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cheesus-doodles · 5 months ago

Text

A Twist in the Tale

Leona Kingscholar

Masterlist

‎

well that took a lot longer than I expected...glad for this to be done to completion though! merry christmas and happy holidays everybody, I hope you have a good time <3

Piercing, half-lidded green eyes watched you from across the bustling cafeteria, lion ears occasionally twitching as Leona picked up on your ongoing conservation with Ace. “....urgh I can’t believe there’s so much!” The red-haired whined, ruffling his hair in dismay as he dropped onto the table. “Crewel is a monster, I swear.”

“There is quite a bit,” came your rather sympathetic answer, unnecessarily kind if you asked Leona. “It will definitely take a while.”

On any other regular day, you, Grim and those two annoying Heartslabyul flies that you hung around were hardly worth his attention, let alone being eavesdropped on - mundane, brainless chatter that actively lowered his IQ with every passing minute. Crewel’s class wasn’t particularly difficult, not by a long stretch. Yet here he was. Clearly, today was as far from a regular day as possible.

Because there had always been something off about you, Leona mused to himself, his tail whipping from side to side, observing with as much discretion as a predator stalking its prey as you took another bite from your sandwich, covering your full mouth with your free hand in an attempted politeness when Deuce’s crass remark had you chuckle. He had known as much since orientation, when you failed to be sorted by the Dark Mirror - there was just something fundamentally different about your smell compared to everyone else that couldn’t simply be chalked up to otherworldliness.

It’s just that he never bothered. You had been just another nobody, hardly worth his notice or time to investigate.

Up until his overblot incident, of course.

‎‎

A steaming plate of hamburger steak clankering down onto the table in front of Leona was enough to startle him out of his train of thoughts. “Leona, why ya glaring like they owe you money?” Ruggie quipped, thumbing in your general direction as he fell into the seat with a sigh, lazily lounging across and occupying the entire bench - not that anyone else dared to share. “Wait, do they actually owe you money?”

Despite it being well past peak-lunch hour, the cafeteria was still rather packed with students milling about, the cacophony of noises from loud and hushed conversations alike only adding to the growing headache Leona felt starting to pound from the depths of his mind. Far from his ideal environment of a quiet, peaceful area where he could nap undisturbed, the constant din was one of many reasons the Sunset Savannah’s second prince avoided this wretched place as much as going home.

And the rest of his dorm certainly took note of his unusual appearance in such a public area, whispering among themselves even as they kept a respectful distance, picking a careful semi-circle around the table where Leona and Ruggie sat - easy enough to ignore, really. They knew better than to prod where they weren’t welcomed, if not risk learning the hard way that their housewarden was lazy, not weak.

Leona picked up his fork, stabbing it into the minced patty rather viciously, tearing his gaze away from you and down to the plate. The food looked especially unappetizing today. “He smells different.” The words slipped from his lips before the lion beastman could stop it, surprising both himself and Ruggie in the process, the sandy-brown haired boy whipping his head up to stare at him in disbelief. Right before said hyena thought it appropriate to dramatically turn to look at you, immediately earning him the prince’s ire. There was no denying who Leona was referring to, but why did he have to be so obvious about it?

You, fortunately, did not notice.

”The Ramshackle prefect?” Ruggie wondered aloud, nose tweaking, before turning back to face his housewarden. “I suppose so, given he’s from another world and all. What about it? If they don’t owe you money then it doesn’t really matter what they smell like.” A pause, the gears clearly turning behind the other’s blue-gray eyes, before he leaned forward, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, eyebrows wriggling. “Unless…”

He should have guessed where this was going. “Forget it.”

“Come on Leona, I ain’t a blabber.”

“If you keep flapping your lips Ruggie, you’re about to find ‘em sewn shut.”

The hyena beastman simply smiled knowingly even as he threw his arms up in defeat, instead turning his attention to his feast of sandwiches.

Rubbing his forehead in annoyance, the rough texture of the glove dragging across his skin did not help in the slightest with his headache. Why was he bothering with this again? Whatever he could learn surely wasn’t going to be worth this amount of irritation.

But two weeks on from having you thrusted straight to the centre of his life and much to his dismay, Leona finds himself unable to get you out of his head, well after you seemed to have moved on rather easily. It’s not that he liked you (perish the thought). He just had to find out, Leona assured himself, and then he could put this whole fascination behind him and move on with his godforsaken life. He needed to know what made you different.

‎

He watched you stand, your empty tray in one hand, the other waving to the group. His ears stood up instantly, his attention returning to you. Were you going somewhere?

“... be heading out to the town, do you guys want anything?”

Town? A quick think, and he understands. Memorizing your group’s class schedule wasn’t difficult, and as a non-mage, you wouldn’t be able to attend any of the usual classes that your friends would have that involved magic. The first year Heartslabyuls were having flying class next, which meant that you weren’t attending.

“Again?” Grim whined, slouching to rest his head on the table top. “How come you always get to go and have fun without me?”

Chuckling softly as you held your history textbooks to your chest, you shrugged. “I’m just going to pick up some supplies since I have a bit of free time.”

It seemed Ruggie had joined in on the eavesdropping. “Planning to follow him?” Said shameless hyena smirked, propping his two hands behind his head, though that move made him wince slightly; seems like Ruggie hadn’t yet fully recovered from the whole Spelldrive incident just yet. Serves him right though.

Leona scoffed, standing from the bench. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “I need a nap.” Stalking wasn’t quite his thing, and you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, given how your way home was literally dependent on that dirtbag of a school principal. He’ll solve this nagging puzzle at his own leisure.

A look of alarm washed over Ruggie’s face. “Wait, Leona! Can I have your plate if you’re not eating it?”

‎

His opportunity came sooner than expected.

The sky above Savanaclaw Dorm had turned dark an hour ago, the moon hanging above the darkened desert illuminating the swirling sand blown along by a gentle breeze. Outside his closed room door, the dorm was still lively with activity, students mulling about the corridors discussing the recently past final exams and Spelldrive tournament or gathering by the waterfall in the lounge to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Leona, however, was locked away inside his room, his brain still annoyingly fixated on you. He hadn’t been able to follow you out to town from NRC yesterday, not without having to answer some very uncomfortable questions about his motive. Tapping one nail rhythmically on the hard wood top of his desk, the second Sunset Savannah prince continued to think and brainstorm - not mull about like some lost little lover, mind you - all the possibilities to the mystery that was you. He had a few theories, a few ideas, but none of them fully made sense with all the information he currently had.

Letting out a sigh, the man leaned back, running one hand through his mob of brown hair. He had to be missing something somewhere, a piece of the puzzle. Right then, as if on cue, as if there was some divinity out there who had decided to shine down on him, lion ears picked out an unusual stir of disgruntlement emulating from outside. Leona tried to ignore it, as he always does, but the commotion refused to die down even after a few minutes. So with great reluctance, he stood from his chair.

It was your begrudgingly familiar smell wafting through the otherwise still air that his sensitive nose instantly picked up the moment Leona opened his room door, quickly followed by your mob of hair amidst the rest of the beastmen that he spotted as he made his way over to the lounge. Well well well. “Of all the places to find you in,” he drawled out, his tail flickering behind him as the room fell silent, the murmurs quickly dying out in his presence. “Savanaclaw ain’t no place for herbivores.”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly. This clearly wasn’t your first choice.

Jack stepped forward, almost as if to shield you from the housewarden’s line of sight with his larger stature. “Leona, they-”

“We got kicked out of Ramshackle!” Grim wailed out, clutching onto your leg, the purple anemone sticking out grey fur a dead giveaway to the lead up to this conundrum.

“Not a chance,” Leona drawled out, crossing his arms even as his mind whirled behind those half-lidded green eyes. This was it: his chance.

You had always lived alone - or rather with Grim, though the fiery racoon hardly counted as a proper roommate - at Ramshackle Dorm since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland. Out of reach from him and any potential other students that Leona could have intimidated for information. But now, it seems you made a deal with that cephalo-punk Azul Ashengrottel, and Jack had delivered you directly to him like a good little puppy, unknowingly helping you straight right into his grasp.

The white-haired beastman blinked. “You didn’t even pause before answering…”

“No pets allowed in the dorm,” the Sunset Savannah prince shrugged. “They shed all over the place.” He hadn’t quite figured out where he could put you up temporarily (three days was more than enough for him to solve his little vexing puzzle, hell he’ll take one day and hopefully kick the two of you out by tomorrow evening).

Leona couldn’t roll over so easily, no matter how much the pit in his gut yearned for it. He had to at least put up a decent fight in front of his dorm’s students, and most of all, Ruggie. He’ll never live this down otherwise.

‎

Okay, so perhaps you sharing his room wasn’t ideal, nor was it really part of his spontaneous plan. But what was done was done. It’s temporary anyway.

Your footsteps, light as a fae’s, were easy enough to pick up against the otherwise silent dorm. Picking your way carefully through the dark room, you made your way out, the room door clicking shut behind you and blocking out the little light that poured in momentarily from the dim corridor. If you had been the slightest bit more observant, you might have noticed Leona’s green eyes sliding open to watch you, lion ears twitching as they followed the ambient sound of your rustling clothes.

It was the middle of the night, way past his usual bedtime - and it should be way past yours as well. Grim was fast asleep on the spare bedding at the foot of his bed. Very telling that you didn’t take your little minion with you.

Waiting for a few more seconds, the lion beastman carelessly tossed off his blankets, following you out of his room. And your telltale smell led him past closed doors and loud snores that echoing down empty hallways, straight towards the bathroom.

Interesting. Time to find out what you were hiding.

‎

You hummed a light tune under your breath, allowing the warm water to run over your body. You had expected Savanaclaw Dorm to be different from what you were used to, with the sneakpeek you’ve gotten before the Spelldrive tournament hinting that it was different enough from the life you knew back at Ramshackle, but you had to admit to yourself you hadn’t expected it to be this different. Imagine your surprise upon realizing that there was only one communal bathroom - and only learning that fact as you entered. You hoped no one noticed how fast you turned and left.

Shaking your head, you focused on rinsing off the shampoo from your hair, the stall walls though open at the back at least giving some privacy from the side. The water splashing down onto the tile from the showerhead echoed through the otherwise empty room; exactly as you had planned. It was only at this time of night that you would be able to get any semblance of privacy, and you silently pledged to yourself to never take Ramshackle Dorm’s silence for granted again.

You scrubbed down, trying to shake the thought of losing Ramshackle to Azul out of your head. You would do everything to make sure that didn’t happen, and you weren’t going to forgive Grim, Ace or Deuce that easily for all this mess they got you in.

Lost in the what-ifs, you failed to notice the patter of footsteps entering the shower room, right up till a deep voice piped up from behind you.

“So that’s why you don’t smell like the others.”

You froze.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the water cascading down your body and your very obviously female chest. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t dare to breathe, racing to think.

Fuck.

In a snap, you screamed, picking up the nearest object and hurling it straight at the intruder without looking, your other hand immediately reaching for the towel you had hung over the stall wall. The shampoo bottle was narrowly dodged, bouncing off the wall behind him and clanking to the floor. “W-what the fuck- get out!” You squeezed your eyes shut, your face beet red as you grabbed another bottle, throwing it with all the strength you had. Someone saw you. Some guy’s seen you. You should have been more careful, maybe you shouldn’t have showered at all, maybe you have-

“Shut it!” One large hand was quickly slapped over your mouth, the other grabbing your hand and stopping you from flinging your third munition. “Do you want the entire dorm to wake? Just breathe, dammit.”

You shook off his hand, moving to secure your towel around you before you took a deep breath, looking up to see who had walked in on you.

Leona Kingscholar, the Savanaclaw Housewarden himself, looking mighty amused at the revelation that you were, in fact, of the opposite gender. A red-faced lady in the house of men.

“Does that crow know?”

“Crowley? Of course he does,” you snapped, clutching the towel wrapped around you tightly. “Now can you get out?”

The lion beastman only leaned onto the stall door, crossing his arms. “So how have you been hiding that all this time?” He drawled, pointing at your chest with his chin. You picked up another bottle threateningly, and Leona immediately raised both hands in surrender, taking a step back and behind the stall door.

“Peace,” he drawled. “I’m just here for answers.”

“And I’m here to bathe,” you barked back. “Chest binding is what I do, now out.”

The chuckle as the second prince strolled out reverberated through the still bathroom. You groaned, sinking to a squat and hiding your face in your hands. You were never going to live this down now, were you?

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22ayla21 · 2 months ago

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Imagine Amphoreus men who's very close to reader (and is secretly inlove hoho) but because of an incident that happen they thought they lost reader before they even had a chance to confess, but they suddenly came back, very much alive!

I was thinking about reader as part of kremnoan detachment to mydei's, then a childhood friend from aedes elysiae to phainon's and someone from the grove to anaxa (you can easily tell which incident i was talking about here hehe)

That's all thank you!

The Return of a Ghost from the Past

He thought he had lost her before he could even confess, but years later, he found her alive and well.

The rain poured as if the sky was weeping for those long taken by war. Mydei stood on the edge of Okhema, watching his people slowly settle into their new home. Kremnos was left behind—along with its bloody traditions and shadows of the past. But the shadows of the past never truly go away.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak, hiding his face from the wind, and headed down the winding streets, where the scent of fresh wood and wet earth still lingered. Okhema was different—warm, full of life, unlike the harsh Kremnos. Here, no one feared each other, no one plotted for power.

And yet, even here, in a foreign land, his past found him.

Her voice echoed like a long-gone day.

"I never thought I'd meet you here, Mydei."

He froze. That voice. Clear, ringing, but imbued with the same weariness as his own. He slowly turned around.

She stood before him—as defiant as ever. The face he remembered in minute detail had changed slightly—sharper cheekbones, scars that weren't there before. But the eyes... Those same eyes that once looked at him with the confidence of a comrade, and then disappeared in the bloody chaos of war.

"...You're dead," he breathed, unable to find other words. She smirked, crossing her arms.

"As you can see, I'm not."

Years of training, iron self-control—all vanished in an instant. He stepped forward but froze, unsure if he had the right to touch her.

"I... I looked for you. I mourned you."

"And I survived," her voice softened. "I woke up among strangers, weak, with no memory. I returned to life—but not the one I had."

Mydei clenched his fists. He wanted to ask why she hadn't looked for him. Why she hadn't come. Why she left him in the dark. But he knew the answer. War left no room for farewells.

"I should have told you... back then," he looked up at her. "I loved you."

She froze, then smiled—softly, sadly.

"I know."

Mydei took a step closer, and this time she didn't pull away.

Anaxa always considered himself a man of logic, but even logic couldn't help him accept the loss. She disappeared the day the Dark Current engulfed everything. Many scholars were scattered, and he was left among the survivors, not even able to reach her. He thought he had lost her forever.

He never got to tell her.

Now, some time later, he and the remaining scholars lived in Okhema—a new home, a refuge after the fall of the Grove of Muses. The world was no longer the same, but they tried to live on as best they could. Anaxa immersed himself in research, allowing himself to believe that reason would conquer chaos.

But, as it turned out, fate had something more than cold acceptance in store for him.

He saw her by chance.

That day, he was walking through the market stalls of Okhema, lost in thought. And suddenly, his gaze caught a familiar silhouette. Hair, gait, even the habit of lightly touching her chin when she was thinking.

It's impossible.

But his body moved faster than his mind.

"…You…" The words caught in his throat. She turned around.

In that moment, his whole world seemed to freeze. Her eyes widened, and her face reflected shock.

"Anaxa?"

That voice. So alive, so real.

And he didn't think anymore. He didn't analyze, didn't look for a logical explanation. He just stepped forward and hugged her tightly, not giving her a second to disappear again.

She froze in his arms before returning the embrace.

"I thought you were…" she swallowed.

"And I thought I had lost you," his voice was hoarse, barely holding back too many emotions. "How? How did you survive?"

She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"It's a long story. I... I fell into a rift. I woke up far from where the Dark Current caught us. I was found and cared for... but there was no way back. Until I found my way to Okhema."

She spoke, but he barely heard the words. Because the only thing that mattered was that she was here. Alive.

He looked at her, and only one question spun in his head: should he tell her now? He had carried it inside for so many years, allowing time and loss to extinguish the fire that once burned in his chest. But now that fire burned brighter than ever. And he wasn't going to lose her again.

Phainon never forgot her.

Memories of childhood, of the village of Aedes Elysiae, where he grew up under the care of his grandparents, were warm but also filled with pain. Because on the day the Dark Current fell upon his home, he lost everything. He lost his family, he lost Cyrena... and he lost her.

She was his friend, the one he shared his dreams with, the one who laughed at his antics and supported him when he stumbled. He never got to tell her how he felt. He thought he had his whole life ahead of him, but fate decreed otherwise.

When he became The Chrysos Heir, his heart didn't let go of the pain of loss. He vowed to cleanse this world of the threat that took his home and loved ones. He saw darkness, burned it with the light of his will... but the past could not be returned.

And then, in Okhema, he saw her.

Amidst the human bustle, somewhere in the distance, for just a second, he noticed a familiar silhouette. Phainon stopped. His heart skipped a beat.

No... impossible...

He couldn't help but follow her. He pushed through the crowd, not caring about the path, ignoring those around him. His mind screamed that it was a mistake, that it was just a trick of his consciousness, which had been searching for her face among strangers for so many years.

But when he was close, when her eyes met his... the world froze.

"You..."

She had changed, matured, but her gaze was the same. She looked at him first with confusion, then her eyes widened in shock.

"Phainon?"

He couldn't speak. His throat was dry. It was unreal, impossible.

"But how... You... you're alive?"

She stepped towards him, and he, as if in a trance, reached out, afraid it was an illusion, that she would dissolve like all his dreams. But her fingers touched his, warm, real.

"I thought I had lost you..." his voice was hoarse, full of emotions he had been trying to suppress all these years. She shuddered, and her lips trembled into a smile.

"And I thought I had lost you..."

They stood there, amidst the noisy city, not hearing a single sound around them. Years had passed, but they still remembered each other. And perhaps now he would have a chance to say what he never got to say back then.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #mydei x reader #hsr mydei #mydei #mydeimos #anaxa #honkai star rail anaxa #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #hsr phainon #phainon #phainon x reader

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frostdayz · 9 months ago

Text

First meetings

Loki x reader (f! reader)

genre: Fluff

summary: Loki turns smitten when he first lays his eyes on you.

