Don’t know, don’t care.” Purpled answered. “I have to stay at school and keep tabs, but I’ll have to tell Dream at some point. For now, I’m gonna sleep.” “Fine don’t talk to your big brother about school, not like he’ll be offended or anything.” “Other than the obvious, completely uneventful. Some kids invited me to eat lunch with them tomorrow, though.” “My little brother, a social butterfly, who’d’ve believed it.” Punz said with a smirk and was swiftly socked in the arm, which only resulted in a kick back, and quickly the two were roughhousing on the couch.

And if both of them woke up the next morning having slept on the couch in their clothes after tiring each other out, then that was a secret kept well between the both of them.

#🚨lore 🚨lore 🚨lore 🚨#i’ve had this worked out for so long #you thought this was just a little fluff au? that Tommy being the only shifter would never be explained?? HA. HA I SAY #i’ve said it before but i’ve kinda always known what exactly he was #it’s time to show all of you >;)#fair warning it gets way worse before it gets better #Tommy is about to go through some shit #i’m only a little sorry #he’ll be fine #totally not scarred for life or anything haha what who said that #ignore that 😁#cyncerity #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #sizeshifter!tommy au #cynwrites

33 notes · View notes

weatheredfailnot · 1 year ago

Text

Please take these sections from EE3 on the Shadowkeeper (Cylva) because I love her so dearly

Transcript below:

A NAME SPOKEN IN WHISPERS

Around the time Ardbert and his comrades left Tomra, they stumbled upon evidence of the larger design. Threads linking together the disparate troubles of the realm. A name spoken only in whispers— the Shadowkeeper.

A singular force sowing chaos and discord throughout Norvrandt to an unknown end.

During Nyelbert's search for an energy source to replace the crystal he shattered, he began to suspect that the now-lost stone was not, in fact, a naturally occurring mineral, but rather had been deliberately placed under the mountain. Pursuing the truth of that theory led them to discover a connection to Lamunth, the gem counterfeiter whom Ardbert and Lamitt apprehended so long ago in Nabaath Areng. When they visited Lamunth's gaol cell to interrogate him, however, they found the man convulsing on the floor and frothing at the mouth. Ere the poison took his life, he managed to sputter the name of the Shadowkeeper. Further investigation revealed that this sinister figure had ordered Lamunth to secret the crystal in the mine shafts, and in return rewarded him with the illusory magicks he would employ in his forgeries.

They also came to learn that Tadric, the mastermind behind Voeburt's monstrous plague, had not worked alone. Research documents recovered from the court mage's laboratory mentioned the Shadowkeeper by name, the meticulous entries describing how the arcane lore shared by his co-conspirator had contributed to the completion of his transformation magicks.

The mining industry of Nabaath Areng threatened with demolition.

A scheme culminating in the death of Voeburt's royal heirs. The Shadowkeeper had plotted the downfall of two mighty nations, and Ardbert's band feared that Lakeland, the third of Norvrandt's major powers, would be next.

Lo and behold, a rebellion erupted in the home of the elves. The reigning king was deposed, and the Shadowkeeper, their heretofore faceless nemesis, took the throne.

The elven king, Lelfrey, was a passionate proponent of the arts- music and dance in particular- with his focus on such refined pursuits earning him equal praise and scorn. His was a peaceful rule, free of war and strife, but this passivity cost his kingdom dearly in matters of foreign diplomacy. A poor negotiator, he ceded border territories to Voeburt to avoid conflict, and signed an economic agreement with Nabaath Areng that put Lakeland at a clear disadvantage.

As these political blunders chipped away at the nation's authority, a sentiment of discontent among Lakeland's high-ranking nobility began to fester and grow. Traditionalists dreamed of a return to the golden age when all of Norvrandt lay under their control, and it was the Shadowkeeper who granted them the power to act. Rumors that this new player was the king's bastard child ran wild, and, true or not, served to unify the disgruntled nobles under a single banner. They indulged in treachery to undermine rival nations, while at home, their assassins targeted influential royalists. The scene was set for revolution.

The Shadowkeeper was attended by two dark-robed mages, by whose malevolent arts the traditionalists were empowered. One of their gifts was lupine transformation, a change which granted the recipient preternatural strength and agility. Thus bolstered by a company of these wolfman soldiers, the Shadowkeeper's faction stormed Laxan Loft and captured the royal seat for their leader. No sooner had the winning side declared a new age of glory for the elves than did they muster their forces and launch an invasion into Voeburtite lands.

Caption reads: The Shadowkeeper emerged amid blood and chaos, a formidable and enigmatic figure perpetually encased in stygian plate armor. Similarly clad in midnight raiment, the Shadowkeeper's forces inspired terror in all who witnessed their advance.

THE BATTLE OF LAXAN LOFT

The heroes were poised to continue their search for Nyelbert's replacement stone in Nabaath Areng when the silver-haired Cylva abruptly left the party. The swordswoman excused herself on the premise that she wished to reconnoiter the troubling situation in Lakeland, but in truth, she was hurrying back to don her black armor, unsheathe her blade, and lead the elven traditionalists in their rebellion. Cylva, the great deceiver, had been the Shadowkeeper all along.

She was, in truth, no bastard child of King Lelfrey-that was merely a fiction concocted by Mitron and Loghrif, her Ascian accomplices. Her true origin lay in the Thirteenth, where she had died young and powerless, an unrealized champion of the reflection-turned-void. The Ascians had found her in the moment of her demise, and it was they who brought her soul to the First to serve as a pawn in dark machinations.

Cylva was to insinuate herself into Ardbert's band, and guide them along the path to becoming Warriors of Light. That which they cast aside in their journey towards heroism, she would take into herself, growing ever stronger as a disciple of Darkness. And when all was in readiness, she would reveal herself as the villainous Shadowkeeper. By her hand would the Warriors of Light be slain, and despair sown in the hearts of the populace.

What the Ascians did not plan for was the Shadowkeeper's defeat at the hands of Ardbert's party. Cylva had steadily amassed her power, feeding on her erstwhile comrades' respective sacrifices of personal ambition, innocence, independence, and tradition. Yet despite her best efforts, Ardbert would not forsake what she sought to purloin- his caring heart.

Even in the midst of their deadly confrontation, he regarded her as a comrade in need of saving.

Thus denied her full ascension, the Shadowkeeper wavered and fell.