AN: it took me not kidding like 25 minutes to post this short thing. I had to edit and post a paragraph each minute. Anyway, I got frustrated and deleted the actual summary so enjoy that mess. BTWWWW if anyone has good Logan (Wolverine) fics/ one-shots send them my way, thanks

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grand hall of Asgard was a sight to behold—glittering gold, towering columns, and a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. I had only heard stories about this place, about the grandeur, the power, the gods who roamed these halls. But none of it compared to standing here, in the heart of it all, among legends.

Thor led me through the grand entrance, his booming laughter echoing in the vast space as he recounted tales of his many adventures. "And then," he chuckled, "I turned to Loki and said, 'You, brother, are as slippery as a snake!'—and he didn’t even deny it!"

I smiled politely, though my attention was elsewhere. There was a figure at the far end of the hall, standing alone by a window, his dark silhouette contrasting against the golden light streaming in. He had an air of mystery about him, his raven hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, his sharp features etched with an intensity that made my breath catch. It was as if the world had paused momentarily, the air around him thrumming with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

"Ah, and here he is!" Thor called out, nudging me forward with a playful grin. "Loki, brother, come meet our guest!"

The figure turned slowly, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. His gaze was piercing, emerald green, and filled with something unreadable. I could see the flicker of surprise in his expression, though he masked it quickly with a cool, collected demeanor. He stepped closer, his movements graceful and deliberate, and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away. "Lady Y/N," Thor continued, clearly enjoying himself, "this is my brother, Loki. Loki, this is Lady Y/N. She has come to Asgard as a guest of our realm."

Loki stopped in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—something softened, something curious. "Lady Y/N," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It is… a pleasure."

I managed to nod, feeling the weight of his attention on me like a physical presence. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Loki." Thor, ever the observant one, let out a hearty laugh. "Well, well, would you look at that! I’ve never seen you so taken aback, brother. Normally, you’d have some witty remark ready, but it seems Lady Y/N has rendered you speechless!"

Loki shot his brother a look—half annoyance, half amusement—but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you always announce my thoughts so loudly, Thor?" he asked his tone light but laced with a subtle challenge. Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder with a grin. "Only when it’s so obvious! You should see the look on your face."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Loki’s gaze hadn’t wavered from me. It was as though he was studying me, trying to unravel some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. It was both unnerving and… thrilling. Loki tilted his head slightly as if considering something. "And what is it, Thor, that you think you see?" Thor chuckled, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I see a brother who is completely smitten."

Loki raised an eyebrow, but there was no denial in his expression. Instead, he simply looked back at me, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Perhaps," he mused, "there are things even gods cannot anticipate."

My heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the way Loki’s eyes seemed to see right through me as if he knew me—understood me—on a level I hadn’t even realized was possible.

Thor’s laughter broke the spell, and I blinked, the world snapping back into focus. "Come now, Lady Y/N," Thor said, still grinning, "let us continue our tour. I’m sure Loki will join us once he’s done… collecting himself."

Loki’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back with a slight nod. "Enjoy your tour, Lady Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon." As I followed Thor through the hall, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Loki was still standing there, watching me with that same intense gaze. And in that moment, I knew—whatever this was, whatever had just passed between us—it wasn't the last time I'd see it.

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yan-lorkai · 9 months ago

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Hello! :) I just really love all of your works for Hellsing and an idea popped into my mind. Could you write an Alucard x darling!Reader where Integra sends them on a mission to Brazil in disguise as a newlyweds on their honeymoon? I'm just sooo obsessed with his Riocard look, I thought it would be so fun to imagine! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: To be honest I get you anon. He is so handsome in his RioCard form, with his little glass full of blood and wearing that suit 🤭💕💕. @marieisaghost

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, reader is unsettled by Alucard but both of them keep flirting with one another lol, mention of killing, gn!reader

"Lulu, you travel a lot, don't you?" You turn your face to stare at him, gorgeous smile already on his lips as soon as that little nickname left you. "What is it like in Brazil? How are the people?"

He thought about. Ancient as he was, Alucard was present to see or hear about all major events from humanity. And later on, to visit those same countries, as you two are doing now - hunting for a potentially dangerous vampire who climbed the stairs to the success, he was so important now, so powerful but Integra had her way of getting you and Alucard into one of his big parties.

After a few seconds pondering, Alucard glanced at his glass full of blood, long, dark hair hiding his eyes from you as he chuckled.

"The air smells like golden hour and the birds sing so loud, as if they wish for you to sing among them. The Brazilians are like fairies, if you will, as they can't lie but contour whatever promise they made with polite words and jokes. And the common folk are very affectionate." He sipped from his glass, little trinket of blood running down his lower lip before he could lick it. You laughed at that. "And their words sounds like a gentle song, so familiar yet so distante you can't quite remember where you have heard it."

The gentle hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, the dim lighting casting soft shadows against the sleek leather seats. You sat beside Alucard, watching the clouds drift by through the small window. A moment goes by before you answer him.

"Quiet poetical, don't you think?" You mused, imagining the country based on his description. "Well, I'm looking forward to see it. We will be able to sightsee after the mission is done, right?"

Alucard turned his head slowly, he was still sipping from his glass, sometimes just shaking it to see the red liquid sway gently. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. He always found your mortal, innocent optimism endearing — if not a bit naive. But he never discouraged it outright. No, he enjoyed watching you dangle the idea of freedom, without realizing he was the one holding the string.

He was the one who chose you for this role. So beautiful and all his, pretending to be his cute little spouse.

“Sightseeing?” Alucard repeated, his voice low, filled with the silky cadence you knew too well. He leaned back further into his seat, fingers steepled together as if considering your words. “That all depends. If the mission goes well and... if you behave, darling.”

You shifted uncomfortably, pretending to be preoccupied with the view outside. Sometimes Alucard took his jokes too far, the line between truth and joke unclear.

“Well, I just thought… if we’re pretending to be newlyweds, we might as well enjoy the facade a little more!” You explained your point of view, trying to sound casual. “A little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt. Husband.”

Alucard’s chuckle was soft but dark, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a beautiful sound yet terrifying in other circumstances. “Oh, you’ve been enjoying this facade more than you admit, darling” He teased, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Playing the role of my beloved spouse… It suits you.”

His words were laced with a possessiveness that you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you tried to maintain composure under his piercing gaze. Alucard thrived on your uncertainty — on the way you balanced between curiosity and frustration in equal measures. He loved seeing you struggle. You knew that. He was an asshole like that sometimes.

“Maybe,” You replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper and your face heating up. Ultimately it was better to let him have this little win or he'll pout and throw a tantrum the entire time. “But it’s hard to keep up the act sometimes, you’re very convincing. I fear I won't be as convincing as you are.”

Alucard’s smile widened, a dark, predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his cold fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a delicate yet possessive touch. He seemed like he wanted to say something, a secret passing through his eyes, black long hair hiding his face like a curtain, and then he pulled back.

“Rest now, my love,” Alucard said, his voice softer as he reclined back in his seat but the command was clear. "We still have a few hours until we get there. And perhaps, I’ll indulge you with that sightseeing you’re so fond. There's so very interesting places that are open at night.”

You rolled your eyes. "Aye aye captain."

Yoou reached out, your hand sliding around his arm and tugging him toward you. His eyes widened slightly, not in surprise but in curiosity. You didn’t say a word, there was no need. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth, even if it came from the cold embrace of a vampire. Without a word, you rested your head against his arm, and he allowed you to whatever you wanted, his lips curling into a soft smirk as he watched you for a few seconds.

/⁠～⁠♡

The private plane had landed hours ago, and the sun now hung low on the horizon, casting the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the fabric of your outfit, a carefully chosen disguise for the next phase of the mission. The luxurious suite you were in felt almost too extravagant, too different from what you were used but trying to argument with Alucard was near impossível. And he wanted to stay at the most expensive place just for the sake of it.

Greedy vampire, you thought, he wouldn't even be able to sleep. After all, he's used to sleep at morning and you, as a Hellsing soldier, is more than used to sleep in whatever you can lie on during night. Extravagance was not your style.

Behind you, Alucard moved with quiet grace, his eyes fixed on you in the mirror. He had already shed his coat, his shirt untucked slightly, looking every bit the devilish rogue he was. He stepped closer, slipping a gloved hand around your waist, guiding you as you fumbled with the buttons on your collar.

"Let me," He asked, his voice low and smooth, as he brushed your hands away and began fastening the buttons for you. His fingers worked skillfully, but his touch lingered a bit too long. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

"You know, I can dress myself," You teased him, raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror.

"Of course you can," Alucard replied with a smirk, not missing a beat. "But why would I miss the chance to enjoy this view?" His hands slid up to adjust the collar, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Alucard chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in just a bit closer. "I’m many things, love. Impossible is only one of them." He finished with the last button, his hands lingering on your shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric as though he couldn’t help but touch you. You turned slightly to face him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"So husband, what's the plan?" You teased him, emphasizing the word, adjusting your sleeves as he watched you with that ever-present intensity. "Or you're just want to take care of everything alone while I stay helpless by your side, like a damsel?."

Alucard raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Playing the damsel role certainly is fun but not safe. Besides it's counterproductive. I'II catch our target while you search his office for those documents."

You nodded, trying to think of ways to enter the target's office, but the warmth in Alucard's eyes made it impossible. His thumb traced small circles against your waist, and though you hated to admit it, his presence was comforting in moments like these, when the mission loomed large and the stakes were high. He knew how you soothe your worries and fears with just a few gestures.

"Focus, Alucard," You said, but your voice lacked any real conviction.

"I am focused," He replied smoothly, his lips dangerously close to yours. "Just… not on the mission right now."

You felt your heartbeat quicken, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him just a little, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. "You’re incorrigible."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing purr. "And you love it."

You laughed softly, shaking your head again as you turned back toward the mirror. "You’re lucky you’re helping with this mission. Otherwise, I’d leave you to flirt with yourself.

Alucard chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his hand never left your waist. "Oh, I can flirt with myself just fine. But it’s much more fun with you."

You met his gaze in the mirror, your reflection showing the playful tension between you two. Despite everything, the danger, the complexity of your relationship, moments like this felt oddly natural. Easy, even.

"Fine," you said, adjusting the last piece of your outfit and putting your weapons in their proper places. "After this mission and you taking me to sightsee, you should really take me on a date, Alucard. I wouldn't say no."

Alucard’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand squeezing your waist lightly. "Whatever you want, darling. But until then…" His eyes sparkled mischievously. "We make quite the team, don’t we?"

You couldn’t argue with that. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, there was something undeniably magnetic about being at his side. Even if he drove you crazy half the time and acted strange sometimes.

"Yeah," You said with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "We do."

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the grand hotel, the city’s lights reflecting off the polished black limousine waiting at the curb. The distant hum of life in the city created a soft backdrop of noise, but here, in front of the sleek vehicle, everything felt quieter, more intimate. Alucard, as always, had his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you toward the car.

“After you, love,” He said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement as he opened the door for you. His crimson eyes gleamed under the streetlights, and even in the dim evening, he looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, dark and dangerously handsome.

You gave him a playful smirk before slipping into the limousine’s spacious interior. The leather seats were cool against your skin as you settled in, and a faint, luxurious scent lingered in the air. Alucard followed, closing the door behind him as he took the seat beside you.

As the driver began pulling away from the curb, the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Alucard stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a way that felt casual yet intentional.

“Excited?” hHe asked, his voice low and teasing as his eyes flickered to yours. “Or is it nerves I sense?”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes slightly. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use. This is a mission, remember? Focus, Alucard.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to lightly squeeze your shoulder. “I’m always focused. It’s you who seems to be on edge, dragul meu.” His voice was a playful murmur, but there was that undercurrent of seriousness you knew all too well. He thrived in these high-stakes situations, while you, well, you preferred a little less danger and a little more simplicity.

You preferred a better plan, you preferred having more allies. Yet, you had to make it do with just Alucard by your side. Either way, you knew he wouldn't let you hurt yourself.

“I’m not on edge,” You retorted lightly, turning to face him fully. “I’m just thinking about the plan. We’re supposed to be subtle, blend in, gather intel. You remember the whole ‘don’t draw attention to ourselves’ part, right?”

Alucard’s lips curled into that familiar, devilish smirk. “Subtlety isn’t always the most fun, but I suppose I can behave for one night.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, if things get boring, I might have to… stir the pot a little.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I prefer the term ‘charming,’” He corrected you, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The limousine cruised through the city, the lights outside glowing brighter as you approached the heart of the bustling nightlife. The party you were heading to was in one of the city’s most elite venues — a towering glass building that loomed in the distance, sparkling against the night sky. The event was exclusive, crawling with high-society types, all hiding secrets beneath their polished exteriors. You and Alucard were here to uncover one of those secrets.

As the limousine neared the grand entrance, you adjusted your clothes, making sure everything was in place. Alucard watched you with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes, though there was a softness in the way his gaze lingered.

“You look stunning,” He murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of the usual teasing edge. “They won’t know what hit them.”

You met his eyes, feeling a flutter in your chest despite yourself. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, leaning in just a bit closer. “Just ‘not so bad?’ I think I deserve more credit than that.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Let’s just get through this without any chaos, alright? Then I’ll give you all the credit you want.”

The limousine came to a smooth stop in front of the towering venue, the driver stepping out to open the door for you both. Alucard was out first, offering his hand to help you out, his grip firm but gentle. As you stepped out onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd were already starting.

He pulled you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you both made your way toward the entrance. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, commanding and magnetic.

“We’ll be the perfect couple tonight,” Alucard whispered into your ear as you ascended the stairs, his breath warm against your skin. “Just follow my lead.”

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a small smile. “I’m used to that by now.”

With that, you both stepped through the grand doors into the glittering party, where the real game was about to begin.

#alucard x you #hellsing ultimate alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #alucard x reader #yandere alucard #alucard #yandere alucard x y/n #yandere alucard x you #yandere alucard x reader #alucard x y/n #soft yandere #male yadere #lorkai drabble

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regianenascimentooficial · 3 months ago

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PART 1: How did every slasher become obsessed with you?

Part 2 Here!

🌹Slashers:

Jason Voorhees / Michael Myers / Pinhead / Vincent and Bo Sinclair / Thomas Hewitt / Bubba Sawyer / Asa Emory.

🌹Warning:

⚠️All headcanons have things that minors cannot read! Read at your own risk!⚠️

🌹🌹GOOD READ! 🌹🌹

🥀On a night of hunting, he would go after you, just as he did with the unfortunate lives that surpassed his patience and path. However, when he got close to the door of your room, he heard you praying for the one you called "the drowned boy" to have peace and find his mother. You cried a lot for the boy. Deep down, he saw that you were different, in his perception, you were someone who didn't see him as a monster and, praying for him, it became clearer. After that scene, he didn't kill you or anything like that, but he watched you until he saw you try to escape the place when you discovered that everyone was dead. A blow to your head and when you woke up, you were with him. With your feet in chains and him hovering over you in curiosity and tenderness. You can't go anywhere now... You're his.

🥀It would be a normal day of killing in Haddonfield, until something broke his routine. In front of his house, there was a jar of sweets, and on top of it a note: "I don't know what you've been through, but you're not a demon to me, Michael. May you find the peace you need. Signed: S/N." He looked at it in confusion. He thought the person was more disturbed than he was, but this triggered him. Congratulations... You're his new obsession. With that, he waited for one day for you to leave something in front of the house and, sure enough, you showed up. Myers analyzed you and took in every detail of you. Two months went by and he kept giving you gifts in secret and you didn't know who they were from. You just thought it was strange and smiled. Michael decided from then on that you were now his and no one else's and whoever came to you would appear on the news as one less person on earth. Michael was just waiting for the right moment to show up to you, and when that happened... You know what would happen.

🥀After you managed to escape from him, you don't know what you just did. You signed your name on Pinhead's dark heart. Even though he had escaped, he had even tried to live his life in the infernal labyrinth, however, nothing made him think that his audacity to face and win would bring you back. Calmly and skillfully, he began to draw up a plan to get you back. Whatever the cost... He might not be one to attack what he wanted head on, but he was strategic. Three years after he escaped, his face still remained in the Infernal Priest's head, he had a plan. A man next to his apartment was seduced by the configuration of the lament and when he opened it, he had an idea and knew that his next door would be taken too... Lying in bed, they felt strange, and when he opened his eyes... He was there... With a victorious smile... You would not escape him now.

🥀After you showed up in town and started praising his waxworks and even defending them from his friends who were making fun of him, he found you intriguing. He analyzed you for a while and waited for the right moment. His curiosity was so great that he began to feel bad for being so obscene, drawing and painting pictures with you in positions that made him delirious. No matter what he did, you wouldn't leave his mind. His new art muse, his perfect sculpture worthy of being among the Greek pantheon. When the time came, he would go with the help of his brother, catch you and lock you up so that no one would praise his great masterpiece anymore.

🥀You were a girl who had no fear and had defied the most insane brother among Vincent. He fell in love with you in a sick way. He would try to convince his brother to kidnap you and have you all to himself. He could kick and punch him, and even shoot him, but he wouldn't give up on you... In the end... You ended up tied to a chair and a gag with him holding your face and saying: "You're going to get used to being mine from now on."

🥀Since the beginning of the hunt, he had liked you. He liked you completely. He wouldn't know what that feeling was, but he never felt alive. All because you praised him when you accidentally took off your leather mask to protect yourself. It's a fact that you did it just to destabilize him and run away, and you succeeded, but the price was high... He couldn't stop thinking about you. So, in the end, you didn't escape, you became his and not only his wife, but the mother of his children.

🥀Bubba didn't know much about life and was shy. But when she was tied to a chair at the dinner table by force, after being captured, she realized that the great man was humiliated by his relatives and so she defended him... Girl... Girl... His young and shy heart was happy to hear that... He managed to break free and escape, however, even under the warning of his relatives, he went after you and managed to catch you. In the arid Texas desert, no one heard your screams... You were now his girlfriend.