Swallowing their grief at the loss of a friend, the heroes turned their wrath towards the villains who had orchestrated this tragedy. The Warriors of Light now shone so brightly that even high-ranking Ascians could not stand against their incandescent fury. Even as Ardbert struck his final blow, fulgent power swelled in a cataclysmic wave, and the Flood of Light was unleashed upon the lands of the First.

Caption reads: In her bid to slay the Warriors of Light, Cylva turned her transformation magicks upon herself. Though Ardbert and his comrades did indeed struggle against this formidable lupine abomination, it was the necessity of striking down their former friend that presented the greatest challenge.

#FFXIV #Cyella #Cylva #My posts

210 notes · View notes

targayrenss · 2 years ago

Text

Green Skin(I)

pairing:Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Oc

Content:🔞, Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

Author's Note:it's my first post here!,english is not my first language so don't be rude

••••

Alicent watched from afar as her eldest daughter played with Rhaenyra's bastard, the princess gathered flowers and gave them to the boy to keep collecting more.

She couldn't understand how someone like her sweet alys could get out of her and viserys.

Oh her darling alys hers, a beautiful flower in a field of withered flowers

As she continued to watch, Sir Criston informed her that Rhaenyra had finished her labors, yet another thoughtful bastard.

Alys listened and took Jacaerys into her arms before running off to Rhaenyra's chambers.

Upon arrival, Alys entered as if it were her own rooms.

"Princess! You can't be here." The young princess ignored the servant and went directly to her sister.

"Tell me she's a girl!" Tell me she's a girl—she put the flowers on Rhaenyra's lap and Jace on her lap.

Rhaenyra laughed at the sight of her half sister.

—sorry, alys, another prince

The redhead's smile fell.

"Why do you only have boys? Uncle Laenor said that she would be a girl this time."

“Are they for me?” Alysanne smiled again when she saw Rhaenyra point to the flowers.

—Yes! Jace and I were gathering them all day, Aegon said that she would accompany us but she never arrived.

— She is very sweet of you, alys

Alicent demonstrated the whole scene, that could have been her and rhaenyra, but now they weren't even friends.

When Alysanne saw her father enter the room she ran away, she hated being around him.

Alysanne once again ran into her half-sister's quarters.

—Tell me she's a girl! Please, nyra!

The redhead ignored that Sir Harwin Strong was the one carrying the new prince of the family.

I'm sorry sweet girl, another prince

Alys saw the brown hair on the boy's head, she looked up from her seeing harwin strong.

"May I carry it, Sir Harwin? Please! I promise not to throw it away like Jace."

Rhaenyra asked her lover to let her hold him for a moment.

Alys showed in fascination the baby in her arms.

—It must be nice for your mother, uncle, to see that all your children look like their mother—the young woman did not notice the looks shared between the three adults—my mother says that I look like hers, she says that I am more tyrell than targaryen or hightower, she thinks that your children are more baratheon than velaryon or targaryen.

She had heard the rumors spread throughout the castle, but she never believed them.

"Maybe when you have a girl she'll be as beautiful as they say Jocelyn Baratheon was."

The princess kissed the child's forehead.

#daemon targaryen x targaryen reader #daemon targeryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x platonic reader #Daemon x reader #house of the dragon #hightower oc #hotd fanfic #Daemon Targaryen x Oc

370 notes · View notes

joshsilverseyebrow · 3 months ago

Text

josh silver interview for KERRANG! Magazine,

transcription:

This week we get up close and personal with TYPE O NEGATIVE’S brooding keysman

Josh Silver

What is your nickname and why? “Scumbag. that’s what they call me behind my back — to my face its Asshole.”

At school, were you a dunce or a teacher’s pet? “I didn’t go to school. I dropped out in like 10th grade like a typical American. I couldn’t take school: I couldn’t deal with authority, I couldn’t deal with the whole situation. I was probably scared to leave my mother.. I was close to 15 when I left, which is actually illegal in the States. But what are they going to do? They just let me leave.”

What was your first shag like? “I hope it was better for her! It was a typically pathetic attempt at teenage sex.”

Who’s your best friend? “My wife, it’s not a funny or witty answer, but it’s true. It would probably be my hand after her.”

What’s the best pet you ever had? “I used to have a ferret that drank beer. I’d have friends hanging out at my house and this ferret used to knock their beers over and get loaded! He must’ve been a British ferret — he loved his beer. His name was Morris.”

Have you ever been arrested? “No, but I should have been a couple times. I’m just very good at hiding!”

What would you be if you weren’t a rockstar? “Large fries with that Coke, sir?”

How would you describe yourself on a blind date form? “You know, I think dating blind people would probably be the best thing for me…”

What’s the most extravagant thing you’ve ever bought? “I don’t really buy a lot of extravagant things, so I’d have to say the ‘Roger Rabbit’ dildo that I bought. For a dildo, it was pretty damn expensive.”

Who’s gagging for a shagging? “Sex is like a dead issue for me, having a dead appendage in general. I don’t really think about sex all that much, so I think I’ll say the whole world should f**k themselves!”

Who’s gagging for a smacking? “Some people — the whole world. Actually, we just had a big gang brawl after one of our shows. These two homeless crack-heads ran onto our bus — and let me tell you, they were prison-fighting bastards, man. Our tour manager got busted up and three of us could barely hold down one of them. It got really crazy.”

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? “Every job has its good and bad, but the worst I had was working in a mail room for five years. That wasn’t exactly great.”

When was the last time you called home? “Five minutes ago. I’ve got my niece and my wife to call — I’m becoming a family man. I’m getting old.”

What was your most embarrassing moment? “Every night we go on stage. All the gigs we’ve done are just a blur at this point, so it’s hard to pinpoint one, but normally first, you’ll drink, then you’ll act like a jackass and then you wake up the exact day thinking, “What did I play last night or what didn’t I play?”

Who would you at least like to see naked? “I hate seeing myself naked — I even stopped shaving because I refused to look at myself anymore. I’d have to say me.”

What’s the best rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself? “My favorite rumor was that Peter (Steele, Type O frontman) had caught Aids, from a very well-known soul singer. Unsurprisingly, this rumor started on the ‘Net, but I’m sure Peter hasn’t dated that guy in a couple of years!”

What’s in your wallet? “Not much. About 10 bucks.”

What’s your favorite joke? “Type O Negative.”

If you were marooned on a desert island without food, which member of Type O Negative would you eat first? “I’d have to eat Johnny (Kelly, drummer) because he’s in better health than the rest of us so he’d probably taste better. He’s got a nice ass too — the rump roast would be good.”