🥀He had gone to the vet to see one of his German Shepherds who was feeling unwell, and you were also a patient who was by his side with his sick cat. You started talking to him, saying several things, including that you loved spiders, beetles, museums, art galleries, and especially criminal cases, and that you were fascinated by what the journalists on TV called "The Collector", among other things. When he heard all this, you became his obsession, a rare specimen in his collection. But of course, you wouldn't know that you were talking to the man himself. After six months of watching you, he already had everything in mind, he was strategic... Soon you would be put in the red box and that way, with him, you would stay forever.

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

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Deception

Yandere!Gojo x Reader

Years ago, Gojo Satoru watched his closest friend—his everything—die in his arms. The grief shattered him, pushing him to become the strongest sorcerer, a lone god among men. But when he unexpectedly sees you—alive, breathing, and unchanged—his carefully controlled world spirals into chaos.

The first time Gojo saw you die, something inside him shattered.

He had always been fast—too fast, but not that day. That day, he was too slow.

One moment, you were standing beside him, teasing him like you always did. The next, blood was pooling beneath you, your body limp in his arms. His hands pressed against the wound, shaking, desperate.

“Stay with me” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this to me.”

But no matter how much power he had, no matter how much he begged, you still slipped away.

And Gojo, the strongest, realized something terrifying that day.

Without you, strength meant nothing.

Years passed, but the nightmares never did.

He stopped visiting your grave. What was the point? You weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. Just a memory, a cruel trick time played on him. No soul left to sense, no cursed energy to trace. Just a void where you used to be.

Then, one night, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, he saw you.

And the world tilted on its axis.

You were laughing softly, eyes bright, standing just a few feet away. The same face. The same voice. The same presence he had lost all those years ago.

His Six Eyes burned as he focused on you—on your soul.

It was you.

Not an illusion. Not a trick.

You.

His breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides. A thousand emotions surged through him at once—rage, confusion, relief—but one thought drowned out the rest.

You lied.

And Gojo Satoru did not take betrayal lightly.

Hours later, you walked alone through the quiet streets, your bag slung over your shoulder.

The night was crisp, and after the farewell party with your friends, exhaustion weighed on you. You had finally left your old life behind. No more sorcerers. No more Jujutsu battles. No more him.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Then, the air changed.

Before you could react, a hand covered your mouth, an arm wrapped around your waist, and the world snapped into darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of concrete and old wood filled your nose. A dim light flickered above you, casting long, eerie shadows. Your wrists were bound to the arms of a chair—tight enough to keep you still but loose enough not to hurt.

A slow, familiar chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Your heart stopped.

Gojo stood in front of you, blindfold gone, Six Eyes glowing as he leaned down, his face mere inches from yours. His expression was unreadable, too calm, too controlled.

You swallowed hard. “Satoru—”

He clicked his tongue. “Toru” he corrected, voice almost playful. “You used to call me Toru, remember?”

You stayed silent.

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, his touch feather-light yet suffocating. “You died” he whispered, his tone soft but laced with something sharp. “I felt you die. And yet… here you are.”

Your pulse pounded against your skin.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured: “Start talking, love. Why did you leave me?”

Your breath hitched. His voice was low, smooth, but it carried an edge so sharp it could cut through bone.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Let me go, Satoru.”

A slow, dark chuckle escaped his lips.

“There it is. That defiance,” he mused, tilting your chin back toward him with two fingers. “I wondered if you’d changed after all these years. Guess not.”

His Six Eyes flickered, scanning every inch of you—your trembling fingers, the tension in your jaw, the way your pulse pounded in your throat. You weren’t afraid. No, this wasn’t fear.

It was guilt.

Gojo’s grip on your chin tightened just slightly. “You faked your death” he said, the words more statement than question. “Why?”

You clenched your teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of the past, of everything you left behind, pressed against your ribs like a vice.

“You needed me to be dead.”

Silence.

Gojo didn’t move, but something in his expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

You took a shaky breath. “You needed something to break you, Satoru. Something to push you past your limits. You needed pain, real pain, so you’d become strong enough to protect everyone else. If I had stayed… you wouldn’t be who you are now.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your own breathing.

Then—

Laughter.

Cold, bitter laughter that sent chills down your spine.

Gojo straightened, running a hand through his hair. “That’s your reason?” His voice dripped with something almost hysterical. “You let me rot in grief? You chose to make me suffer?”

Tears stung your eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be forever! I planned to come back—”

“Then why didn’t you?”

His voice cracked.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Because you had seen it.

The way he had changed. The man who once stood beside you, carefree and untouchable, had become something else. A god among sorcerers. The strongest. A man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You had done this to him. And by the time you realized it, it was too late.

“I was going to” you whispered. “But you didn’t need me anymore.”

Gojo went still.

Then, in a blink, he was in front of you again, both hands gripping the arms of your chair, caging you in. “You don’t get to decide that” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Your heart pounded.

“You think I needed to break?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile. “You think I needed to lose you to become stronger?”

You flinched.

Gojo exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Damn it…” His hands lifted, resting on either side of your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “If you had just told me—if you had just stayed—I still would’ve become the strongest.”

His fingers tightened slightly.

“But at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

For the first time since waking up in this room, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered agony behind his glowing eyes. The pain you had left him with.

You opened your mouth, but he spoke first.

“It doesn’t matter now.” His voice was quieter, but no less intense. “You’re here. And I’m not letting you leave again.”

Your stomach dropped. “Satoru—”

His lips brushed against your forehead—gentle, fleeting. But when he pulled back, the look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“Welcome home.”

#yandere x reader #yandere #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #yandere gojo #yandere jjk #gojo x you #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #satoru gojo

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luxerians · 4 months ago

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The Last Mask (17.2)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 17.2 - Keep You From Burning [NSFW]

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 18.2

PREV : Chapter 16

SFW ver. : Chapter 17.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

Hwang In-ho stood among the desperate, the hopeless, the damned. The neon glow of the voting panel illuminated the sea of green tracksuits, reflecting off the dull, exhausted eyes of players who had just witnessed how real this game was. He exhaled slowly, suppressing the satisfaction curling in his chest.

This was why he had come. To witness this firsthand. To prove that Seong Gi-hun’s naïve idealism was nothing more than a delusion. That these people weren’t victims. They were willing participants.

Gi-hun had begged them to quit, to see reason. But several players had openly rebuked and reprimanded him. Even when he admitted that he had won these games before, some didn’t believe him. Many doubted him. Then, player 100, a man drowning in a 10-billion debt, spoke up.

“Then let’s use him,” he declared, looking around the crowd. “If he really won, then he knows how to survive. We can use him to win this together.”

A murmur of consideration spread through the players. That’s when In-ho heard a scoff. Heads turned, including his, and he spotted her among the X zone. Player 423.

She looked out of place here. She didn’t look like someone who had been swallowed by debt. Even the way she carried herself was different. Calm, assessing, like she had already weighed all possible outcomes.

She met player 100’s eyes and spoke evenly. “Do you really think the next games will be exactly the same as before? They know there’s a previous winner here. They’re not going to let him give us an advantage. The games could be entirely different tomorrow, but we know one thing. Elimination means death. We should prioritize surviving over chasing money.”

In-ho watched closely, intrigued. Well, at least someone is using their brain here. But he knew it wouldn’t matter. The greedy always drowned out the rational.

And just as he expected, her words weren’t met with agreement. The desperate fools snapped back, dismissing her concerns. Their desire for wealth overrode logic. It was pathetic, really.

He glanced at Gi-hun, eager to see that moment of despair in his face. See? he thought. They don’t want to be saved. They never did. Gi-hun’s righteous crusade was laughable. He had come in, thinking he could be a hero, but these people weren’t his followers. They were gamblers who had already decided to risk it all.

Gi-hun moved to the back of the room, toward the unvoted players. A last attempt to change their minds. Desperate, In-ho mused. Pitiful.

Before Gi-hun could reach them, a triangle guard stepped forward and raised an MP5. The room tensed as Gi-hun froze, slowly raising his hands in surrender.

“From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process,” the square-masked guard announced coldly.

In-ho smirked, barely hiding his satisfaction. There it is. The proof. You thought they were forced into this? That they were victims? Look at them, Gi-hun. They chose this. Just like they always will.

So much for ‘forced into it.’

Minutes into the vote, a slight movement came among the crowd of players in the X zone, and player 423 appeared. She moved quietly, heading straight for Gi-hun, who still had an MP5 aimed at him. Without hesitation, she reached for his sleeve and grasped it.

She spoke softly, “Come on. Let’s go back in.”

Just like that, the soldier lowered their weapon, no longer seeing Gi-hun as a threat. Without another word, the latter followed 423 back into the X zone.

In-ho’s dark eyes noticed how several players were staring at you with lingering look.

His turn to vote came quickly. Stepping up to the voting counter as player 001, he briefly wondered if Gi-hun would grow suspicious of him. The last time Gi-hun played these games, player 001 had been Oh Il-nam – the host of the Squid Game in South Korea.

With a neutral expression, In-ho pressed O.

A roar of cheers erupted from the O players behind him. Greedy fools, celebrating their own downfall. With his back facing the crowd, his lips curled into a smirk. These people had chosen this. Gi-hun’s attempt at playing the hero had been nothing but a joke. They weren’t forced. They weren’t trapped. They were exactly where they wanted to be.

He spun around, his gaze immediately landing on Gi-hun. The man stood still, eyes cast downward, shoulders heavy with the weight of failure. In-ho’s smirk deepened. There it is, he thought. That crushing realization. You’re not the hero they wanted, Gi-hun. You’re just another fool who thought he could change them.

But before he could fully savor the sight, player 423 nudged Gi-hun gently, whispering something to him. Without hesitation, Gi-hun and player 390 turned and followed her back to their corner.

In-ho’s eyes stayed on player 423.

Is she the type to keep propping him up? To keep feeding his delusions? He had seen it before. People clinging to the idea of hope, of salvation. Was she one of them? Or was she something else entirely?

For now, he would watch. He had time, after all.

***

“Help us then, sir.”

Gi-hun, player 423, and 390 looked up. Gi-hun’s expression hardened immediately, but player 390 and 423 studied In-ho more carefully. Gi-hun didn’t respond at first. He seemed content to ignore them. But In-ho knew how to get him to talk.

He just had to appeal to his ‘heroism.’

So, he did. “Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game.”

That got Gi-hun’s attention. Just as expected.

Before Gi-hun could respond, player 423 spoke up, her voice calm but pointed. “Looks like it’s a bad idea revealing you’re a previous winner.”

In-ho almost smirked.

Gi-hun turned to player 423. “I thought it would make everyone understand… that everyone here is doomed to die as long as we stay here.”

Player 423 nodded silently, accepting Gi-hun’s reasoning, before glancing over at In-ho. Their eyes met, and she held the contact for a moment before looking away, almost bashfully.

In-ho didn’t break his gaze, but when she finally looked away, he turned back to Gi-hun and laid out his first trap. “Sir, you know which game’s next, don’t you?”

Gi-hun fell for it and announced to everyone nearby that the next game would be Dalgona.

“Four shapes? Which was the easiest one?” player 390 asked quickly.

“Triangle.”

“Which was the hardest?” 390 pressed.

“Umbrella.”

“Umbrella?” In-ho scoffed, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “Some people actually chose umbrella? Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”

Gi-hun looked at him pointedly, obviously feeling the jab. In-ho held his stare, enjoying the brief flicker of irritation.

As player 100 suggested keeping this information to themselves, Gi-hun spoke up “heroically”, stating that he was sharing it with everyone in order to save their lives.

“And we don’t even know if the next game will really be Dalgona,” player 423 added.

In-ho glanced at her again. She wasn’t wrong. So far, she was the only one who had spoken with intelligence and logic in this room.

After a while, all of the other players left the corner except for In-ho. He carefully observed the three individuals in Gi-hun's small group. It is time to become part of his inner circle, he thought.

Once he got an opportunity to slip in, In-ho finally spoke up, asking why Gi-hun came back after winning. Gi-hun explained that he saw the money as belonging to the people who had died in the game.

In-ho thought Gi-hun’s guilt was pointless. He told him that feeling bad wouldn’t bring anyone back, but Gi-hun argued that if he had voted for X, they could have all escaped. In-ho calmly reminded him that 186 players had chosen to stay, proving that they wanted to be there.

The tension between them grew as Gi-hun refused to change his mind. He still believed he could save people. Before the argument could get worse, player 390 stepped in, telling them to focus on surviving the next game instead.

In-ho smirked to himself. Gi-hun was easy to figure out. Full of guilt, easy to upset, and determined to be a hero. That made him the perfect person for In-ho to control.

“But we can’t always rely on him,” player 423 interjected. “He doesn’t need more pressure from everyone expecting too much from him.”

In-ho noted her words carefully. Unlike the others, she wasn’t looking for a leader to follow blindly. She understood the weight Gi-hun carried and didn’t want to add to it.

He had expected the usual desperation – the kind that turned people into obedient followers. Yet, here she was, pulling in the opposite direction. Did she genuinely care about Gi-hun’s well-being or was she trying to keep the focus off of him? Either way, it was something worth watching.

He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he calculated his next move. For now, he just listened. Observing. Waiting. Timing was everything.

In-ho sat quietly as player 388, now introducing himself as Kang Dae-ho, approached Gi-hun’s group with eagerness. He claimed they needed to stick together and quickly tried to integrate himself, offering a handshake. Player 390 wasn’t convinced and dismissed him with skepticism.

Dae-ho hesitated, scanning the group. He glanced briefly at In-ho, who kept his head lowered, and then at Gi-hun, who barely acknowledged him. But then his eyes landed on player 423. She was the only one who didn’t look at him with doubt and In-ho watched closely as she accepted his handshake. He found her openness naïve but useful. She was clearly someone people gravitated toward.

Soon enough, Dae-ho and player 390 fell into an exaggerated display of military pride, loudly exchanging salutes and class numbers.

In-ho kept his expression neutral when player 423 asked whether Marines commonly got tattoos like that.

Seeing an opportunity to reinforce his harmless old-man act, In-ho spoke, “It’s not officially required, but many in the ROKMC see it as a tradition.”

She nodded in understanding, her curiosity seemingly satisfied.

In-ho watched as she turned away from the over-the-top military display between player 390 and 388. Unlike the others, she didn’t seem easily swept up in pointless distractions. She began cleaning up her lunchbox, taking slow sips from her water bottle, before glancing at him.

“Have you eaten already?” she asked casually.

He met her gaze and gave a warm, practiced smile. “Yes, I have.”

She nodded, returning his smile without hesitation. “Good. The food they prepared for us was worth it. It’s a waste not to eat it.”

In-ho felt amused. This will be the last time you will have proper meal, he thought.

Then, shifting her attention, she looked at Gi-hun’s untouched lunchbox. “You need to eat, sir. It’s better to mull things over with a full stomach.”

Gi-hun hesitated but finally complied, opening his lunchbox and eating without a word. In-ho took note of this. Although this was their first time meeting each other, player 423 had an influence over Gi-hun. Her words made him act. That was useful.

A moment later, she leaned slightly closer to him, lowering her voice. “By the way, do you know where the ladies’ restroom is?”

He gestured toward the right side of the main double doors. “That one there. The other is for the men.”

“Oh, thanks. Wouldn’t want to get lost and get shot by the guards.”

As player 423 chuckled lightly at her own joke, In-ho noticed – again – a few men sent glances at you from behind.

In-ho turned his attention back on you and smiled in hilarity. “I’m sure the guards would bring you back here if you were lost.”

She chuckled softly. “That’s comforting to know.”

Their exchange was simple, but it caught his attention. She appeared cautious and not foolishly overconfident either. Despite the situation, she managed to maintain a ray of smiles. In-ho couldn't help but assume that she was the type to hide her fear and dread behind a facade of happiness and reassurance.

“If you don’t mind me asking… why did you come here?” he asked, his voice gentle.

For the first time, she hesitated. Gi-hun, who had been listening, turned his head slightly, but said nothing. Then, with a fake smile In-ho caught on right away, she answered, “I needed the money.”

Predictable. Everyone here did. But he wanted more. “That’s all of us. But if I may say… I’m surprised. A lady like you shouldn’t have to bear the burden of crippling debt.”

Something shifted in her expression. The polished calm wavered just slightly.

She looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “The debts are my parents’, actually.”

In-ho studied you carefully. The way you hesitated, how your eyes darted away. It told him something. There was more to your story, more than just a desperate need for money. He filed the observation away, storing it for later. You weren’t like the others. They were here to survive for themselves. But you? You carried a weight that wasn’t entirely your own.

He had seen people like you before. People who took on burdens that weren’t theirs to carry, who fought battles that weren’t meant to be their own. It made them strong in some ways, but vulnerable in others. A person like that could break under the wrong kind of pressure.

Then, a fight had broken out on the other side of the dormitory. Player 333 was on the floor, getting beaten by player 230 and his lackey (124). The crowd did nothing, just stood there, frozen with fear or disinterest. Even player 390 and Dae-ho, who had been loud moments before, simply watched, their sleeves still rolled up, tattoos exposed.

Then, player 423 spoke. “Good thing I finished eating. Still, ganging up on him is just unfair.”

Her words made In-ho glance at her. She seemed frustrated, maybe even considering stepping in. He realized this could be a chance to earn Gi-hun's group's trust. By stepping in first, he could present himself as someone reliable, someone worth keeping close.

In-ho stood up. He strode ahead, walking past player 390 and Dae-ho, approaching the unfair fight with steady steps.

He ultimately had to physically overpower the two bullies, which he did with ease that was almost comical. When he let go of player 230, the entire room erupted into cheers and praises.

In-ho observed the unexpected praise that followed. The applause and admiration were foreign to him in this environment. He hadn’t expected approval – only fear or wariness. Yet here they were, cheering. It reminded him of when he became a police officer, a job he had dedicated his entire youth to. Back then, the respect and admiration of others had felt earned, a validation of his sacrifice.

Even player 423 clapped, her expression genuine. She had no doubt taken note of his ability, but rather than suspicion, she responded with admiration.

As he walked back toward their corner, he caught player 390 and Dae-ho murmuring among themselves. Soon, he arrived at the corner, and both boys looked at him with newfound respect.

“Sir, that was incredible,” player 390 said, clearly impressed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Dae-ho added, “Seriously, the way you took them down without breaking a sweat. Are you some kind of martial artist or what?”

In-ho smiled, keeping the mystery alive. “Let’s just say I’ve picked up a thing or two along the way.”

The two men nodded in unison, seemingly satisfied.

“Man of mystery,” Dae-ho muttered appreciatively.

Player 423, however, leaned forward slightly. Her voice was softer and caring. “But you’re not hurt at all, right? You seemed upset.”

Her concern was unexpected. In-ho turned to her, meeting her gaze, and let his smile soften. “Not at all. I left and came back the same.”

Player 390 and Dae-ho continued to marvel at him, the earlier tension in the dormitory now fading. The fight had made its mark, and In-ho knew he had established himself as someone not to be underestimated. But player 423’s reaction lingered in his mind till that evening.

In-ho found out that player 423’s kindness and hesitation made her easy to manipulate. She was cautious but not distrustful, willing to take advice if it sounded reasonable. That was exactly the kind of person he needed to secure his place within Gi-hun’s group. If he played his role well – friendly, wise, and unassuming – he could ensure that no one suspected his true identity.

***

As the robotic voice announced the second game, instructing players to form teams of six, In-ho watched the tension rise. Player 390 immediately questioned Gi-hun about Dalgona, but before he could answer, player 100 and his group approached.

“Isn’t this the Dalgona game?” player 100 asked bluntly.

Gi-hun’s subdued response confirmed otherwise. The disappointment on his face was unmistakable. He had wanted to help, but the reality was settling in. The games weren’t the same to his past experience. In-ho smirked inwardly at Gi-hun’s naivety.

Player 100’s patience snapped. His frustration boiled over as he accused Gi-hun of misleading them. The anger in his voice drew attention, fueling the simmering tension in the room.

Before things could escalate further, player 423 spoke up. She directly challenged player 100, reminding him that she had warned the games wouldn’t be the same. In-ho watched with interest as she held her ground. But instead of backing down, player 100 turned his ire on her, mocking her intelligence and ridiculing her for speaking up.

In-ho couldn't help but notice player 423's shocked expression when the old man hurled his insults at her. She had been all smiles just moments before. Suddenly, he felt a spark ignite within him – something he hadn't felt since losing his job and his wife’s passing.

That's when he decided to intervene.

With measured steps, he positioned himself between them, his expression cold and dark. His voice carried quiet authority as he uttered a simple but firm warning: “That’s enough.”

Player 100 and his lackeys finally walked away, still clinging to their bravado, throwing sneers in Gi-hun’s direction. The moment they left, Gi-hun turned to his group and muttered an apology, guilt weighing heavy in his voice.

That was exactly the opening In-ho had been waiting for.

He stepped in first, his voice calm and reassuring, telling Gi-hun there was no need to apologize. He even expressed his hope to be on the same team with him. The reaction was immediate. Gi-hun looked at him in surprise as if struggling to believe that someone still trusted him after his miscalculation.

In-ho inwardly smiled. The doubt in Gi-hun’s eyes quickly melted into something closer to relief. He had taken the bait. Gaining trust this easily almost made In-ho pity him. Almost. But he wasn’t done yet. He had to play the long game, solidify himself as someone reliable, someone Gi-hun would lean on without question.

And when the time was right, Gi-hun would tell him everything. His plans, his thoughts, how he intended to stop this game operation.

All In-ho had to do was wait.

However, he didn’t take you into account.

Once Dae-ho left the circle to find another player for their team, Player 423 suddenly turned to In-ho, her expression soft, her eyes warm with quiet admiration. A small, sincere smile spread across her lips.

“By the way, thank you for the back-up.”

In-ho turned to her, momentarily caught off guard. The way she looked at him – tilting her head slightly, her gaze innocent – was the epitome of gratitude. There was no hesitation, no manipulation, no ulterior motive. Just pure appreciation, directed entirely at him.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like this.

He had spent years living in cold detachment, watching people from behind a mask, always calculating his next move. Affection, trust, admiration. Those were tools to be used, emotions to manipulate. And yet, standing here, looking into her eyes, he felt something stir inside him. Something unfamiliar.

Warmth.

It was so human. He rarely allowed himself to feel anything beyond necessity, but this was different. It was a quiet reminder of who he had been before everything in his life fell apart.

Before he lost her.

His wife had once looked at him like this. And now, here was another girl whom he did not know the name yet, seeing him as just a man. A man worth looking at, worth appreciating. She unknowingly stirred that same feeling within him. It unsettled him yet he wanted to bask in it more.

In-ho returned the smile to smile. “It’s no problem. If he or his friends say anything rude or try to push you around, just tell me. I’ll protect you.”

In-ho took in the way her expression shifted – soft, unguarded, and almost shy. It was rare for him to be looked at like this, not with suspicion or calculation, but with something gentler, something warmer. He realized then that they had been holding eye contact for a long moment, neither of them breaking away.

His eyes traced the way hers flickered slightly, dipping down just for a second, to his lips, before returning to his gaze. He wasn’t sure if she even realized she had done it, but he had.

For once, he let himself linger in the moment. No plans, no calculations, no manipulations. It’s just the quiet, shared space between them. Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind being seen like a normal person.

This would be for a short while, he thought. At least before her elimination… unless she ends up winning these games.

Dae-ho had secured another teammate – another Marine – and the group seemed satisfied. Then, a petite girl, player 222, approached and asked to join. When she revealed that she was pregnant, the entire circle instinctively glanced at her belly.

In-ho’s thoughts drifted for a moment. Had the recruiter known about her condition before she was pulled into the game? Perhaps not. She was small, and her belly wasn’t prominent. It was possible she had managed to hide it from everyone.

Then, before anyone else could respond, player 423 spoke up, “You know what? Take her and Mr. 096. I’ll go find another team.”

She was already stepping out of the circle when In-ho moved without thinking, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder.

It was instinctive. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between the small moments they had shared, between her quiet strength and the warmth in her voice, she had become someone he wanted to keep close.

Could it be that he’s clinging onto something that made him feel warm and human after so many cold and isolated years? Or perhaps he at least wanted to bask in her warm embrace before she gets eliminated.

His fingers curled slightly, just enough to make sure she didn’t take another step. She turned, eyes wide in surprise, and that’s when he noticed another hand land on her other shoulder. Player 390. Then, Gi-hun and Dae-ho took a step forward.

In a tangle of overlapping words, all of them spoke at once, “No, no, no.”

***

[Back to present…]

The metallic rasp of the zipper filled the room as Young-il tugged it down. Your breath caught in your throat with each inch the fabric parted. The zipper stopped at your belly button, revealing your bra as the cool air kissed your newly exposed, sweaty skin.

Young-il broke the kiss only briefly to glare down and yank the jumpsuit off your shoulders with a sharp tug impatiently. It slid down your arms and past your elbows, catching for a moment on your wrists before you sat up and he released them from the confines of the garment. You lied back down with the sleeves puddling around your waist, revealing the creamy expanse of your skin.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, lips parted invitingly. Young-il wasted no time, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips moved demandingly against yours, tongue delving deep, exploring and claiming. You found yourself powerless to resist as your own tongue danced with his.

He rolled his hips against yours, pinning you beneath him as he savored the taste of your mouth. The heat of his body seared through the thick fabric of his black outfit. With his body pressing you down, you could feel every hard plane and angle of his body, the solid muscle beneath the material.

The kiss grew more urgent as if he was losing control. His hands roamed over your newly bared flesh. Gloved fingers skimmed over the soft swell of your breasts, grazing over nipples that pebbled under his touch. His thumbs circled the hardened peaks, teasing them to stiffness.

His hands then slid down to your hips, gripping the bunched up fabric of your jumpsuit. With a swift, impatient tug, he yanked the garment downwards, peeling it down. The material slid over your thighs, calves, and finally off your feet. He tossed the crumpled jumpsuit aside carelessly, leaving you bare before him except for your bra and panties.

You focused your gaze on Young-il’s face and was rendered breathless. His gaze darkened with lust as his eyes devoured every inch of your newly exposed skin. The dim light of his bedroom cast shadows that accentuated your curves, rendering you practically radiant to his hungry gaze. He leaned down, his breath hot against your neck before his lips found your flesh. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat and the delicate line of your collarbone.

You turned your head to the side, a sudden bashfulness overcoming you as you whimpered almost inaudibly, “Wait... I'm sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

“No need,” he breathed. He seemed undeterred. If anything, the sheen of sweat on your body only served to excite him further, highlighting the beauty of your form in the most intimate way.

His hands began to explore your naked body, his gloved fingers skimming over your skin. He traced the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. Each touch left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, your body responding eagerly to his caress.

Young-il's gloved fingers slid over the smooth fabric of your bra, tracing the delicate lace and satin that covered your breasts. With a quick flick of his wrist, he unhooked the clasp and tossed the garment aside, leaving you completely exposed to him.

His gaze lingered on your bare chest, his eyes taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. Your cheeks flushed with a delicate pink as you averted your gaze, your hands trembling slightly as they rested on either side of your head on the soft sheets. Your body was revealed in all its vulnerability as his heated and possessive gaze bore into you. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, your body still glistening with a light layer of sweat.

He reached out and gently squeezed your breast, causing it to pucker. Lowering his head, he traced a path between your breasts with his tongue, eliciting a soft moan from you as you arched closer to him.

He peppered kisses along the slope of your breast before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and playing it with his tongue. Whimpers and moans escaped your lips as your body responded to his touch. The room was filled with the rustling of sheets as you moved against them and the sound of his tongue flicking against your skin. The bed frame creaked as he shifted to better explore your body.

Without breaking eye contact with you, he let go of your wet nipple, saliva still connecting his mouth to your breast. You couldn’t help but stare at his eyes – dark and clouded with lust. He then moved to suckle on your other nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roamed over your skin, exploring every inch of you as he continued to trail kisses down your body.

He reached the waistband of your panties and hesitated for a moment, his dark gaze flicking up to meet yours. In their depths, you saw a swirl of hunger, of desire, of something almost primal. It made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

With a sudden jerk, his gloved hands grabbed at the edges of the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. You gasped as the cool air brushed against your exposed skin. He discarded the last piece of your clothing just as carelessly as he had done with your bra.

His gloved hands reached for your thighs and brought them up against your stomach, folding you in half. You yelped in surprise, the suddenness of his movement caught you off guard. You felt exposed and vulnerable in this intimate position. Your body was fully on display for him to see. It sent shivers down your spine.

His dark eyes clouded in arousal as he stared down at your exposed sex. The smooth skin and delicate folds of your lower lips were on full display. He reached out with a gloved hand and ran a single finger along your slit, feeling the heat radiating from your arousal. A low, approving groan rumbled in his chest.

You averted your eyes to the side. With a shy and almost embarrassed expression, you crossed your arms over your chest as if trying to regain some sense of modesty after being fully exposed. Your exposed breasts were pressed together under your arms.

With his hands on the back of your thighs, he pushed your legs further apart, opening you fully to his hungry gaze. His breath, hot and heavy with desire, fanned over your most intimate place. You shuddered, your hips twitching with anticipation.

Without warning, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your folds, tasting your essence. A gasp of pleasure and shock escaped your lips. Your body jolted in pleasure, the rustling of sheets accompanied you, as your hands fisted in the sheets.

The wet, slick sound of his tongue moving over your folds was interspersed with quiet gasps and moans from both you and him. The wetness between your legs created a symphony of sensual sounds as he licked and sucked. You could hear the slight squelching noises as he delved deeper, his tongue flicking and circling your sensitive clit. As he drew more of your juices to the surface, your body thrashed in pleasure on the bed as he drove you towards bliss.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on you. You were helpless to do anything but feel, your body writhing with pleasure. Obscene slurping and sucking sounds filled the room as he ate you out with gusto.

You were locked in place and helpless. Your body twisted and writhed on the bed, unable to control the waves of ecstasy that washed over you. The sounds of wet licking and sucking filled the air, punctuated by your moans and gasps of pleasure. Each slurp and suck echoed off the walls, mixing with the rustling of sheets and your frenzied movements to create a soundtrack of lust and animalistic desire.

As your body began to quiver and your slick walls fluttered around his tongue, he sensed your impending climax. Your thighs trembled and clenched around his head as your moans grew louder and more desperate. The wetness between your legs increased, coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.

He could feel your body tensing, your back arching off the bed as your climax approached. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping them tightly as if trying to hold yourself in place. You were teetering on the brink, ready to plunge into the sea of ecstasy that awaited you.

Just as your orgasm was about to crash over you like a tidal wave, he suddenly pulled away. His face emerged from between your thighs, glistening with your essence. You let out a sound of dismay, your body still coiled and yearning for release. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with distress. His eyes were dark and focused on you as he wiped your juices from his chin.

As soon as he saw the disappointment on your face, a smirk appeared on his lips. He said, “Not yet, sweetheart. I have another place for you to come all over.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine, your pussy clenching at the crude promise. You could feel the hard bulge of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, hot and thick even through his clothing.

Suddenly, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. A symphony of breathless moans and gasps filled the room, accompanied by the wet sounds of your kissing. Meanwhile, the rustle of fabric echoed in the room as their bodies pressed together, accompanied by his hands expertly moving and exploring her body, eliciting soft whimpers and sighs from her.

He suddenly pulled away from the intense kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting. You watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he leveraged himself up and knelt between your still-spread thighs.

His dark, intense gaze remained locked onto you as he slowly peeled off his gloves. The black leather fell away and he then began to remove his own clothing. He took off his black coat, revealing the toned muscle beneath inch by tantalizing inch. His chest was broad and defined. His abdominal muscles were still defined, but visible signs of aging could be seen. Despite everything, you still found him physically appealing. It was hard to believe that he hid all of that under his player's tracksuit and all-black outfit.

Next, he undid his belt, the jingle of the buckle echoing in the otherwise quiet room. He withdrew from the bed and stood. Now that he no longer held or pinned your body to the bed, your legs finally found their way back to resting on the bed after being folded and then spread out. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them aside. Left in only his black boxers, the prominent outline of his thick erection strained against the fabric.

His eyes never left yours as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slowly drew them down. Your breath caught in your throat as inch after inch of his hard, thick cock was revealed. It sprang free, long and heavy, the swollen head already glistening with arousal.

He climbed back onto the bed. His hands gripped your legs apart and pinned them to either side of his hips. Your slick, swollen folds were laid bare before him, glistening with your arousal.

Young-il paused for a moment, admiring the sight of your needy, dripping sex. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Without warning, he flicked your sensitive clit with the pad of his thumb, making you gasp and buck against his touch.

He flicked it again, and again, each snap of his fingers sending jolts of electricity through your core. You writhed beneath him, your back arching off the bed as you struggled to maintain control. Just as you thought you couldn't take anymore, he surprised you by slipping a finger deep inside your tight channel.

Your walls clenched around the sudden intrusion, drawing his finger in deeper. A low moan spilled from your lips as he began to pump his finger in and out, stroking that secret spot inside you that made your toes curl. He watched your face intently, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and need that crossed your expression. Without warning, he added a second finger, stretching you further, filling you more. Your hips bucked upwards in response, seeking more of this delicious friction.

His fingers pumped faster, thrusting deeper, stroking your silken walls with ruthless precision. The obscene sound of wet flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he fingered you with increasing speed. His thumb circled your clit mercilessly, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice.

Young-il could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his plunging fingers. He knew you were close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. His eyes darkened with lust and hunger as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He curled his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that made you see stars.

Just as your climax was about to overtake you, Young-il suddenly withdrew his fingers. Your walls clenched desperately around the sudden emptiness, aching for his touch. Your eyes blew wide and mouth fell open in disbelief at the cruel timing.

He smirked down at you, a wicked glint in his dark eyes, as he watched the disappointment and frustration play out across your beautiful face.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, thumbs digging into the soft skin as he leaned down to your mouth.

“Patience, flower,” he said, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine despite the frustration coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, he gripped your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your ass. With a sharp tug, he spread your thighs even wider, opening you fully to him. Your slick folds glistened in the low light, quivering with a desperate need that only he could satisfy at this moment.

He positioned himself between your legs, the thick head of his cock brushing against your needy clit. The contact made you gasp as your hands dug into the sheets. Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed the tip of his member along your slit, coating it in your slick arousal.

Your breathing became labored as everything came crashing down on you. This is finally happening, you thought. You had never done this and had fought hard to protect yourself and your body. Now, you were willing to let it all go and open yourself up to the man you had fallen deeply in love with.

He gripped your hips tightly, fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he slowly pushed forward. The thick head of his cock stretched your slick folds open as he began to enter you inch by delicious inch. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his hardening length, drawing him deeper.

Halfway inside, he suddenly leaned down, folding your body in half. Your thighs pressed tight against your abdomen as he crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Shock jolted through you at the sudden onslaught, but you found yourself welcoming his invading tongue with an open mouth.

As he plundered your mouth, claiming you thoroughly, he thrust forward harder. More of his thick cock speared into your tight heat, stretching you wider around his rigid flesh. Overwhelmed, your mind hazed with sensation. You released the sheets and wrapped your arms around his back, inadvertently scratching him in the process. You could only cling to him as he slowly, relentlessly filled you.

His tongue dominated your mouth, absorbing your muffled moans and whimpers. Your body trembled, back arching as he sunk into your silken depths. The mix of foreign sensations – his tongue conquering your mouth, his cock conquering your pussy – left you dizzy and breathless. The wet sounds of his deep, filthy kiss and the obscene squelches of his cock sinking into your dripping cunt filled the room.

He didn't stop until he was balls deep, his pelvis flush against yours, his heavy sack resting against your ass, and the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. He broke the kiss, both of you panting harshly as you struggled to catch your breath. His dark eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide with lust and desire.

For a long moment, he simply held you there, buried to the hilt in your quivering heat. The thick weight of his cock pulsed inside you, stirring your insides and claiming you utterly. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he began to move.

He began to move, slow and gentle at first. The thick head of his cock dragged against your inner walls as he withdrew until just the tip remained inside. Then he slammed back in, sheathing himself fully in your slick heat once more in one powerful thrust. He repeated the same action, each thrust causing your breasts to bounce and sway alluringly.