Which Type O Negative song would you choose to donate to a compilation album entitled “Crap Songs of Our Time”? “My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend, on ‘October Rust’. It was a spoof song that people took way too seriously. It has nothing to do with Type O. It just didn’t work.”

What’s your drug of choice? “It would have to be pot. I get really cranky when i can’t have any. It’s not physically addictive, but you definitely get used to the mellowness — and then suddenly you’re thrust into the world.”

What does God look like? “Peter’s dick is the closest thing to God we’ve seen. It’s also the closest thing to Satan as well!”

When you die, how would you like to go? “Quickly and quietly. When you actually face death then you have to wonder if you’re going to become a wimp, and just turn to what you’ve been taught. I really want to go as I’ve lived — an atheist bastard!”

TYPE O NEGATIVE play the Kerrang! X-fest with Coal Chamber at London Astoria on November 30 and December 1.

#josh silver #johnny kelly #peter steele #kenny hickey #type o negative #i love him #i love josh silver #goth #gothic metal #goth aesthetic #gothic #i love type o negative #josh silver come back to us

22 notes · View notes

bucketsofmonsters · 2 years ago

Text

Oliver

cw: under-negotiated kink, allusions to historical homophobia, blood drinking, biting, anal sex, handjobs, unprotected sex

male vampire x male human

Word count: 6k

a/n: This is technically a prequel to Vows but can absolutely be read on its own as a oneshot, it’s the story of how Oliver came to stay with Rook

Vows Masterlist

Six hours.

Six hours he’d been sitting outside this god-forsaken gate causing as much of a ruckus as he was humanly capable of causing.

And for six hours he’d been ignored.

He’d arrived at the sprawling mansion in the evening, a reasonable hour, set on talking to the man inside.

He’d heard so many things about him. Good things, at least to Oliver. The people who’d said it hadn’t been quite as well-intentioned,

They also told tales of blood-drinking and murder but he knew exactly how bad rumors could get about people with his inclination. He was willing to forgive a lot if it gave him a kindred soul.

However, he was unsure if he could forgive six hours.

He collapsed to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his hands under his thighs.

He’d be fine. That’s what he always told himself. It didn’t feel particularly true right now but it didn’t matter. He would tell himself that anyway.

He’d come with fairly high hopes, artificial or not. The gate had been locked with no way to signal to anyone inside that he was out here but he was a resourceful fellow.

It only took a few minutes of waiting before his patience crumbled.

It was fine. He’d just hop the fence.

As he tried to wrap his hands around the metal bars of the gate, his hand had crumpled, unable to fit in the wide gap between the bars.

He tried again on the next gap and once more, his hand was unable to pass through what looked like nothing but air.

Maybe the rumors of dark forces residing in this home weren’t so unfounded.

He refused to be deterred, grabbing a stick off the ground and jamming it through the gate. Still nothing, no way to get it through and try to pry it open.

Fine then. He took about twenty steps back, giving himself a good start, and then ran full force at the gate.

He slammed right into it, the gate not budging an inch. Oliver fared less well than the looming gate. His shoulder was sure to bruise. He just hoped that maybe it would bruise inside these walls.

He did the only thing he could think of to do. He started to shout. The yelling began with pleas to be let inside and requests for help but after the first hour of yelling, as his throat began to hoarsen, his words became a bit more vulgar.

The sun had long since set but he refused to go home, not after all this

Maybe he could annoy the people inside enough that someone would come out here and yell at him.

He could handle being rejected, but he should at least be able to plead his case first.

And maybe dart inside while they were doing so.

He just kept trying for as long as he could.

For.

Six.

Hours.

Surely even the strongest of wills would collapse in the cold night after no one had responded for so long, he couldn’t be blamed for this.

He fell to the ground, despair overtaking him. Even drawn into himself, conserving his heat as best he could, he felt so much colder than before.

He fell to his side, his cheek meeting wet dirt, leaves sticking to his face.

This was his last hope, his only real chance. He’d been delusional, thinking there was somewhere that would be safe that didn’t require him smothering himself.

He sniffled, not bothering to wipe at his nose as he wallowed on the ground.

No. He wouldn’t let it end like this. Getting up seemed like a monumental task but shouting didn’t. Shouting he could do. It was like his baseline now.

At this point, it was just vague cursing at the bastards inside more than a plea for help but shout he did.

And then the gate swung open, right into his side.

The man standing in the entryway looked sheepish, pulling the heavy gate back and away from Oliver. He looked like every cruel thing they’d said about him, with sharp, cold features, suspiciously perfectly tousled dark hair speckled with gray, and sickly pale skin. A pair of sharp fangs were revealed as he winced at the sight of Oliver being smacked with the gate.

Oliver sat up as quickly as he could, wiping at his face, trying to remove all the grime and dirt that had accumulated on his skin. He’d meant to look more appealing than this, or at least look more sane. But here he was, a grimy boy sitting in the mud after screaming his voice hoarse for six hours.

“Didn’t mean to hit you,” he said with a grimace.

“I hate you,” Oliver chimed back, his voice cracking as he spoke.

The man got even paler, if that was possible. “This may have been ill-advised.”

“You’re telling me.”

The man sighed, seeming upset over something, before kneeling down by Oliver’s side.

“Not you,” he said quietly. “You’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong. Come on, let's get you inside.”

He sat up with a huff, in absolutely no mood to go anywhere with this man.

“You couldn’t have stopped a little sooner, could you?” His tone was light in a poorly practiced way, trying and failing to lift the mood of the conversation.

“Why, was I annoying you?” he asked, still sitting in the mud. He was sure he had leaves and dirt in his hair but trying to pick them out felt less dignified than just leaving them be.

“No, you just made me lose a bet.”

Oliver scrunched up his nose. The idea that this asshole had just been sitting inside betting on how long he’d wait out here angered him beyond belief.

“Sorry I wasn’t weak-willed enough for you, I’ll only scream at you for a couple of hours next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He held out his hand to help Oliver up. “I’m Rook.”

He stood on his own, giving Rook a suspicious look. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell strange men my name. You’ll steal my soul or something.”

“If I wanted your soul so badly, I wouldn’t have taken six hours.”

Rook had apparently decided that they’d moved past the incident enough to joke about it. Oliver disagreed.

Oliver stood across from him, arms crossed, unimpressed. All this time he’d been waiting to be let inside and now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go.

Well, he did want to. He just didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction.