He suddenly pulled away from you, causing your arms to slip off his back. Then, he gripped the backs of your thighs and pressed them against your stomach, folding you in half. You whimpered in surprise. His pace began to increase, his strokes growing longer and harder. His movements became more forceful, rougher and quicker. With every deep thrust, your moans grew louder and more distinct, escaping from your lips uncontrollably.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Each thrust was accompanied by a groan of pleasure from him and a gasp or moan from you. The bed shook and creaked under the force of his powerful thrusts. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightened possessively. As he held you in place, all you could hear was the symphony of pleasure and desire between two bodies lost in the heat of passion.

Out of the blue, he leaned over, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your head. It was as if he wanted to be the only one to see you in this world, mounting and claiming you possessively. His eyes, once filled with ruthlessness and fury towards his opponents, were now darkened with an intense and unquenchable desire for you. You couldn't help but wonder if he had been holding back all this time. After all, you had caught him stealing glances at your lips on multiple occasions.

His movements were unrelenting, forcing you to slide up the bed with each forceful thrust of his hips. But he didn't let go completely; he held onto your hips, pulling you back onto him in a never-ending rhythm.

His form hovered over you, his sweat-slick skin glistening in the dim light of the room. With every thrust, his chest and abs flexed, his face contorted in pleasure. You could see the veins popping in his arms as he pounded into you unceasingly. The sheets twisted and bunched beneath your bodies, evidence of the intense passion between you.

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with the delicious friction of him moving inside you. The feeling of being filled so completely was incredible, more than anything you could have imagined. The sensation was intense, too much and yet not enough all at once.

Eventually, his desire became too overwhelming for him to control any longer. His hips slammed into yours with brutal force, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, replaced by strangled cries and whimpers. Your breasts bounced wildly, the movement sending ripples across your soft skin.

The room was filled with the rapid rhythm of your bodies colliding, the wet and primal sounds of skin on skin. The creaking of the bed frame and the rustling of sheets were accompanied by your shared moans and gasps. With each forceful thrust, the air was knocked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. Your body moved in perfect symphony with his as they danced together in a frenzy of passion and desire.

Young-il withdrew his hands from the sheets and gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into your tender flesh. He pushed your knees up to your chest, nearly folding you in half as he loomed over you. His eyes blazed with feral hunger, drunk on the sight of your body surrendering to his dominant thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he snarled, voice ragged with lust. “Fucking tight and wet, squeezing all over my cock.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly rough thrust, burying himself balls deep. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red as you looked away shyly. You were surprised that he could speak to you in such a provocative manner. It was incredibly alluring and it only served to make you even more aroused.

Slick, obscene squelches and wet slaps filled the air as he took you with animalistic fervor. The bed shook and shuddered, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful drive of his hips. Sweat dripped down his chest and abs, his skin glistening in the dim light.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts. The new position allowed him to strike that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you with every slam of his pelvis against yours. Sparks exploded behind your eyelids as pleasure bordered on pain, your body writhing beneath his relentless assault.

The wet slaps of your bodies colliding filled the room, mixing with your gasps for air and the occasional grunt from him. Each thrust elicited a shy and breathless “Ah!” from you, punctuating the symphony of your fucking. Despite your attempts to stifle them, the moans escaped your lips uncontrollably.

Young-il's grunts turned guttural and harsh as his thrusts grew more erratic. The bed springs creaked and groaned under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming rhythmically into the wall. The air was thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat, the sounds of your coupling echoing obscenely in the room.

He leaned in close, baring his teeth and sinking them into the tender skin where your neck and shoulder met. You gasped as a sharp pain shot through you. Despite the discomfort, your body arched instinctively, pressing closer to him. He bit down firmly, but not enough to draw blood. His hips continued their relentless rhythm against yours, driving you further into the bed. Your hands reached out and grasped at his back, leaving red marks in your ecstasy.

Young-il released your neck, a deep mark indented in your skin where his teeth had been. His dark eyes, wild and intense, bored into yours. Without warning, he grabbed your thighs, hands gripping the backs of them tightly.

“Spread your legs more for me,” he commanded huskily. He didn't wait for a response before using his grip to fold your legs up and back, essentially bending you in half. Your knees pressed to your breasts as he held you in a mating press.

This position allowed him to sink even deeper into your core. Each powerful thrust now kissed your cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

His face hovered inches from yours, eyes blazing with a dark and primal hunger. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could see the sweat dripping down his chiseled jawline. His breathing came in harsh pants, each exhale hot against your lips.

His hips never ceased their relentless rhythm as he grunted, “Such a good little girl, so tight and perfect.”

He released your thigh with one hand and used it to forcefully grip your chin, turning your face to meet his gaze. Your eyes were heavy-lidded with extreme pleasure. Your mouth was already open, filled with moans and gasps, and he took advantage of the opportunity to press his lips against yours. His tongue darted into your mouth as he continued thrusting his hips into you. The intense kiss only added to the sensations of pleasure coursing through your body.

You were overwhelmed as he slammed into you, simultaneously devouring your mouth. The only thing you could do was to scratch his back in an attempt to alleviate the sensation.

Young-il’s hips surged forward with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoing through the room. The bedsprings screamed in protest with each powerful thrust. His cock pounded into your soaked, clinging heat, the veiny shaft stretching you exquisitely.

Drunk on lust, he gripped your thigh with his other hand, holding you in place as he rutted into you like a man possessed. The new angle allowed him to strike your cervix dead-on, each brutal thrust sending waves of intense sensation crashing through your core.

Your body started to quake and tremble, your walls beginning to flutter around his plunging cock. The pressure built rapidly, your climax fast approaching. Obscene, choked moans spilled from your lips, mixing with the animalistic grunts tearing from Young-il's throat.

The room filled with a symphony of carnal noises – the wet slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the abused bed, the panting breaths and garbled cries of two people lost in the throes of passion. Young-il's eyes flashed wild and feral as they drilled into yours, his handsome face contorted in pleasure.

“I'm close,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “Come for me. Come.”

His command, coupled with the relentless pounding of his hips, sent you hurtling over the edge. Your vision exploded in a kaleidoscope of color as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of sheer ecstasy consuming your body. Your nails raked down his sweat-slicked back as you clung to him, back arching as your walls clenched viciously around his pistoning shaft.

As your climax overtook you, Young-il let out a loud groan. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm as the first hot spurts of his release shot forth. The sensation of his thick seed painting your insides pushed you into a second, even more devastating orgasm. Your body seized and trembled, back arching clean off the bed as you screamed your pleasure.

He collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, pinning you as he emptied himself inside your spasming cunt. Each twitch of his cock was followed by another gush of potent cum, flooding your womb until you swore you could feel it sloshing inside you.

He buried his face against your neck, panting harshly as the final waves of his climax rolled through him. Slowly, his movements slowed to shallow, lazy thrusts as he rode out the aftershocks.

The two of you remained entwined, him still buried deep inside your quivering heat. His weight pressed you into the mattress, the heat of his skin seeping into yours. The room was filled with the sound of ragged breathing – yours mingling with his – as you both struggled to regain composure in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

Young-il lifted his head slowly, his dark gaze meeting yours. There was a new softness in his eyes, a tenderness that wasn't usually present. A small, satisfied smile played on his lips as he took in your dazed and blissed-out expression. He brushed a few damp tendrils of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from their exertions.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his breath tickling your skin as he let out a soft sigh of contentment. His lips brushed against the tender skin there, pressing a kiss onto the bite mark he had left earlier. A shiver ran through you at the intimate touch and a satisfied hum resonated from deep within him.

“My flower,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your skin. His hands ghosted down your sides, tracing small circles over your overheated flesh.

Turning his head slightly, Young-il pressed another kiss to your shoulder before pulling out of you slowly. It was a sweet discomfort that had you gripping his arms tightly, biting back a low moan.

He rolled over onto his back, drawing you into his embrace. Your head fell onto his heaving chest, your body still shaking with the remnants of your climax. His hand moved to soothe your trembling limbs, fingers drawing slow, calming circles on your skin.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his tone soft as if he was afraid to break the spell of the moment. The rhythm of his heart thrumming underneath your ear was a soothing lullaby that began to lull you into a state of drowsy relaxation.

Your body was achy and sated, and the pleasant throb between your thighs was a testament to Young-il’s fervor. You could still feel the remnants of his release trickling from you and soaking into the sheets below. It was dirty and obscene but also incredibly intimate in a way that made heat bloom in your cheeks.

The both of you lay naked on the bed, your head resting against his chest as you side-hugged him. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythmic lull that should have calmed you. He lay on his back, fingers trailing slow, absentminded strokes along your damp skin. His gaze – now relaxed – was fixed on the ceiling, while your heavy-lidded eyes remained locked on the wall.

Your bodies glowed in the dim light, entwined beneath tangled sheets. The rise and fall of his chest beneath you was grounding, steady. Yet, beneath that warmth, doubt festered.

Your mind churned with conflicting emotions. You finally got to think clearly. Relief, disbelief, betrayal, longing. You had surrendered to him too easily. You had given in to his touch, his presence, before you had the chance to fully comprehend the weight of his revelation. He wasn’t just Young-il, the man who protected you, the man who made you feel safe. He was him. The orchestrator of this entire operation. The one who had watched hundreds of players fall, one by one.

Your stomach twisted as your thoughts tangled further. Was he lying when he said he cared for you? Had everything that two of you had been a calculated act?

You shifted slightly, your breath hitching as you swallowed back the lump in your throat. His fingers, still ghosting over your back, stilled for just a moment before resuming their slow, deliberate movements. Did he know what you were thinking? Was he waiting for you to speak?

You wanted answers. You needed them. But at the same time, you feared them.

The quiet stretched between you both, thick with unspoken words. Eventually, you knew you had to be the one to break the silence. He probably expected you to drift off to sleep after the rigorous love-making, to let exhaustion override any lingering thoughts. Maybe he wanted you to be too spent to question him, too vulnerable to resist whatever control he had over you.

But you weren’t about to let that happen.

You lay still for a moment, staring at the wall, gathering your thoughts. There were too many questions, too many emotions swirling inside you, but you needed to start somewhere. Pushing aside the heaviness in your chest, you finally spoke.

“This is the second time you did this.”

His fingers, still idly tracing patterns along your skin, stopped. You felt him glance at you, questioning, but you kept your gaze fixed on the wall ahead, unwilling to meet his eyes just yet.

“You tried to divert my attention from anything shady you did,” you continued, your voice quiet. “First was during the Mingle game when you kissed me after killing Min-jae. And now… now this is the second time.”

Silence again. A heavier one this time. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a presence pressing down against you even though he hadn’t moved. His breath was steady and measured, but you knew he was thinking. Calculating.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. “You think I’m trying to manipulate you?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, still refusing to look at him. “Aren’t you?”

His fingers moved again, this time gliding up your arm as if trying to test the boundaries of your trust. “Back then, I was. I didn't want you to be frightened of me.”

“Then what about now?” you inquired, turning your head slightly and finally locking eyes with him. The intensity of his stare made your breath hitch, but you refused to back down.

He stared at you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips contrasted with the cool air around you, sending a shiver down your spine.

When he pulled away, his voice was low but steady. “I miss you. You ran away and hid from me. I was worried. But now that you’re here, I’m glad.”

His words wrapped around you, heavy with emotion and something unspoken, something deeper. His tone was firm, yet there was an edge of vulnerability lurking beneath it – something he rarely let slip.

Your chest tightened, emotions warring inside you. The Young-il you knew – the one who had protected you, cared for you – still existed in those words, in that voice. But the Front Man, the orchestrator of these deadly games, was here too. And you didn’t know which one you were truly facing.

His fingers traced slow and random circles along your arm as he waited for you to respond. You swallowed hard, searching his face, but all you found was contradiction. A man who held power over life and death, yet who now lay beside you, speaking of protection as if it absolved him.

You averted your gaze, staring at the wall as your fingers curled against the sheets. Your voice was quiet but firm when you finally spoke. “So Young-il is not your real name?”

There was a pause as if he had expected this moment but still wasn’t quite ready for it. “No. My real name is Hwang In-ho.”

The name lingered between you, unfamiliar and yet deeply tied to the man beside you. You tried to process it, to match the name to the person you had come to know – the protector, the strategist, the liar.

“Why did you fake your name?” you turned your head slightly, enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes. Hesitation? Guilt?

His jaw tightened before he answered. “I needed to keep an eye on player 456.”

Your brow furrowed. “Gi-hun?”

He responded, “He’s been outspoken about stopping the games. Long before he ever stepped foot in here, he tried to chase me and the recruiter down. He made his intentions clear. So I disguised myself as a player, changed my name, and befriended him. I needed to find out what else he was planning.”

You stared at him, trying to reconcile the man who had watched over you, who had risked his life for you, with the one who had spent days lying to everybody, especially you. “So... you disguised yourself and fooled everyone. What about me? Was I just a part to make you look normal?”

His brows furrowed as he gripped your shoulder tenderly. “No. You were never part of the plan.”

He exhaled slowly as if bracing himself for something. “I didn’t expect to care about you the way I do.”

Your stomach twisted at his confession, torn between believing him and shielding yourself from the betrayal you felt. You wanted to demand more answers, to know how much of what you shared had been real. But part of you already knew the answer – his touch, his protection, his lingering gazes. Those couldn’t have been faked.

But that wasn’t the important thing. Your relationship with him, whatever it was, couldn’t matter more than the lives at stake – the players who were trapped in these games, fighting to survive. His games. The ones he managed, orchestrated, and upheld with unwavering authority.

You rose from his chest and sat up. In-ho stayed lying down but his gaze was locked with yours. You slightly turned your upper body to look at him and started, “So, what happens now? Do I pretend I don’t know any of this? Do I pretend that you're not the one pulling the strings? That you aren’t the reason so many people have died?”

His expression darkened, but not in anger. In resignation. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” you scoffed. “People are dying. And you—”

You clenched the sheets between your fingers, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You’re standing here like you have no choice. But you do.”

He exhaled sharply. “You don’t understand what’s at play here.”

“Then make me understand,” you challenged, finally turning to face him fully. “Make me understand why you’re doing this. Why you’re still here. Why you let me believe—”

He ran a hand down his face, the weight of your words pressing on him. “Because it’s not as simple as walking away. The moment I put on this mask and stepped into this role, I have a duty.”

You felt your stomach turn. “So you’re just going to let this continue? Let more people die? Let our friends die?”

His silence was deafening.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before fixing him with a hard stare. “And what about them? Jun-hee, Yong-sik and his mother, Dae-ho, Jung-bae... even Gi-hun. Do you feel nothing for them? For what they're going through? They trusted you. Gi-hun trusted you as a friend. That mother prayed for your return. Do you not care that they’re still trapped in these games?”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “It’s not that simple.”

You sighed. “That’s all you ever say. But people are dying, and you’re letting it happen. You’re the one in charge. You could stop this.”

He exhaled through his nose, his voice quieter this time. “I don’t have the power you think I do.”

“Then who does?” you challenged. “The investors? The VIPs?”

Young-il’s gaze sharpened, something shifting behind his eyes as if realization had just struck him. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly before asking, “I assume you find out about VIPs from following me as a manager hours ago, but I don’t recall mentioning about their investment. Who told you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his question pressed down on you. He studied your face closely as if searching for any cracks in your composure.

Then, his voice dipped lower, more controlled, more knowing. “I know you have friends among my guards. Who are they?”

Silence stretched between you. The air felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. You refused to answer, your mind racing through the consequences. You couldn't betray them. 011 and Gyeong-seok had risked so much for you already. The least you could do was protect them now.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. “Why does it matter? I watched you as a manager. I found out a lot of things. It’s obvious.”

Young-il’s expression darkened, his posture stiffening. “That’s not an answer. Someone among my guards helped you with your disguise.”

You forced yourself to hold your ground, refusing to give him anything more. His grip on control was absolute, but you could see the slightest shift in his demeanor. He didn’t like that you had access to information you shouldn’t have. That much was clear.

“I don’t owe you an answer,” you finally said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “Not when you’ve been lying to me from the start.”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, you thought he might press further, demand the truth from you. But instead, he exhaled slowly, composing himself.

“You should be careful,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Knowing too much in this place is never a good thing.”

His words weren’t a threat. Not exactly. But the warning was clear.

Still, your mind was far from settled. The conversation had left you feeling hollow. It seemed like your words failed to break through the walls In-ho had built around himself. Frustration curled in your chest, mingling with the lingering sensations of your shared intimacy.

You shifted, inching yourself to the side of the bed. Immediately, you heard a movement behind you.

“Where are you going?” In-ho asked. His voice, usually composed, carried a note of urgency.

“Out of here,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

You couldn't stay. Not after everything. Not after learning the truth. You couldn’t believe you had laid with a man who orchestrated so much suffering, who played god over the lives of others. The thought made your stomach twist.

A dull ache flared in your limbs, a deep soreness from the way he had taken you – rough, passionate, desperate. But you ignored it, steeling yourself as you planted your feet flat on the cold floor by the side of the bed.

“Don't,” said the man behind you as the mattress shifted. His voice was softer this time. “Just stay here for the night.”

You didn’t respond. You braced yourself and rose from the bed, but the moment your weight shifted, your legs wobbled beneath you. A sharp exhale escaped your lips as you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself before you plopped back on the bed.

Before you could make another attempt, an arm looped around your waist, firm but gentle. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you.

“You're not going anywhere,” In-ho murmured as he pulled you back onto the bed.

You tried to push him away, but your body betrayed you, still too weak to resist properly. He took the opportunity to bring you back to the center of the bed and away from the side. His grip was solid as his lips pressed against the back of your neck.

“Stay,” he whispered between kisses, his lips trailing down the curve of your shoulder. “I may have led this hell myself, but I will be the one to keep you from burning.”

You closed your eyes, torn between the storm inside you and the undeniable pull of his touch.

SFW ver. : Chapter 17.1

NEXT : Chapter 18.2

PREV : Chapter 16

Story Masterlist

I apologize for the late update because I got sick and is still very much sick. I got the triple combo one (fever, runny nose, and coughing fit) and I tried to continue writing but then it turned out it was a quartet combo, with the additional one being a headache. So now I'm a bit better so I could function better. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about Hwang In-ho's flashback and his view towards everything? Is it so him? Is he OOC? What do you think about his view towards you? Remember, this is a slow burn fic. Anyway, I decide to split his P.O.V. into multiple parts so I hope it would keep readers guessing about his true intention with her and his feelings towards her. Of course, you are more than welcome to re-read and form a guess about what he really feels. Anyway, what do you think about the smut/sex scene/NSFW scene???? That's the moment you've all been waiting for???? Do you really think In-ho will stop just with one round, though????? Now, what do you think about your conversation with In-ho at the end? Do you think it's so him? Is he OOC? What do you think about the "you", though? What do you think she will do afterward now that In-ho finally have her? I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

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ganxiously · 7 months ago

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So, it turns out what I needed to get out of my writer's block was soul-wrenching grief and heart-crushing disappointment. And while I am happy about that (to an extent), I also wish my muse wasn't angst because I think I am hurting myself writing this fic and I need to now make it everyone else's problem.

Sitting there in the dark, on Eddie’s sofa, curled in on himself like it’s supposed to do anything to hold him together, one thought pops into his head, bright, neon red and in bold among the constant litany of boorish, black ‘This is all my fault’ — All of this is because I didn’t know what a Kinsey six is. The thought is unexpected enough that Buck unfurls a little, wondering where it came from and then he remembers their anniversary date. The memory leaves him breathless but he is curious enough to push past the newly burgeoning hurt and take out his phone. A quick Google reveals it to be the rating for ‘exclusively homosexual’ on the Kinsey scale so he looks that up next and as he’s debating whether to start from Wikipedia first or dive right into the Kinsey Institute website, his eyes land on the conspicuous ‘test online’ button right below the search bar. A part of him doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want anyone else telling him what he is but the taunt is too much. If you had known, if you had just taken a moment to figure yourself out, maybe you could have said something. Maybe you could have stopped him before he walked away. He clicks on the first test that pops up, looks at the first question, goes to select option 1 and then stops and stares. ‘To whom are you attracted?’ should be an easy question to answer but the confidence to not think much has left him. He could easily choose ‘Both men and women’ but would that even be correct? He’s been so sure that he has felt attraction towards men a few times in the past but what if that was a mild interest at best? After all, no one had really pinged his radar the way Tommy had. He looks at the next question and that’s when the panic really starts to set in because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he prefers men over women or if he just prefers Tommy over women, over everyone else. What if Tommy is the outlier and he prefers women over men after all? The pressure in his chest becomes more and more painful the longer he stares at it so he closes the test and opens the next one on the list. That one starts off mild. The way the first question is framed makes it easy to answer that yes, while he mostly notices women, the occasional man does turn his eyes. The next one asks what he would be comfortable in calling himself and he thinks he could get away with calling himself bisexual but then there’s an option saying ‘could be bisexual but not sure if that’s correct‘. And again the thought hits, What if it’s just Tommy? He debates it briefly and then gives in and chooses the latter option. He breezes through the next couple of questions because he is at least sure that he would find it desirable to kiss people from both genders but then they hit him with the sexual preference question again. He backs out so fast his phone nearly slips out of his hand and with a sigh of frustration, he clicks on the next test. That turns out worse because the very first question stalls him and so it continues again and again and again until tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes and his breath starts coming in sharp, short bursts pulling his throat tight but not taking any air to his lungs. He keeps at it until there’s one more nameless person behind one more useless test clamouring at him, Tell us, tell us, tell us. Tell us you know what you want. He hurls the phone across the room, thankful when instead of landing on the floor, it silently hits the backrest of Eddie’s armchair and slides down into the crease with a swoosh. He should get up and retrieve it, he should go home really but what he does instead is let his head fall forward onto his raised knees and give in to the caricatured voice of his mind telling him, Of course, he thought you would break his heart. Look at yourself, you idiot.

This is basically just the set-up for the fic but rest assured I am dragging Buck down to the trenches before I let him swim up to Tommy again.

#911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #fic #kinsey scale fic

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saphronethaleph · 11 months ago

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Sith Succession Planning

“Master,” Darth Vader began. “I am curious.”

“...troubling, but go on,” Palpatine replied.

“What would happen if you died?” Vader said.

Palatine considered his answer.

“Why do you want to know?” he replied.

“I am curious,” Vader responded. “We covered this.”

“Well,” Palpatine said. “In order to prevent anyone from my family assassinating me, the legal results are meant to be an enormous snarl. Familicide is the main cause of death among Palpatines, statistically speaking, over the last hundred years.”

“I mean more in terms of what happens both to the galaxy, and also… physically,” Vader explained. “I was going to see if it happened through old age, but as far as I can tell you have only aged once since I met you and that was all in a single burst.”

“You were going to see if I would die from old age?” Palpatine asked.

Vader shrugged. “I did not see a way to prevent it,” he replied.

“Well, for your information, I intend to simply not die,” the Dark Lord of the Sith told Vader evenly. “I am simply built different.”

Vader looked his master up and down.

“You are not,” he said. “You are not built at all. I am built different, because over fifty percent of my body weight is cybernetics of non-standard design.”

“It is a figure of speech, Vader,” Palpatine told him. “It is popular with the ‘youth’ of today.”

He looked momentarily thoughtful. “Or, at least, so I am told. My advisor Jade told me.”

“I see,” Vader said, who didn’t. “Though I am fairly sure it is possible for Sith to die. I caused it to happen, after all.”

“Oh, Tyrannus wasn’t a proper Sith,” Palpatine muttered, dismissively.

“...he could do Force Lightning,” Vader objected. “I cannot do Force Lightning.”

“Then maybe you are not a proper Sith either,” Palpatine said, then shrugged. “But the fact that he died while still the Apprentice showed that he did not have what it takes to succeed as a Sith.”

Vader tilted his helmet slightly, and Palpatine waved his hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said.

“I can think about it if I want,” Vader replied, a bit testily. “But, as I say, I am curious. What would happen?”

“To the galaxy…” Palpatine mused, considering it as a thought experiment. “Well, I suppose that depends on the exact details, but I suppose Amedda would try to seize power. He’s pathetic, though. And I suppose you might try to command the military, but you’re no good at politics, so you would have to rule through fear.”

“I am good at fear,” Vader said.

“True,” Palpatine admitted. “But it’s academic, anyway. I have a plan in place that would result in the galaxy being burned to the ground if ever I die. And I have another plan to clone me so I can possess my own clone and return to life.”

Vader coughed, which was quite a feat for him.

“What?” Palpatine asked. “What is it now?”

“You don’t think you might want to pick just one of those, Master?” he asked. “Unless you want to return to life in a clone body in a galaxy that has just been burned to the ground?”

Palpatine shrugged.

“I don’t intend to test either of them,” he said. “Like I said. I would simply choose to not die.”

“I really don’t think that’s an option,” Vader replied, thoughtfully. “If it was, I think everyone would do it.”

“Built different,” Palpatine reiterated. “Keep up, Vader.”

“Then what about physically?” Vader went on. “If Dooku wasn’t a proper Sith, that is. All that happened with him is that his head came off.”

“Well,” Palpatine began. “I do have an absolutely enormous amount of Dark Side energy suffusing most of my bodily parts, to keep me in good shape as otherwise I would have suffered total organ failure.”

“Total organ failure… from what?” Vader said.

“The Dark Side energy suffusing most of my body parts,” Palpatine answered. “It also renders me immune to poison… hmm… what would happen if I died… well, I suspect that all that Dark Side energy would explode outwards, conveniently also killing whoever it was who had managed to kill me.”

He looked thoughtful. “Now there’s an idea. Perhaps if I do it properly, I can skip the clone phase and just possess whoever it is who killed me. It would be nice to be in a younger body.”

Vader raised one of his hands.

“What about if Yoda had killed you?” he asked.

“Academic,” Palpatine pointed out. “Since I chose not to die. Really, this conversation would be a lot shorter if you’d just accepted that answer at the beginning… it’s youth language again, but if I understand what Jade was saying right the simple way to put it is that I identify as immortal and you should respect that.”

Vader nodded slightly.

“...you said clones,” he pointed out. “Do those clones exist already? Or are they going to be started later?”

“Why does that matter, Vader?” Palpatine asked. “Do not think you can destroy my contingency plans. They are far out of your reach.”

“I’m more wondering something else,” Vader defended himself. “About your clones. Do they come out as old as you?”

Palpatine blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“Or do they come out young?” Vader went on. “Because thinking about you as a fifteen year old is giving me the heebie jeebies, but imagining a one hundred and thirty seven year old fresh grown clone is a bit weird as well.”

“You never talk like this around anyone else,” Palpatine said.

“I have an image to maintain,” Vader replied. “Fear. And so on.”

Palpatine had been processing something else.

“A hundred and thirty seven?” he asked. “Vader! I am eighty three.”

“Really?” Vader asked, sounding honestly surprised.

He paused.

“...you look good for it. You know. Considering.”

“But to answer your question,” Palpatine went on. “Of course they come out the same age! What would be the point of coming back looking completely different?”

“Couldn’t you just be in a younger body now?” Vader asked. “By cloning yourself a younger body, and possessing that? I’m just wondering why you wouldn’t take that option.”

Palpatine considered the question.

“Spite,” he said, eventually.

“...is that the only answer?” Vader said, after several seconds of silence.

“Yes, pretty much,” Palpatine confirmed.

#star wars #palpatine #darth vader #darth sidious

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milkbobatyun · 3 months ago

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beautiful stranger

pairing: dan heng x reader

genre: slight fluff, pining

summary: it was fate that brought you together, so many what ifs that could've led to a fairytale moment

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this idea's been collecting dust in my drafts and i finally had the energy and creativity to write it out :D would recc listening to 'beautiful stranger' by laufey cus i found the song while writing this and felt like it matched <3

the clouds were dyed dark with the rain. above, the sky grumbled in warning of the oncoming storm. people scurried across the train station platforms, a blur of motion and echoing footsteps. some are distracted by their phone, chatting away and promising to return early. others hug their backpacks close to their chests, head bobbing forwards or knocking against the window with eyes drooping shut. surrounded by other people, all are lost in their own little worlds.

for dan heng, this evening commute of chaos was routine. the rush to squeeze into a rare free seat, the monochrome interior of the train carriage was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. he was a creature of habit, always taking the train that left at the peak of rush hour.

by some tragically beautiful twist of fate, today, he had taken a later train that he usually would. the carriage was noticeably emptier, the din of conversation hushed and more relaxed. settling into a nearby seat, his headphones cut down on the quiet hum of conversation like a knife, blanketing him in the soothing rhythm of nocturnes and sonatas.

the cold breeze blew in from the open doors, sending a chill down each passenger’s spine. loud warning beeps sounded throughout the carriage, cautioning passengers of the closing doors.

a skidding flurry of movement. an ungraceful topple into dan heng’s neighbouring seat. shoulders knocking together. this disruptive interruption of pace made dan heng look up from his laptop, a curt remark about train courtesy on the tip of his tongue.

you were always rushing to get to places. procrastination was your greatest enemy, your habit always leaving you in a race against the hands of the clock.

today, you were later than usual, a series of misfortunes leading to you scrambling to catch your train. with, quite literally, a leap of faith and frantic glance, you found an empty seat on the train, though you barely managed to stop yourself from falling over, and almost causing you to fall into the lap of a handsome stranger.

with a calm, bordering unreadable expression and a quiet, nearly silent sigh, dan heng adjusted his posture slightly, allowing you to recollect yourself without drawing more attention.

flustered and embarrassed, you whispered hushed apologies, wincing and silently dying inside when you noticed the amount of eyes watching you. wordlessly, dan heng nodded in acknowledgement, a faint smile dancing in amusement on his lips before his syes shifted back to his laptop. how sweet of destiny to nearly send a gorgeous person flying into his lap.

resigning yourself to the thought that you embarrassed yourself in front of a semi-full train carriage of passengers, you dipped your head down low, plugging in your headphones and taking out a sketchbook to pass the time.

the rhythmic clacking of the train dashing along the tracks fills the quiet carriage, though the two of you are oblivious to it, dan heng immersed in the melodies and symphonies of classical music, while you resonate with the silent yearning of indie and alternative lyrics.

you look up when dan heng stands, getting off a stop before you do. it’s amazing how in sync the schedules of strangers are, you muse, watching the departing silhouette disappear among the sea of people.

somehow, he seems familiar, a sense of nostalgia and forgotten memories threatening to surface.

you don’t expect to see the same stranger again, but you do, on another rainy afternoon. he sits in the same seat as last time, his laptop propped up on his knees, while he works, brows furrowed in concentration.

unwilling to disturb his peace, you gently take a seat next to him, this time without tripping.

glancing up from his bright laptop screen, a spark of recognition appears in dan heng’s eyes.

“hello clumsy stranger.” he teases, voice soft and hushed.

you still, heat crawling up your cheeks. how mortifying, that he remembers you like that.

“hello.” you reply meekly, ready to bury yourself in a hole. the conversation lulls, replaced by the warning beeps of the train, once again reminding passengers to hurry up.

as the train begins on its repetitive journey, dan heng’s focus shifts back to his laptop, though he watches from his peripherals as you take out your sketchbook. it’s a new one, he observes, the pages fresh and crisp.

dan heng resigns himself to the gentle notes of his music, the clicking of keys a steady tempo in the background. on the other hand, your finger taps against the paper to the beat of the music, whilst the pencil in your other hand scratches lines and swoops across the page.

once again, dan heng stands, getting off a stop before you do. watching him leave, you wonder if the stars will align once more, just like they did in all the other universes.

slowly, you begin to notice the quiet but dashing stranger has come a routine in your life, his appearance growing more and more frequent. you would be deceiving yourself if you had said that you weren’t disappointed on the days you didn’t see him.

for an unknown reason, dan heng began taking the later train more and more.

one day, dan heng sat in his usual seat on the late train, anticipating your arrival. yet, though the warning beeps of the train that usually herald your arrival have sounded, you did not appear.

that day, the monotonous interior of the carriage seemed darker, more gloomy. the gaping presence of the pretty, familiar stranger beside him spoke volumes, a rare sense of disappointment flooding through dan heng.

your quiet, comforting routine has become a constant. the lucky stroke of serendipity intertwined your fates once again.

for others, love is loud. it’s bold confessions in public, dates to amusement parks or the booming bass of concerts. between the two familiar strangers, love is quiet.

for you, love is when your fingers almost brushed as the both of you reached for your fallen eraser, the gentle smile you greet dan heng with when you arrive on the train. words aren’t exchanged, but the shared glances of amusement, the silent understanding are enough to convey everything.

each moment is small and often wordless, yet they hold so much unspoken weight and are heavy with meaning.

one chilly autumn afternoon, weeks after your first encounter, you try to tell yourself it’s another day, an ordinary train ride.

the moment you enter the train carriage, you search for his familiar silhouette.

bathed in the marigold light of the setting sun, the beautiful stranger sat in his seat, eyes flickering up from his screen to give you a smile of acknowledgement.

the train hums to life, clacking along the rains. the autumn leaves swirl past the window, fluttering towards the ground like how your heart dances when you’re near him. silently, you wonder if he notices the way you tense, a little more on edge, you muse if he too feels the way your focus seems to narrow, the world shrinking to contain only the two of you.

a sharp turn of the train leaves you grasping the closest pole for stability. a fleeting and familiar but electric ghost of a touch sends shockwaves through your skin as your fingers touch.

neither of you dare to breathe, looking away awkwardly and shrinking into yourselves.

the train continues on, the quiet air charged with something fragile, unspoken. hesitation, longing and doubt lingers in your mind, a phantom that haunts your thoughts as you once again watch dan heng exit the train, wrapping his scarf securely against the biting wind.

pausing at the door, dan heng turns around, stealing a glance over his shoulder. a silent question hangs in the air between you, dangling on a fragile string.

you part your lips, throat suddenly dry—maybe, just maybe—just this time, you might have courage to say what lingers on your mind.

but the doors shut, words dying on your tongue.

dan heng becomes a blur of motion as he fades into the ocean of faces.

perhaps fate would be kind enough to entangle your paths once more, some day in the future.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2025 / づ ♡

#honkai star rail #hsr #star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai starrail x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #star rail x you #hsr fanfic #hsr imagines #hsr scenarios #hsr headcanons #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr x y/n

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cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

Text

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

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yunholuvrr · 2 years ago

Text

muse

summary: Your friend Hongjoong just held a show for his new fashion line and invited you to photograph the event, but one model catches your eye more than any of the clothes on the runway.

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, model!yunho, fashion designer!hongjoong, photographer!reader

warnings: explicit smut minors dni, petnames (baby, love, princess), big dick yunho, semi-public sex???? pretty tame i think, lmk if i should add anything

note: taking a break from we all need love to indulge in my feelings for cosmopolitan yunho oh my GAWD he's so fine.... & i did not proofread sorry for any typos

You've worn many hats since you graduated. Interning at various clothing companies, freelance photography picking up gigs from friends and classmates, and a brief stunt as a journalist. It only makes sense that all your jobs have led to you standing in front of a glowing runway, camera propped and ready for the first model to walk out, people rushing by as they settle into their front row seats.

Not every classmate of yours was doing well in the fashion industry, but one in particular was making waves, if this event was anything to go by. Kim Hongjoong, the designer that came out of nowhere.

You chuckle at the marketing of your old friend. Anyone who knew him would know he was born to design clothes, hell, if you didn't know him you'd only have to take one look at his closet. But in the grand scheme of things, a man's gender inclusive line going viral after only 2 years in the industry is pretty unheard of.

The lights dim and you focus on your camera's digital screen, quadruple checking all your settings. Hongjoong was your biggest client during your freelancing days, and your gig tonight was to capture his show for press. Usually you'd just be doing personal events like weddings or birthdays, but these would be seen be anyone and everyone in the industry. To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

One model after another appears on stage, making their rounds in all types of bold, complex outfits. His work wasn't really your style, you preferred to keep it simple and comfortable, but it's hard to deny its appeal. The models he invited showed the pieces off amazingly, too. They worked on all body types and proportions, which you made sure to capture in every photo.