“Come on in, it’s cold out here,” Rook said, not privy to Oliver’s internal struggle. He had a grand sort of voice, one that screamed he thought he was better than everyone.

Oliver wanted to attack him.

His eyebrows furrowed with a huff. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Come on, I’ll apologize inside. I can’t start groveling until I’ve rectified my mistake by letting you in.”

That sounded more like it.

“Alright, but if there’s no groveling I just might start screaming again.”

“Good, I think I might deserve it,” he said, quiet enough that Oliver was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. But he was good at hearing things, great at it even. He always thought he’d make a good spy if only he could keep his mouth shut for long enough.

Oliver followed him inside, silently cursing the gates as he walked through them.

The castle grew no less imposing as he got closer to it. The front doors were massive, looming things and Oliver decided he might honestly prefer the gates. At least with them he could see what was on the other side.

The doors swung open, despite the fact that Oliver could see no one who’d opened them. He considered congratulating Rook on the cheap magic trick but was worried he might think he was being genuine.

“I told you he’d wait,” a man's voice called as he stepped inside the doors, them swinging shut once more behind him.

Rook went to take his jacket and Oliver made sure to get as much mud on him in the process as he possibly could. He winced but allowed it to happen as mud smeared down his perfectly fitted clothes.

“How’d you know?” Rook responded, hanging the tattered, dirty jacket up with his arm fully extended, like he was half convinced it had fleas.

“I would’ve,” the man responded.

“Would’ve?” Oliver asked, turning to see an older man who looked decidedly less harsh and cold than Rook did. “So you didn’t make him wait outside for six hours.”

“He wasn’t trying to break in and cursing me out on my front lawn.”

“I only did that because you made me wait!”

“You tried to scale that fence after ten minutes.”

Okay, so maybe he should’ve waited longer before getting quite so antagonistic. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Rook ushered Oliver into a nearby room, trying to send the older man away with a hushed, “You don’t need to be here, Petyr, I can handle this.”

“No, please,” Oliver called back. “Let him stay.”

As they both shuffled in and sat, Rook in the biggest chair sitting behind the desk and Petyr in one of the smaller chairs near Oliver, he scanned the room for weapons, just in case. He took note of a nearby letter opener, angling himself so he’d be ready to reach for it if he needed to.

“So, may I have your name now?” Rook asked from behind the desk, handing some papers over to Petyr as he spoke.

Oliver tried to read the papers as they passed but couldn’t quite manage it. “You may not.”

“Alright, that’s fine. There will be time for that. Well then, why are you here?”

“I don’t know, maybe I got curious. They say lots of things about you, you know. They say people come in and they don’t come out,” Oliver lowered his voice conspiratorily as he spoke.

“And yet here you are.”

“Maybe I just don’t value my life,” he said with a shrug.

“Do you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Rook said, looking amused yet almost a little frightened of Oliver.

Good.

“I had a whole speech prepared you know,” he said, still scowling.

Rook leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

Oliver shifted back and forth, feeling inspected under Rook’s gaze. “Doesn’t really feel like the right time for a heartfelt speech.”

That got half a smile out of Rook, amusement shining in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t, does it? You can just pick a room, they’re mostly bedrooms and they’re almost all empty.”

“What?”

“That is what you wanted, isn’t it? To stay here?”

“But… you’re just going to let me? Don’t I have to grovel or something?”

“I think you’ll remember I’m the one who was supposed to be groveling here.”

“I do. And yet there you are, no groveling to be seen.”

Rook laughed and Oliver had half a mind to inform him that he was, in fact, not joking, but he was a little worried he might be pushing his luck.

Rook stood and paced out of the room, looking behind him towards Oliver. “You coming?”

Oliver’s eyes darted between Petyr and Rook before deciding that he was willing to risk being alone with him and running to catch up with Rook.

“Alright, pick a room.”

“Any room?”

He nodded. “Whichever you’d like. Now, I have to go speak with someone, have fun choosing one.”

There were seemingly endless doors, a whole castle's worth of rooms to choose from. But he was uninterested in them. Instead, he went in the direction Rook had gone, ears straining to try and figure out where he’d left to.

When he approached the office from before, he heard muffled voices and decided quickly to sit on the ground and push his ear against the old wood.

Rook’s voice echoed through the door clearly enough, having already started a conversation.

“...a bit unpleasant. Bad attitude and absolutely no manners at all. And he’s not as cute as he thinks he is

Oliver scoffed quietly at the words, having half a mind to storm in there and show him just how bad his attitude could really be. He wasn’t even sure why he cared what this guy thought. In the short time he'd known him, all he’d been was rude, abrasive, and worst of all, he was apologetic about it. One second he was being an asshole and the next second he had that awful sorry look on his face that only served to make Oliver want to smack him.

Despite all of this, he leaned against the door, fuming as he eavesdropped. “Worst of all,” Rook said, “he’s nosy.” As the words left his mouth, the steady wood Oliver had been leaning on fell out from under him, leaving him exposed and tumbling to the ground.

Neither of the men seemed surprised by his sudden appearance and he couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was them putting on a show for him. He decided to believe it was most of it, for his own sanity.

“Clearly I couldn’t pick any room,” he said from his less than dignified spot on the floor.

Rook looked around at the small study. “I mean, if you want it that badly, you can sleep in here. The desk might be a bit uncomfortable but to each their own.

“I don’t want it anymore. Not after you slandered me in here.”

“Are you really trying for the moral high ground? In your position?” Rook said, looking down at him still sprawled across the floor.

Oliver jumped to his feet, brushing off his already filthy clothes.

He stormed off, set on finding somewhere to clean himself where he could get away from these assholes.

Picking a room was not nearly as exciting as Oliver had hoped. Almost every room in this place looked identical, similar layout and beds and sheets. All beautiful and expensive, but none interesting.

He found some unfortunately empty baths but with no idea how to fill them, other than asking for help, he opted instead to dump a pitcher of water over his head, hoping it got most of his grime off.

As he wandered, sopping wet and bored, he wasn’t checking the rooms anymore. Not really. Because the house had quieted down as the sun rose and Oliver had a more interesting target in mind.

He threw open door after door, revealing boring room after boring room until behind one door, he found his less-than-gracious host.

Rook looked up from where he was lying in his bed, decidedly more surprised at his sudden appearance this time, and Oliver felt himself puff up a little with pride.

“What are you doing here,” he asked as he evaluated Oliver in his doorway.

“I mean, you did say any room.”