One man in particular stood out to you as you took every shot you could. He looked more like a traditional model, tall and thin, lean and muscular in all the right places. He could get a job anywhere he tried. The charisma oozing from his face was infectious. A few dark strands of hair fell in front of his rhinestone speckled eyes, which seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the room. His cupid's bow was sharp, and the smirk he sent to your lens in particular had you nearly forgetting to press the shutter release.

"That's a wrap!" A man calls from behind you. The stage lights finally fade and the crowd dissipates, leaving you and a handful of other staff to pack up. You sit on a nearby stool, squinting at the small screen and clicking through your photos. Before you can get very far through your collection, someone taps you on the shoulder.

"After party in an hour babes," Hongjoong chirps next to you, "you're invited. Thanks for the excellent photos tonight."

"You haven't even seen them yet," you chuckle and finish packing up, resolving to get ready for the party despite the exhaustion you feel at the back of your mind.

He smacks your arm playfully before insisting that every photo you've ever taken has been perfect. "By the way, did any of the models catch your eye?"

"Is there a correct answer or do you want my honest thoughts?" You pierce right through your friend's shenanigans. Hongjoong has always been quite the matchmaker among your friends, although you wouldn't call it his most successful hobby. It's almost like he just picks two names out of a hat and decides they would look good together.

He only shakes his head, "I really wanna know! They're all really nice."

You only squint before responding, "Tall guy, dark hair. He was towards the end but he really walked his ass off."

His face lights up immediately and you know you chose the right answer, "Yunho!"

"Yunho," you repeat, "yeah he's nice to look at. I suppose that's his job."

"He's the newest model I've worked with," Hongjoong looks at the runway fondly, "I didn't know if he'd bring anything special to the table at first, but he's truly irresistible."

"And you invited him to the after party and you want us to meet because we'd be such a perfect couple," you stand up, eye to eye with him now, and giggle at the little game he's playing.

"Maybe so... but listen!" You both start walking towards the exit, "I don't want you to fuck him on the first night or anything. Just get to know him, at the very least you'll get a new client. His portfolio is bare bones."

You don't even have time to process what he said before he's slipping away backstage with a quick goodbye. If you were being honest, this Yunho guy probably wouldn't be a bad hookup. You weren't really looking for anything, but he's pretty. And you can't deny good work connections.

You arrive 20 minutes after Hongjoong told you to, fashionably late. You planned to have a drink or two and stick close to him since the small buds of exhaustion have already bloomed into a fullblown headache. No one should have any questions for a random photographer anyway.

"Speak of the devil, there's my right hand woman now!" Your thoughts were immediately proven wrong when you walk in and a small group of models you recognize from the runway stare fondly in your direction. Yunho is one of them, of course, but you try not to think about the words spoken about him just an hour earlier.

"Hi! I'm y/n, we went to school together," you manage a convincing smile as Hongjoong passes you a drink.

"I can't wait to see your photos," one lady gushed, "Hongjoong showed us some of your work and your style is just lovely."

You a manage a small thanks before taking a small sip. The conversation flows into a new topic with ease and you're left in the background to quietly enjoy the party. That is, until you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Excuse me," a shy, deep voice floats above you, "you don't seem like you're in a talkative mood, but I had a question for you?"

You look up and Yunho smiles down at you. He looks nothing like he did on stage before; his piercing eyes have morphed into soft, welcoming ones and his charming smirk is replaced by a nervous grin. You nod and take another sip, letting him continue.

"Hongjoong has just mentioned you so much I thought I'd ask if you could take some headshots for me?" He fiddles with his fingers and when your eyes widen he looks away.

"What has he said about me?" You try not to sound accusatory, but it doesn't come across as nicely as you'd like.

"Oh nothing bad! Nothing bad at all," Yunho chuckles, and it might be the nicest sound you've heard at this party so far, "he just wouldn't stop talking about how great you are. I figured I'd take the hint and ask."

You shift from one foot to the other, considering his request before deciding it wouldn't hurt to get to know him more. "Is this your first modeling gig?"

"Just about," there's that chuckle again, and it's contagious, "I've done a few small things here and there, but this was the biggest scale by far."

"You know I won't lower my rates just because you're new," you tease, "or because Hongjoong wants me to."

He just shakes his head profusely, "oh absolutely not! If anything I was gonna offer you more..." you see Yunho think through his sentence as he says it, trailing off after realizing what exactly he said.

"You flatter me, but I'm not in the mood to talk business right now," you swear a slight pout comes across his face before you even get to finish.

He doesn't skip a beat, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and offering it to you, "then why don't we talk later?"

You can only mutter a "smooth" while tapping your number into his contacts. You hand it back to him and watch him type something before feeling a buzz in your own pocket.

"I'll send you some info when I have a moment this week," you try not to stare at his now mischievous smirk, continuing to sip from your empty cup.

"I'll be waiting," he bends down to your height, and his voice lowers to barely above a whisper, "talk to you soon."

He's gone before you know it, disappearing into the crowd, and the brief proximity makes your insides turn in ways you don't want to admit. You have to find Hongjoong.

His bright blue hair stands out near the food bar and you quickly make your way over. The words fly out of your mouth before you even get to him, "what exactly did you say to Yunho?"

He gives you a small huh, clearly tipsier than you are, before a look of recognition washes over his face. "Oh hi love! I didn't say anything, why?"

"He said you kept mentioning me to him?" You would laugh at the state of your friend if it weren't for the sudden desire to know everything Yunho thinks of you already.

"Hm, I only said you're a great at taking photos!" He clings onto your shoulder and laughs, "and that he stood out to you on the runway tonight! He smiled ear to ear when I said that, isn't he so cute?"

"Hongjoong you did not," you grab both of his shoulders and shake him a bit, "does he think I like him or something?"

"Do you?" When you don't respond he just laughs again, "I guess my job is already done."

"I don't even know him!" You wish you could sincerely be mad at the man in front of you, but he's been correct all night so far.

"Don't you want to though?"

"I hate you, seriously," you glare at him, but he only laughs again before returning to his previous conversation. You don't know what he's gotten you into, but you don't think you mind it.

Your workdays have been packed ever since the night of the show. Being Hongjoong's right hand photographer had its perks, like the dozens of offers you've received since the articles went out, but that doesn't mean it isn't the most stressed you've been in weeks. You all but collapse by the time your lunch break rolls around.

Forget about me already?

The light buzz of your phone disrupts your thoughts about scheduling. No one usually texts you, at least not during the day. No one except Yunho.

Sorry! I've been swamped. Let me send you the form my other clients are using to schedule with me.

Aw, no special treatment for your favorite model?

You make a mental note to beat the shit outta Hongjoong for doing this the next time you see him.

Maybe if you give me a good enough offer I'll put you at the top of my list

Not even 10 minutes later, a scheduling request dings on your phone and you see the payment is three times your normal rate for headshots. You mentally curse Joong for putting you in this situation, but you're willing to play the game if it means good dick and good pay.

Am I at the top of your list now? I can't wait to see you

You can't help the way your thighs squeeze together for a moment, now eager to fit him in your schedule (and elsewhere). You wrap up your short lunch with a newfound motivation to get through your emails, making sure to leave a 2 hour slot open for him. You wonder how long you can hold off on getting back to him before he starts begging you. That would have to be a game you play another time.

The studio is empty when you show up, allowing you to quietly set up just the way you want to. Your movements are quick and practiced, dozens of headshot appointments under your belt at this point. These were supposed to be simple and straightforward, so you didn't have much to prepare besides rolling down the white backdrop and setting up your lights. There were a few other props on the side if he wanted to take more shots. You asked a couple people to help out with equipment during the shoot, but you came in early just to have some peace and quiet. Your coworkers arrive a few minutes after you do, exchanging pleasantries before finishing the job you started.

Then he walks in. You're double checking your camera settings when you hear the front door open and his honey-like voice greeting the other staff. You feel his attention shift to you, and when you turn around a playful smirk is plastered on his face. His makeup isn't as dark as it was on the runway, but he looks clean and undoubtedly handsome. His styled hair falls just past his eyes, moving with his lashes every time he blinks. He's pretty, there's no way around it, a type of face that you can't help but stare at.

"Why don't you take a photo, it lasts longer," he snickers, snapping you out of whatever daze he put you in.

"That's my job after all," you motion to a stool in front of the camera, "do you want any props? We can do more than simple headshots if you'd like."

He nods and sits down, long legs crossing each other at the ankle. "I'd love that, miss photographer."

You narrow your eyes at the comment before signaling to the crew you're ready to go. One lady is on standby near the lights, another guy has a handful of reflectors ready. You try to ignore the tension between your model and focus on your craft.

"Can we try the gold?" You call out to your team, closely monitoring Yunho's face in the warmer light. After a moment of thought, you ask him to tilt his head. He's well behaved in front of the camera, following your every suggestion. You wonder if the crew can feel the heavy energy between you two.

After a half hour of posing, shooting, monitoring, retouching, and shooting again, you call for a break and everyone agrees. The couch in the corner of the studio looks so inviting you nearly run to sit down, oblivious to the way Yunho follows.

"You're really good at this," you jump at his voice next to you.

"I went to school for it so I would hope so," you mumble, getting comfortable. You open your phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll before you all come back, but he just plops down next to you.

"Have you ever gotten your own headshots taken?" You shake your head, trying to ignore the way his leg is pressed against yours. "You're so pretty behind that camera, maybe we can switch one day."

You almost bump into his face from how quickly you look up at him, "I'd never let you touch my equipment."

He hums in disapproval before pulling out his own phone and leaning back into the cushions. "Fine, maybe not me. But I don't see why Joong's never put you on the runway. You're stunning."

He expects a reaction from you, but you control yourself, leaning forward to get as much distance as you can. The two of you sit in innocent silence for a while, but the tension only grows thicker. There's five minutes before you shoot for at least another half hour, and when your job is to stare at his face you're not sure you can go much longer.

"What exactly did Hongjoong tell you about me?" You sit up straight, taking a leap of faith.

"About how in love you are with me, why?" You swiftly kick his leg next to you and he chuckles, "he just said I caught your eye. He wasn't lying was he?"

"No, definitely not," you sigh, "but what I don't understand is why you like me?"

"Who said I like you? You just happen to be very pretty and talented and fun to tease."

"So you do like me," you huff in disbelief. Something in you stirs with every word he says and you have to cross your legs for some relief from the building pressure.

"If wanting to take you right now in the middle of your studio means I like you, then sure," his slender fingers trace the back of your shoulders, wrapping a secure arm around you.

"We still have all the props to play with," you scan the studio, but your team is nowhere to be found during the break.

"What if I want to play with you instead?" His breath softly blows across your ear now, voice just barely above a whisper. It takes everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.

"You're the one paying for this timeblock," you pull up your crew group chat on your phone, already making a decision.

"If we could wrap up here that'd be lovely, miss photographer," there goes that stupid nickname again.

"You can't call me anything else?"

"Would you prefer baby? Maybe princess? Or do you like meaner things?" His hand moves again to rest between your shoulder blades as he watches you type out a quick message.

"I would prefer if you shut up honestly," you press send. As far as your team knows, the client is satisfied and wants to end the shoot here for today. No one complains, you're still being paid for two hours thanks to Yunho's generous payment.

"Will you make me?" He traces a small circle with his thumb on your back, and the comment sounds more inviting than teasing. Your body reacts before your mind does, practically throwing yourself onto him out of annoyance and need. His lips are warm and soft and mold perfectly to yours.

He takes a sharp inhale as your tongue swipes past his bottom lip, his hand travelling up to hold the back of your neck. The other abandons his phone to take purchase on your hip, pulling you further on top of him. Yunho groans at the contact, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into you already. His flirting was almost as hard on him as it was on you.

"So needy," you mumble, propping yourself up on his chest to take in the view. His eyes are already blown out from lust, raking your body and letting his hands follow. His long fingers brush over your hardening nipples and you can't help the sigh that escapes.

He chuckles, "you're one to talk." He rolls his hips ever so slightly and you whine, head falling into his shoulder. He feels bigger than average below you and you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. You slowly rock your hips above him with his hands guiding you, whimpering into his skin.

"Can I taste you?" You freeze, head shooting up to stare at him in confusion. He wraps two fingers around your belt loops and tugs you forward again. "Please baby?" You nod and he sighs with relief as if his life depended on eating you out. Maybe it does.

He lays you on your back on a couch far too small for both of you like this, but you don't care. His lips are back on yours, warm and tender, as you feel both your jeans and panties slide down your legs. The cold air makes you flinch.

"Did I make you this wet while I was on the runway, love?" You feel one slender finger slide through your folds, but it's not enough. "Staring at me behind that camera all day must be so hard. I'll make it up to you," is the last thing he says before tucks his head snugly between your thighs.

Whatever snarky reply you came up escapes you with a moan just a bit too loud, his tongue flattening up against your slit. He wastes no time, too desperate to hear you above him. One hand holding you down just below your stomach, another teasing your entrance while his mouth makes quick work of your clit. You hope to the universe none of your crew left anything in the studio because your whines and wetness echoed through the room.

Before you know it he pushes one, then two, fingers into you, filling you up deliciously, and you buck your hips into him. His pace is slow and deep, opening you up to his liking. Some combination of his tongue and fingers nearly makes you scream, hands shooting straight to pull his hair. He groans into your flesh, vibrations sending sparks straight to your core, before looking up at you. His chin is glossy and a line of spit still connects you both and you nearly come at the sight alone.

"You're fucking delicious, darling," he pumps into you one last time before taking them in his mouth, sucking with a pop, "next time you should ride my face for me."

"Next time?" You watch as he unzips his own pants, shoving them down far enough for his dick to escape. It rebounds off his stomach, bigger than anything you've taken before.

"By the way you're staring," he grips himself at the base, "I think you want a next time." The way you lick your lips is involuntary.

He chuckles, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor nearby. You continue to stare shamelessly, boosting his ego as you etch his large, toned body into your mind. "Like what you see?"

"If you don't come here and fuck me right now Yunho I swear to god," and you swear you can see his dick twitch, but he simply tuts a finger at you.

"Ah ah ah, safety first princess," he slides a condom out of his pant pocket, ripping it open and handing it to you. You tilt your head and take it reluctantly, but he only smirks, "I know you want to touch me."

"Fuck you," you roll your eyes, sitting up and coming face to face (face to tip?) with his member. You never thought you'd see a dick that you'd describe as pretty, but his is long and thick and flushed a pretty shade of pink. You wrap your free hand around the base and pump a few times to tease him.

"Not now, love," you hear a shaky breath above you and you smirk. He pulls your other hand up and you comply, unravelling the condom smoothly down him. As soon as you're done he pushes you back down, not risking the chance of you testing him again.

"Let me know if it's too much for you baby," he whispers before finally pushing in. The stretch only stings for a second before turning into delight as he fills you up completely.

You sigh out in relief, mumbling a soft "keep going" and wrapping your hands around his neck. He listens immediately, pulling back almost all the way before thrusting back in. He keeps his slow pace until he's completely sure you're comfortable.

He looks down at where you connect before finally losing his composure. "You take me so fucking well," he moans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses all over you. His pace quickens relentlessly, the sound of skin on skin filling the studio.

You scream at one particularly rough snap of his hips, but he only barely slows down. "You okay, princess?"

"So fucking good," you pant above him, his mouth still ravishing your neck. He groans at your response, fucking you harder than before. You didn't even know it was possible. You snake a hand down to your throbbing clit, so close to coming undone.

"Please come on my dick baby," he all but growls, and the way his hips falter tells you he's close too. His words, on top of everything else, are enough to finally unravel you. You shutter and jerk up into him, moaning some string of fuck's and Yunho's until your mind goes completely blank. He comes shortly after, pumping into you sporadically until he finally flops down on top of you.

You both take a few moments to come back to your senses, nothing but a mess of sweaty limbs on this cramped couch. "Next time I'll take you home so I'll have room to cuddle you after," he chuckles, picking himself up.

"I would like that," you smile softly, legs aching too much to even attempt sitting up. He cleans you both up quietly before plopping back down, letting you stretch your legs across his lap.

"So," his hand traces up your frame to cup your cheek, "can I take you out to dinner sometime, miss photographer?"

#yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #yunho oneshot #ateez oneshot #yunho scenarios #i need him carnally

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22ayla21 · 1 month ago

Note

the recent hsr trailblazer quest is so peak i actually cried, especially for anaxa my baby. Can i request anaxa with a sister who's also a chrysos heir albeit shyer than him

From the Shadow of the Current

Having lost everything to the Dark Current, Anaxa found what he had long ceased to believe in — a kindred spirit returned from the darkness.

Years later, the Grove of Muses still hummed with life: the voices of students, the rustling of ancient pages, the unseen pulse of magic and knowledge. Anaxa remained the same — detached, as if polished by time and the pain he had endured. He stood out among his generation, yet kept to himself, immersed in his own thoughts.

He did not believe in the Titans. The death of his parents was the first unhealed wound of young Anaxa. The loss of his sister had burned him out from the inside.

He remembered her warmth. How she, smelling of fresh bread and lavender, carefully wrapped his drawings in soft cloth and placed them in his bag. How she stubbornly bargained with merchants, saving every coin for his reagents. How she would gather her hair in a simple knot at the back of her head and purse her lips, counting the money to ensure it was enough for his passage by caravan to the Grove.

He had vowed to return. And then… the Dark Current. A black vortex that swallowed their village. He fought his way through the chaos, only to see smoking ruins. His older sister lay in the very center, a fragment of his letter clutched in her hand.

He buried her himself. Without tears, without a single word. Then he swore to himself never to turn to the Titans again.

Years passed.

He became a Chrysos Heir. A master of his craft, whose research and knowledge inspired both admiration and awe. The wise whispered: "Talent. Abyss. Blasphemer. Sorcerer." But behind all these words, there was a void, like an empty chair in his life. No one suspected that he had lost not only his family. He had lost his faith, his childhood, his ability to feel warmth.

And then one day…

The day was no different from any other. Anaxa walked through the gallery, heading to a lecture. Suddenly… he felt something strange. A slight tremor in the air. An inner premonition. Like a faint scent, subtly reminiscent of home.

He turned around.