“Have you been entering every room in this house until you found mine so you could bother me?”

Oliver averted his gaze. “No.”

“Right. Just browsing then?”

“Exactly.”

Rook chuckled and Oliver could see his fangs poking out, a reminder of how dangerous this could be. “What do you think of this one?”

He was playing mind games, that much was obvious. And Oliver would not let him win.

“I really like it. I think I’ll choose this one.”

It was a dangerous play, he knew that. Trying to aggravate him like this.

He’d keep doing it anyway.

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll have to go find another one,” Rook said, standing up from his comfortable spot on his lavish bed.

Oliver reeled back. “What?”

Rook shuffled out of bed and past him in the doorway. “Goodnight, enjoy your room.”

And then, without so much as another word, he was gone and Oliver was left stupified.

He’d taken his room, did that mean he won? It didn’t feel like he’d won. In fact, it felt very much like he’d lost that particular interaction.

He looked at the now empty room, signs of life scattered haphazardly around. The clothes he’d seen him in a few hours ago were folded neatly in a basket in the corner.

Only then did he think about what Rook had been wearing. A loose-fitting silk shirt draped across his chest, the smooth fabric laying perfectly against his skin. It looked soft. Oliver pushed the unbidden thought violently from his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. That was how you lost.

The blankets were a mess, a dip in the mattress where Rook had been moments before

Oliver climbed in, set on sleeping in here. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, he was certain of that much.

A woody smell overtook him at first, with notes of something sweet following behind. It was a pleasant combination and as he chased the smell, he found a mug with a mahogany liquid inside.

As he got closer, taking a better sniff of the steam floating up from the mug, he noticed a sharp coppery smell undercutting the sweet, chocolatey scent.

He grabbed the warm drink, taking a sip to confirm it to himself. He winced a little as the taste of blood and chocolate filled his mouth.

He set it back down, filing the information away for later as he settled into the massive, lonely bed, feigning sleep for at least a few hours.

When he was tired of pretending he would get any rest that night, he got up once more, set on finding something to do with himself.

He settled upon what he was planning on doing the second he saw Rook, sitting peacefully at a table all alone.

His peace was swiftly broken as Oliver barrelled in, saying, “Strange drink you had in your room last night.”

Rook paled to an impossibly lighter shade than he already was and Oliver took it as a sign to keep pushing. “I’m not one for pairing blood and chocolate but maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

“I forgot that was in there,” he said quietly and Oliver almost felt bad. Almost.

“So you do drink blood?”

Rook looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you not know? I assumed…”

“I mean, they said you killed and ate people but they said a lot of stuff. About you and me. I know better than to believe everything they say about someone. The mug of blood was pretty damning though. Regardless, you haven’t eaten me yet so things could’ve gone worse.”

“No, I don’t kill people. Eat people?” He tilted his head as he considered it. “I suppose you could call it that. You could call me a monster for it if you wanted to, but they don’t tend to mind.”

He said it with a crooked smile, head resting on his hand like he was trying to look casual, but it was too stilted. There was a tension throughout him, a sense of worry behind the dangerous flirtation he was attempting.

“Are you coming onto me?” he asked incredulously and Rook’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest.

And then his head dropped to the table in front of him, a look of despair passing over him.

“I swear I’m good at this,” he said as he lifted his head, his hair shifting from an intentionally fluffed mess to a true disaster, pieces sticking straight up awkwardly, held in place by whatever product he put in it. “I can flirt with most people, or at least figure out when they’re not interested, but god, you’re impossible.”

“I am not.”

“You are!” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t been able to have one decent interaction with you. Every time I try you ruin it.”

“I ruin it?” Oliver gasped, outraged. “Excuse you, I have done nothing wrong. You left me out in the cold, you insulted me, you keep playing these weird games.”

Rook looked at him sheepishly. “I swear I meant it in a fun way. Always in a fun way.”

“Well, I’m not having fun.”

Rook cocked his head to the side, looking Oliver up and down. “Aren’t you? One second I agree and I decide to stop but you keep pushing me right back into them. You’re furious when I play and indignant when I stop. What’s left for me to do?”

“Well, maybe you’re not playing right.”

“And how do you want to play,” Rook asked, his voice low as he leaned towards Oliver.

No. Not that. It was too real when he did that.

He turned heel and ran. Through the hallways, feet moving faster than his racing mind.

He didn’t know if he was running to get away or to be chased. He doubted Rook did either.

He went back to his room. Rook’s room. Someone’s room. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Unfortunately, once he reached Rook’s room, he was alone with his thoughts, his least favorite place to be.

Dozens of feelings washed over him in the silence, almost all of them unwanted. The anger he was fine with, the doubt acceptable. His want he could take or leave. The fondness that washed over him, the anxiety, those were unacceptable.

A knock at the door pulled him from his mind and if it weren’t for the familiar voice that followed, he might have appreciated the distraction.

“Can I come in?” Rook called.

“I mean, it’s your room. Or… hold on, is that a vampire thing? I’ve heard that’s a vampire thing. If it’s a vampire thing then no, you’re forbidden from ever entering.”

Rook seemed lost. “It’s not a vampire thing. So I can come in?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Right.” He stepped cautiously through the door. “I’m here to apologize.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. It was a trap. It had to be. “No, you’re not.”

Rook held his hands up in surrender. “I am. I think I have handled this poorly. So, I’m sorry, and I’m here to say it’s in your hands now.”

“What?”

“I won’t push any longer. If you want anything to happen, to start anything, you must do it yourself. I’m done.”

Oliver felt his face fall and Rook watched him in quiet amusement. “Come now,” he said, moving to rest his hand on Oliver’s back and then seemly remembering what he’d just said and pulling away. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes again. It was another game. Declaring that he’d play no more games with him was in itself a game. It was untenable. It was indefensible. It was a shocking relief.

“Right,” Oliver said, scoffing. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I’m afraid I prioritized my fun over you feeling safe here. It’s in your hands now.”

Oliver stared, baffled, as Rook gave him a patient smile, stood up, and walked towards the door. His own bedroom door, one he’d given up to Oliver on a whim.

“Wait,” he called, and Rook stopped, his hand inches away from the door handle.

“Yes?”

“You drink blood.”

The confused look he’d gotten the last time he’d discussed this was nothing compared to the look of befuddlement and concern that crossed his face this time.

“We had this conversation not moments ago, surely you can’t have forgotten already.”

Oliver scowled at him and Rook at least had the good sense to try and hide the smile the look pulled from him. “Who’s blood?”

“Petyr and Beatris’s mostly. You’ll meet her soon. Animals when I need some extra.”

“Do you want to drink mine?” Oliver asked, trying his best to look disinterested.

“What are you asking?”

“I said,” he responded, raising his voice before Rook raised a hand to stop him.

“No, what are you really asking.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Not everyone speaks in riddles.”

A huff of laughter escaped Rook. “No, they most certainly don’t. You do, though.”

He decided to ignore that comment. “Does it hurt?”

“That’s not what you want to ask.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I want to ask, just answer the question.”

“I don’t think I will. Do you want it to hurt?”

Oliver smiled. “Just a little.”

Rook paced over towards the bed, leaning down over him.

“I can do that,” he said, his voice low.

It would take a lot more than that to shut Oliver up.

“How often do you need to drink?”

“Couple times a week. Do you always ask this many questions?”

“No. How often do you take from them?”

“As often as they’d like me to. Within reason. Sometimes you humans get greedy. Someone has to look out for you.

Rook pushed forward again, moving to crawl over him before Oliver pulled back, hissing out a quiet, “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, concern overwriting everything else. “What? Are you alright?”

Oliver spoke softly, a horrible twinge of vulnerability present in his voice. “Is this really okay? Because the flirting is all well and good but sometimes… You’re just not going to freak out after, right? They always freak out after.”

Rook reached out, cupping his face in his hands and it took everything he had not to pull away, like the affection burned him. “You know you’re not the first man I’ve slept with, right?”

Oliver scoffed, his bravado falling back into place. “Right, of course. Silly of me to ask.”

“Stop that, listen to me. You came here for a reason. They were right about me, I am a monster, but I take care of my own. No matter what. Besides, who would I be to judge you?”

Oliver laughed a sad little laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re a real freak. Unlike me.”

“Be careful not to insult me too hard, what would that say about you?” Rook gave his hand a gentle squeeze but his words were still playful. Oliver appreciated it. Too much affection and he was afraid he might make a run for it again.

“I’d rather have bad taste in men than whatever you’ve got going on.”

Rook rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Yes.”

It came out much breathier than Oliver had meant it to but it certainly got Rook’s attention.

“Which first?” The words were tense and Oliver could feel his ego inflate at how he was clearly affecting the man.

Oliver tilted his head, at first in consideration and then to expose his neck. “Come on, show me just how much of a freak you are.”

Rook took his time, his hands rising to thread through Oliver’s hair and pull his head back as he moved beside him.

Impatience began to well up in Oliver’s chest as Rook pressed a gentle kiss into his pulse point before burying his nose into his neck, still no sign of those fangs that Oliver couldn’t help but eye when he spoke.

An impatient whine got him nothing other than a quick laugh, squirming as it pushed a puff of cold air against his neck.

Rook held him in place as he shifted, not letting him move from the position he’d put Oliver in.

And then, with no warning, he felt the sharp pain of two fangs piercing his skin.

They were gone almost as soon as they had come, leaving two seeping holes in his neck. He relaxed as Rook lapped at them, the teasing long gone. All of Rook’s attention was now firmly directed on the warm liquid flowing out of him.

It left him almost pleasantly numb, the feeling of his warmth leaving him and flooding into the other man almost calming.

More than the pain, he began to feel cold. A numbness spread to the tips of his fingers as Rook pulled away from his neck. He flexed his fingers as they suddenly became fascinating to him, feeling cold and foreign to his woozy mind.

He hadn’t even realized Rook had left until a bandage was being attached to his neck.

Immediately his attention shifted to the other man. He was wearing altogether too many clothes, Oliver decided. They both were.

He moved up to pull at Rook’s shirt, unbuttoning the first few buttons and beginning to impatiently tug it down his shoulders.

Rook watched him, amusement shining in his eyes. He made no move to help Oliver’s attempt to undress them.

“You did so well. You know, my favorite part,” Rook said, in that low voice that irritated Oliver endlessly, “is always the trust.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Can you just shut up,” he said as he crashed their lips together, promptly silencing Rook.

He finished tugging off Rook’s shirt as they kissed, a familiar hint of copper invading his mouth as they did.

He had to pry Rook’s arms away from his face in order to do so. They rose right back up moments after, his hands threaded into Oliver’s hair, holding him close. Even as the kiss ended he kept their faces pressed together, noses touching, a hint of a smile on his face.

He pressed a kiss onto the tip of his nose and Oliver fought the urge to roll his eyes and the urge to smile simultaneously.

And then Rook pulled away from him and instead of whining, like he so desperately wanted to, he took the opportunity to undress, making quick work of his clothes.

When he turned back, Rook had a bottle of some sort of oil in his hands and Oliver snorted. “Someone came prepared.”

“It was my room,” he said as he tugged Oliver closer. “Now, any preferences?”

He looked up at Oliver expectantly and he quickly answered, “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to bite you.”

Rook laughed as he coated his fingers in the oil. “I think we should leave the biting to me.”

As if.

He pushed Oliver onto his back, looming over him as he sunk one finger inside of him.

Oliver sighed. He needed more but he loved it, the feeling of being filled for the first time after being empty.

That contentedness did not last. Barely a minute passed before Oliver was whining for a second finger, one Rook gave him easily, slowly pushing inside him.

He smiled down at Oliver, a sickeningly sweet look on his face. “You’re so eager,” he said, and if Oliver wasn’t certain it would slow down this already devastatingly slow process, he would’ve said something rude.

Instead, he opted to ask, “Can you hurry up?”

“I’m not done,” he said.

Oliver pouted. “Come on. It’s no fun if it doesn’t hurt a little.”

Rook rolled his eyes but gave in, lining up with Oliver’s hole and slowly, torturously slowly, began to push in.

He was slick with oil and thick and just too slow. It was going to drive Oliver crazy.

So he took matters into his own hands. His legs wrapped around Rook’s hips, locking around them and pulling them flush with him, sighing as he was filled completely.

Rook's hand rose to his jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You are an impatient little thing, aren’t you,” he said as he rocked slowly back and forth.

He was too careful with him. Oliver didn’t want careful.

So instead he pulled him close, Rook’s cold chest lowering to rest against Oliver’s.

And then, with this newfound closeness, Oliver bit him, his teeth digging into his shoulder.

Rook hissed and snapped his hip again, twice as hard as before. “You little bastard.”

He pulled out and before Oliver had the chance to whine and complain and make him regret leaving, he was being spun around and pushed face-first into the mattress, Rook’s cock sliding inside him once again.

He began to calm as Rook's pace got harsher. He was much more docile when he was getting what he wanted.

Part of him worried he might be drooling, his dick getting just a little friction against the sheets with every sharp thrust.

Rook’s hands were gripping his hips, almost hard enough to bruise. He could feel the man’s lost control and couldn’t help but grin, letting out soft moans at every punishing thrust.

Rook groaned out, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” He was too far gone to finish his sentence and Oliver basked in it.

Oliver lifted his hips up to meet his thrusts as best he could and while it may not have been the best effort he’d ever put forth, the sight alone seemed to be enough to push Rook over the edge, burying himself deep inside Oliver as he came.

He winced a little as he pulled out, clearly sensitive, and Oliver laughed.

“You’re so bad at this,” he drawled, his brain still left fuzzy. “I didn’t even come. Selfish man.”

Rook chuckled as he sat back against the headboard, pulling Oliver’s back flush with his chest, arms wrapping around him. He pressed a kiss to his neck, right on top of the bandage, and lazily wrapped his hand around Oliver’s dick.

His hand, still slick from before, felt incredible against Oliver. He couldn’t help but wish he was still being filled, the cum slowly dripping onto him onto the now ruined sheets a reminder of how empty he felt.

But Rook was in no rush and his steady, sure movements brought Oliver closer and closer.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this gentle with him. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever been. It brought this horrible, queasy feeling to his stomach.

As Rook pushed on, pumping Oliver with one hand while rubbing reassuring circles into his chest with the other, it all became too much. He bucked his hips up into Rook’s hand, letting out a whine that sounded pathetic, even to him. He threw his head back, cum spilling out of him and dripping down, over Rook’s hand and onto his sheets. Someone’s sheets. He still wasn’t sure.

“Who’s room even is this?” he slurred out and he snuggled back into Rook’s embrace, uncaring as to the mess they found themselves in.

He laughed. “Maybe we can share it.”

Oliver huffed as Rook’s clean hand rose to play with his hair, his mind beginning to drift off at the gentle touch. “I’m sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement.”

#terato #vampire #vampire x human #monster x human #vampire oc #vampire boyfriend #vampire bf #vows #I love their dynamic #Rook desperately wants people to think he’s a weird fucked up guy #Oliver is actually a weird fucked up guy and he does it Effortlessly #For the record it takes Oliver weeks to even tell Rook his name #It drives Rook crazy and Oliver thinks its hilarious #The Viv prequel will also come someday #Judging by how long this one took me I make no promises on when though

193 notes · View notes

bernkastel11 · 8 days ago

Text

Has everyone ever wondered about Lady Nian's son?

Wasn't he that child the rumours said was a bastard baby between his mother and his supposed uncle, his father's brother?

Oh yes, he was!

I wonder what happened to him

When he was born, the rumours swiftly started and later died

10 years later, at a party the Mistress had it revived

That's why his mother was so displeased with its revival at the gathering in the presence of the Empress

To be reminded of such a damaging rumor is beyond shame

Such a scowl doesn't fit your pretty face and beautiful gown, Dear Duchess

Was it because of guilt? Embarrassing? Offensive? All of the above?

Taking into account a social butterfly like the Duchess would despise it and especially because some newbie little girl who didn't know anything about it brought it up! It was 10 years ago, it was already dead lore at this point!

But then that means her son would be 10 years old right? I wonder if he knows, how he felt about his mother's unsavory expression when she came back home, would he question why Mother has that face?

Probably not

I doubt she would see her son with such a face at home, he was 10 year old

Why should a 10 years old see his mother's face looking like she had a very bad day after coming back from a party?

No mother would ever want to show that face to their child

But how could we know?

The Duchess never said anything about her son! It's as though she never had one

For a social butterfly, she was sure to be tight-lipped about her child, maybe all she cared about was going to banquets and shopping and left the childcare to the workers of the estate?

You know, it took the Emperor less than 5 months to divorce his Empress to marry his Concubine, Duchess Tuania divorced her husband long before that.

So her son was still a 10 years old child when his parents fought in court and broke up permanently

His mother just left the estate one day and never returned

I wonder though, was he actually not Duke Tuania's child?

But the Duke must have money! A paternity test is sure to be no worry

Ah but, this man falsely divorced his wife out of jealousy and rage, because a random woman who just came to the Palace less than half a year gave him a false claim so fake

Oh then, even if the paternity test is a bucket of cold water splashed into his face, he was still stuck with a living reminder of his mistake

His son

Does Duke Tuania hate his son?

I don't know

Is he a reminder of his ex-wife's affair?

I don't know

Perhaps the Duke got some inferiority complex with his dead older brother!

I don't know that either

Ahhh, I don't know anything at all

It's such a pain

Oh dear, this son might not exist even~

I wonder if the Duke told his son Mother ran away from the nation with shame, to be with a young lover without shame in a foreign land after the divorce in a fit of distress?

Which I'm sure the Father will regret later on for telling his child that as petty revenge against a wife he threw away the moment the easiest excuse came

Oh! Maybe, he will truly know why she left!

Maybe the son will become a fine young gentleman at a suitable age to go to court

And learn about his Mother's scandalous life before she left him for good

Before his 10 years old mind can comprehend anything about the adults' court life that had ruined his parents' marriage

Which is where he will meet an old fan of his Mother, a young man in his youth who had adored the married woman

But then, he will know about his existence being suspected and his legitimacy being scrutinized

Because of a Mother who led a hedonistic life of luxurious freedom others distastefully patronized

Does the Duchess love her son?

Does the son love her?

Does his father love him?

Is he an illegitimate?

Is he loved?

Is he real?

Who knows? I'm not his mom

All I know is that he was Lady Nian's son

#the remarried empress #duchess tuania #lady nian #duke tuania

18 notes · View notes

gunilslaugh · 11 months ago

Text

Gone Mad Pt.3

Lee Jooyeon Summary: You find out the reason behind Jooyeon going mad. (non-idol au) WC:~1.3k Warning:none

part 1 part 2 epilogue!

photo not mine credits to owner.

Jooyeon continued to hold your hand all the way until the two of you reached the fallen tree. He only let it go after you both sat down. Neither of you talk right away. Instead enjoying the quiet ambience of the night. How the moonlight cascaded down through the tree leaves to the ground.

“So you used to work in the palace?” you break the peaceful silence. Jooyeon nods and shifts in his spot. “Doing what?” you asked carefully.

“I was a botanist. My main focus was how to use plants for medicine,” he informed you. His answer surprised you, making you raise your eyebrows. Jooyeon chuckles at your reaction. “You weren’t expecting that were you?” he nudged you with his elbow.

“No, but I don’t know what I was expecting either,” you laughed lightly. “Still, why would the palace have a botanist working for them?” you asked. So far his answers didn’t really tell you anything, they made you more confused.

“That’s where the story starts. The young princess was ill, but the king didn’t want rumors spreading about. Constant physician call would definitely draw attention, so the king reached out to me asking me to treat the princess with plants. They had me live in the palace greenhouse,” he started to tell you.

“Cause a botanist living in a greenhouse isn’t worth anyone's attention,” you noted.

“Exactly,” he confirmed. “Everything was going well at first. The greenhouse was very good for my studies and in no time the princess started to get better, but then I noticed something strange.” Jooyeon’s mood begins to shift.

“This is where things take a turn isn’t it?” you inferred.

“Where I realized the knights are nothing but bastards yeah,” he says.

“The princess had this perfume sachet she used to carry around. I was told that the scent helped with her headaches. That was believable, until I got a smell of it myself. I quickly noticed that there was a poisonous plant in there,” he tells you.

“Someone was poisoning the princess?” you said.

“Mhm, at the time I didn’t know who, so I asked her about where she got her perfume sachet from. She told me that the knights were the ones who took care of getting it for her. I had to be sure, so I did a bit of spying around and sure enough I caught them slipping the poisonous plant into the sachet.” Jooyeon rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“You reported them right?” you checked.

“That’s where I made my mistake. None of those stupid people in that castle believed me. ‘How dare you say such a thing about the knights? Their job is to protect the princess. They would never hurt her!’” Jooyeon mocked. “The knights obviously weren’t happy with me for exposing them.” Your stomach started to twist in knots. Feeling anxious for whatever Jooyeon was about to tell you.

“What did they do?” you questioned, but you’re not sure you wanted to know the answer.

“They beat me to a pulp. Left me with a scar.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal a scar that ran vertically across the left side of his abdomen. A soft gasp escaped you and your fingers went to trace the scar. Jooyeon tensed at your touch.

“Sorry,” you apologized, pulling your hand away. “That must’ve hurt a lot.” You looked at him with sad eyes. Jooyeon placed his hand over yours and gave you a small smile. It’s been a very long time since he felt like somebody cared about him.

“I thought I was gonna die. What’s worse is that it didn’t end after that. They flipped the story and said that I was the one poisoning the princess. That I was experimenting on her with the plants not trying to treat her. They said that I even used the plants on myself and started to go mad from it,” he told.

“And everyone believed them?” you asked.

“Without a doubt,” Jooyeon tsked. “I was thrown in prison after that. The knights messed with my water and food, put hallucinogens and other poisons in it. I couldn’t tell what reality was anymore. I didn’t know if I was awake or dreaming. It was torture. One day I woke up covered in blood and with the body of a dead knight. I don’t remember killing him. All I know I was so happy to see him dead.” Jooyeon let out a laugh. A spark of crazy lit up his eyes. “I would’ve been a fool to not take the chance to escape, so I did and ever since I’ve been plotting on how to take out the rest of those knights.” His eyes were taken over by a blood hungry look, but it was gone in an instant when he turned to look at you with a smile. “Then I met you and led me right to one of those bastards. I like to think it was fate,” he said.

It was a lot for you to take in, but now you feel kinda glad that you didn’t have the guts to turn Jooyeon in. Your moral compass certainly feels very gray. You don’t feel the weight sitting on top of your chest suffocating you anymore. You understood why Jooyeon was doing what he was doing.

“The night we met you said my presence didn’t bother you,” you brought up. Jooyeon nods.

“You felt different from other people. It felt like everyone else was judging me. Like I could hear a voice talking bad about me, but with you it was quiet, almost calming. Maybe it’s because I met you here. You felt exactly like this place.” Jooyeon looked around your spot.

“Honestly you made me uncomfortable,” you chuckled awkwardly.

“What?” Jooyeon looked at you with hurt in your eyes.

“Let me finish.” You moved your hand that was still resting under his to hold his hand instead. “I was uncomfortable and my gut told me to leave, but for some reason I couldn’t leave you alone. Then even after finding out about you. After knowing what you’re capable of. Despite having multiple reasons to avoid you. I feel safe right beside you. You bring a sense of security to me, like this spot does.” You squeezed his hand.

“I make you feel secure?” he spoke in a soft, vulnerable tone.

“You said I was ok if I was with you right?” you voiced his words from earlier. Jooyeon broke out into a smile. He brought his hands up to lightly pinch your cheeks.

“Of course you’re ok with me. I’ll protect you no matter what,” he states. He moved his hands to cup your face now, pulling you slightly closer to him. His eyes shift down to your lips and a tension grows between you two. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

“Do it,” you whispered back. Jooyeon used his hand on your face to pull you even closer, angling his head to the side as his lips met yours. It’s a very soft kiss that only lasts a few moments before you both pull away. Matching smiles make their ways onto either of your faces. Staying there as the two of you turn to look at the twinkling stars above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We don’t have to worry about the murderer anymore,” you tell your colleague.

“How do you know? Has he been caught?” she asked.

“No, but he’s only killing palace knights,” you say.

“Where did you hear that?” she questioned.

“When I was delivering a dress. It was for a royal advisor’s daughter. I overheard them talking about the murderer. They said that he’s only been taking out palace knights. Us civilians have nothing to worry about,” you inform.

“Why are you the one who always finds this kind of information? Are you sure you don’t know the murderer?” she joked.

“How would I know him?” You laughed. “I just have good timing I guess,” you shrugged.

You’re still gonna keep Jooyeon a secret, but this time not because you don’t want to involve your colleague. It’s because you want to protect Jooyeon. Maybe you had gone a little mad too.

part 1 part 2 epilogue!

A/N: Villain Jooyeon is wrapped and with this post I have also finished my villain xdinary heroes series. I feel kinda sad that is had came to an end :(

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin

comment or message me to be added!

#xdinary heroes #xdh #xdh imagines #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh jooyeon #xdh jooyeon #jooyeon x reader #lee jooyeon x reader #jooyeon #lee jooyeon

47 notes · View notes