A girl. Short, fragile, with eyes the color of a scarlet rose. Her hair, like his, was braided in an unusual style. He would have passed her by if not for her gaze. She looked directly at him, and in that gaze, there was too much.

"Anaxagoras?" a quiet, trembling voice sounded, as if on the verge of sleep and reality.

He froze.

No. This couldn't be.

"Anaxagoras… is it really you?"

He slowly approached, not believing his eyes. He dared not believe. But her eyes… he had only seen that look in the mirror.

"Sister…?"

And then she wept.

He was lost. Emotions were alien to him. He could not have imagined that he was capable of feeling so intensely again. He cautiously embraced her, as if afraid she was just a ghost.

"You…" he breathed. "You were dead."

"I should have been," she replied softly. "But they found me. A kind man led me out of the swamps. I was sick for a long time… then I studied. I wanted to find you. But… I was afraid. What if you wouldn't forgive me?"

"Forgive?" Anaxa recoiled as if struck. "You… you're alive. That's all I've ever wanted."

She smiled through her tears. Her face, though older, retained its former softness. There was none of the darkness in her that had accumulated in him over the years.

"I am a Chrysos Heir, Anaxagoras. Just like you. I have read your works. I… I am proud of you."

He turned away. His chest felt so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

"Do I deserve such honor? A blasphemer, a sorcerer, who does not revere the Titans and questions the Prophecy…?"

"You deserve it," she said gently. "It is people like you who achieve true success. And I know you will achieve much."

She was different. Bright. Kind. Intelligent, but without a hint of arrogance. The person he might have become… if not for the losses.

And now they were together again.

He introduced her to the professors and watched as she surprised even those who were accustomed to genius. He heard her quiet voice captivate the audience. He began leaving books and manuscripts on her desk in the library again. And she — bringing him tea, which he constantly forgot.

They needed no explanations. They sought no forgiveness. They simply began to live anew — as brother and sister. Not broken, not lost, but survivors. Two Chrysos Heir. So different, yet complete in their own way.

For the first time in many years, Anaxa allowed himself to wonder:

Perhaps the Titans were not so silent after all. Perhaps he had been wrong.

But he still did not pray.

He simply sat beside his sister in the shade of the Grove of Muses, listening as she read an ancient text aloud.

And for the first time in a long time… he felt peace.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #anaxa

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spurbleu · 11 months ago

Text

few lucky men ✤︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. he convinces you, in the exchange of a drink, to be his luck charm, a rabbit's foot sewed in saccharine smiles.

warnings: mdi, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, hookup

word count: 3.2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

Drenched in ecstasy.

Partygoers moved in short bursts- their silhouettes collapsing and repairing in a drunken frenzy. Sudoric air settled in the pockets of in-between (gaps among a kissing couple, an open mouth smile, the space separating fingers), stealing the hot breath from the masses.

Did it make you better- to be an observer rather than a player? To watch from the ‘dimly lit bar’ (everyone writes about it one day- you’ve seemed to find it in penthouse of stranger), neck wet from your intervals on the dance floor.

You tried finding the answer at the bottom of a shot glass- so many times you’d forgotten if you had. The bartender seemed to have a taste for your saccharine smiles, charmed as he handedken you yet another drink.

Martini glass- even in the low light you could see the blushing pink of the liquor, an orange film resting on the surface. On a stick, a raspberry, which you popped in your mouth with relish.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, saying something you couldn’t hear as he corralled a drunken man off the bar table. You take an eager sip.

You could hear the liquor burning your throat, the acid settling in your stomach with a content thrum. The aftertaste came with a buzz- subtle tinge of berry and orange- sweeter than the liquor. You let yourself giggle over the drink- perhaps childish, but all the more honest.

“Oh my god…that’s so good.” It had been a long time since you actually liked the process of getting drunk over the feeling.

“Glad you like it.”

You turn slowly, partly because you needed to, partly because it felt sexy in the moment. The curve of your lips gave away your tipsy- an askew smile creasing the plush of your cheeks. It complimented the soft flush under your eyes- make up flaking. You were hopeful, positive, that it didn’t dissuade him.

Dark hair fell lopsidedly on his face, the roots flat with sweat. The curve of his cheekbones was sharp, but promising. They creased over his smile, sideways and charming. It looked familiar- then again liquor can do that- handsome faces always looked the same under dim lighting and vodka.

“Hey.” You said casually.

He chuckled, shaking his head. There was an air about him- definitely drunk- but not enough to make you nervous. “Hello.”

“I assume you bought this drink for me?”

“I did,” He leaned on the bar, and you caught the way his eyes ran up your figure (it felt like he was already undressing you- not that you minded), as he held out a hand, “Ken. Ken Sato.”

There was an attitude in the lilt of his voice. Confidence- borderline arrogance. He was definitely famous- judging by the way he carried his broad shoulders and low tone. He wanted you to know who he was.

You ran the cap of your tongue over the roof of your mouth before introducing yourself and shaking his hand. “Charmed.”

You took another sip of your drink, not loosing his eyes, “How did you know I liked fruity drinks?”

He laughed- a pretty sound. It swelled into the lighter timbres of his voice, harsh around the edges like the salt on a cocktail glass. You sucked in your bottom lip- you wanted to hear it again.

“Lucky guess.”

You took another sip, humming in reply. “You a lucky guy, Ken?”

There was a glint in his eyes then. The grey was sharpened (knife against a whetstone) into something more. It wasn’t more of anything- just more. Like when you breathe and you feel your chest expanding, or you look at the view from your window from a different angle, and it swells.

More.

“Depends…” A long finger came to trace the rim of your glass. The groove of his knuckles had you mused- observing the vein that crept from his wrist. You tilted your head, leaning further into the bar as you crossed your legs.

“On…?”

He gave you a wry smile- and for a foolish moment you thought it looked unpracticed. Genuine- a contentment pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“…if I get to take you home tonight.”

You blinked. It was rare for you to be caught off guard- and your laugh might’ve given it away, if you hadn’t turned towards the bar, your hair covered the deepening tint on your cheeks.

“So bold.”

“Is that wrong?” he asked, a subtle anxiety obvious in the falter of his shoulders and the shake in his voice. You gave him a smile, taking a final sip of your drink before placing it back on the bar.

“No, no I never said that. Just an observation,” you hummed, “in fact, I’m flattered that your luck relies on me.”

You could tell by the shift in his shoulders that he had regained his confidence, eyes meeting yours again. “Well,” his hand came up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. The moment felt strangely domestic for a bar in the middle of a party, the music in the background sounding much sweeter than you remembered it last, “want to make me a lucky man tonight?”

His hands rested by your ear, waiting for you to answer or for you to swipe it away. You did neither, and instead leaned in, nose to nose with a complete stranger. You saw the way his hand twitched (nervous- cute), and how his eyes remained unmoving but hopeful.

“Alright.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

“Fucking finally.”

He lifted you, holding your thighs and resting them on his hips as he pulled your face up to his and kissed you.

There was a frustration on his lips- undoubtedly caused by the way you palmed his trousers in the car, watching as he gripped the steering wheel in thin patience. But beneath it was fervor- not in the slightest sloppy.

But it wasn’t practiced, either. The plush of his lips against yours- the way his teeth occasionally nipped at your bottom lip or grazed your top one. It lacked a coordination that would have felt unnatural. He kissed you like he was sober- like even if liquor hadn’t been in your guts- he’d still want you.

The thought made you pant into his mouth, kissing him with a new ferocity as he carried you through the hall.

He laid you down on something soft. You watched him as he stripped, ignoring the urge to call out something filthy.

Wide shoulders capitalized his broad chest, held up by a collection of muscles- breathing in a hungry rhythm that made you clench your thighs. He looked taller than he did at the bar, pronounced by the reel of his shoulders and the way it rippled down his spine.

He must be some kind of athlete, based on his build. God, he looked near indestructible- even the small of his waist promising a reckoning. You bit your lip- mind wondering if the other parts of him held a similar weight.

He turned towards you, bare to his boxers, stepping over the bunches of clothing that rested on his feet.

There it was again- that lopsided smile. It was harsher now, the ends of it pulled tight into his cheeks, plump in red desire. The base of it wet and swollen- your doing. A surge of pride fuzzed at the base of your hips.

He crawled towards you, arms coming to rest by your shoulders, eyes curiously roaming you figure- still dressed. You swallowed.

You were no virgin- but men always moved fast. Hands shoving up your dress, clothes still on as you fucked half-minded and antsy. Their breath always reeked of alcohol or something stronger- forcing you from the sheets in the early morning before the light found your face.

You weren’t used to leisure- it felt near painful. Watching him see you- lacking a hostility and haste found in most sex. It was graceful without calculation- living in the way he kissed you (evidence enough in your bloated lips) and in the aphrodisia that fanned from the base of his nose.

It was all sobering- and you were still trying to figure out if you liked it.

“Do you like this dress?”

His question grounded you, and you glanced down before nodding slowly. “It’s my favorite.”

He grinned, pulling you forward by the small of your back as his hand found the zipper, eyes still searching yours. “I’ll be gentle with it, then.”

He slipped the zipper down and you shivered- unsure if it was the surge of cool air that assaulted the dip in your spine, or the way his fingers traced the curve of it.

He had that effect on you- it was maddening. To be unsure was unfamiliar. Night after club after party, expectations were met. Sloppy intimacy, driven by the liquor, hot on your tongues as you navigate the unlikelihood of orgasm.

It was the way he looked at you. Stealing (almost preserving, a romantic thought), eating precious time, knowing exactly what he was going to do and how aroused you’d be. He had the upper hand, held the cards, whatever analogy made it easier to swallow.

Your dress was off now, and he sat back on his heels, hands coming to hold the dip in your waist. His thumbs pressing into the supple of your skin, the pad of his print searing into the tender parts of you. Again, domesticity, falling somewhere between appreciated and perturbed.

“You’re beautiful.”

You laughed weakly, unwilling to admit his words tied knots in your stomach, “Then why aren’t you kissing me?”

He laughed (Martini- salt rim. Softer now, warm rum, firewood), coming off his heels before hovering inches above the plunge of your abdomen, leaning on his right forearm as he came face to face with you. “Impatient?”

“No,” you corrected, voice hoarse, “I’m just not used to men being this slow…”

His eyebrows rose, arch carving surprise masked by amusement, before his mouth came to kiss the space between your jaw and your ear, sensitive pulse thrumming humiliatingly fast under his palate.

“Slow? What’s wrong with slow, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes, resisting the urge to moan as he made his way down your neck, kisses slowly becoming more intense, leaving bubbles of red and pink in their wake. A hand came to brace the base of your neck, holding you still as you tried to keep a semblance of sanity. “W-Well you…it takes you longer to…get to the point.”

He hummed, lips tugging into a smirk on the slump of your collar bone. His hand slipped down from your neck, palming your back as he unclasped your bra. The motion was done delicately, fingers fluttering over the gap in the center of your posture.

How easy it would be, you thought, for him to pull you from the seams.

Unravel the thick knots of arousal that held you together weakly as he cupped your breast with his free hand, navigating the sensitive flesh with eager teeth and tongue. You let a sigh escape the cavern of your lungs- relief. You felt his chest rumble over your stomach- laughter.

“You seem to be enjoying the slow approach.”

Your jaw clicked, your head lifting up- face chastising. He smiled, sitting between your breasts with a proud smile. You glared at him- secretly amused with his antics, “If I knew you were going to be this slow, I would have-hhhuu…”

You were quickly silenced as his tongue padded against your nipple, teeth grazing before moving down your stomach. You let yourself lean back into the pillows, soft fabric cool against your burning muscle. Maybe slow wasn’t…terrible.

His lips drifted until he met the base of your pelvis, a single hand coming to play with the band of your thong, the other sitting teasingly at the small of your back. You grit your teeth, blowing frustrated breath through your nose.

“Ken.” You said, warning.

“Magic word, sweetheart.”

His cadence was conceited- reeling in his own indecency- facing your wet cunt and deciding to wait. It was beyond you- to be patient. Anticipation wasn’t friendly. But the tug in your gut- the beat between your breaths as you watched him smile at you- wanted you to try.

You rolled your head back, avoiding the gaze that brought it out of you. “Please.”

He smiled, satisfied. He pulled the last remaining fabric aside, revealing your sobbing cunt.

You sucked in through your teeth. Cold air, vicious in degree, nestled in the clandestine cavity between your legs. It only amplified the slick, dripping from vulnerable corners in pleas of sticky respite. It leaked, rather unevenly, to the inside of your thighs, covenant to your impatience.

Despite the display, there wasn’t humiliation- only a rapacious desire as you bucked your hips.

Please.

You felt his nose grind into your mound, his tongue finding the fold of your lips. You gasped, rolling your hips forward. Shit.

Weighted lips on the base of your cunt, you scrambled for your dignity. Out of reach, knocked out of your hands- with each new wave of pleasure sent from the base of your spine to the tip of your head. He hummed against you, the vibration against sensitivity pulling your stomach forward in an arch spelling your surrender.

“Oh s-ssshit. Ohsh’it. Ken-fuck,” You were left damseled under his tongue, exploring the early sponge of your walls, “P-please don’t stop…feels…sogood.”

He tilted his chin, tougher bone now grinding against the polish of your lips, his mouth now entirely centered around your defenseless clit.

White knuckles came to grip his hair, a breathless moan rattling behind your teeth, digging into your bottom lip. Patience paid its due, your libido only expanding from your hips to your gut as he continued his slow assault.

Swallowing every ounce of you that slipped through your own breached barricade, staining his mouth with the stench of yielding. He must smell it- your admission of defeat, you confession that God, patience has taught you. Secretly, you hope he’s enjoying it- maybe even addicted.

“Oh fuck- Ken-“

Strangers- saying his name like a chorus. Repeating it until the syllables are sore and it doesn’t taste as sweet. Until it rots your teeth, palpable when your own name starts to sound unfamiliar. Until the underside of your tongue- soaked in drool, has it etched.

Your legs felt your oncoming orgasm first, the familiar shake in your ankle coming up to tense your calves. You pressed them into his cheeks, before he slotted his digits around the pudge of your thigh and pinned them to the bed with a gruff groan.

Don’t do that. It said.

It started to rise to the bed of your spine, and you moaned his name louder with each reckless kiss he laid against your swollen lips. “Ken…I’m close please….close…close...”

The grooves of his tongue worked harsher against the peaking bud, Go on, he wrote, do it.

Blooming in the filthier parts of you. From its spoiled roots, you can feel your orgasm rising and collapsing within the gardens of your stomach. It grows between the liquid bones of your legs, vines beneath coiled veins. In haphazard gasps, you can feel the coolness of petals slip along your tonsils.

Eventually, the garden withers- beautifully. Leaving you, shaking and bare in its wake. You crumple under the lost weight, whimpering when you feel the heat you had wished to memorized separate from the cleft between your legs.

You held a clarity in the moments after- free of allergens and bothersome thoughts- left in a still state of bliss. Where the body numbs, accepting the blunt of orgasm. Or, the state of complete fragility.

In it, you hardly noticed the way Ken stood, wrapping the plush of his palm against your ankle- until he yanked you forward, now flush against his hips.

He leaned over you, the curve of his back now abandoning the lesson he had seemingly been teaching you- patience. Instead, it held the virtue of a man starved- famished. He took a hand to cup your cheek, wiping the sweat that collected under your lashes.

“Sweetheart- you didn’t think we were done, did you?” To accentuate his point, he rutted his hip against you, and you felt the crest of his cock against your puffy lips, and you moaned, feeling the spindles and buds from the garden unearth themselves again.

His had came to grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks as he continues the torturous clothed rhythm against your beaten pussy. It was so vulgar, contrary to the gentleness that had your legs pressed together minutes ago- that, hilariously and pathetically, they began to spread.

(Patience has its limits, even for its preachers).

You bucked your hips, and he shook his head, grip tightening on your sore cheeks. “Use your words, what do you want?”

“M-mmore.”

Unsatisfied. “Of what?”

“Yyou…’ock in m’pussy…pleaseuh…”

There it was again, the sharpening of a knife. The more in his eyes- the lull of normalcy into something larger than words, feral and unkept. You knew he was famous in that moment- no man of the regular vitality would have so much to keep hidden behind the iris of his eyes.

He tore the band of his boxers down to his thighs, his cock flattening on your belly and you hissed, its pulse feverish against you. As he leaned his hips back, he took it in his hand, the other still holding your chin (albeit, tamer), pressing the tip against your weeping lips, still stingy from your orgasm.

You let out a strained gasp. “Fuck, Ken- j-just please fuck me al-“

The sound of him bottoming out was borderline obscene, his length slowly plunging into the stiff dough of your walls, his shuddering breath devolving into a husky moan. Your back arched into him, as if your body was trying to fill you up more than he already did.

Your cunt acted as your hands- feeling around the thick basin of his cock, memorizing the fat vein that slithered up the right side- the shroomed tip hitting your cervix. Just how full you felt then.

As he fell into a slow rhythm, you felt as though he was forcing you to rememorize every patch of flesh and ecstasy in your own cunt. Refamiliarize yourself with your walls as he battered them, the sound of your own body as it’s severed in two- it was all so crude.

His hips rolled into your own, heavy grunts peeling from the roof of his mouth. Empty mumblings and moans thrummed from your lips- nonsensical aloud- but it all felt right with him bruising your insides.

“Hah- this is what you wanted right? To be fucked? You feel good sweetheart?”

His voice was tilted, the grasp of your cunt slurring the modest inflections, defaulting his words to a shameless, pussy drunk husk. He knead the base of his palm against the cushy flesh around your pelvis and you nearly screamed- hand pressing his own cock deeper into you.

“Yes, please please don’t stop- feel so gooodd…so full…”

His pace seemed to push the honesty from your gut to your throat, coming out in spurs of confessionals. Tears pooled at the lining of your eyes, snot dribbling in an immodest drop over the crest of your lips.

Ken took his hand off your chin and swiped a thumb over the veil of sweat and tears from your cheek. “Look at you- such a mess. Such. A. Fucking. Mess.”

He punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust, and you could barely hear him speak over your own babbling. Your eyes struggled to see anything of detail, mind foggy in its own relish.

“Ken…Cu…cumm..uh..uh..”

He slowed his pace and you whined in protest, before he grabbed your hips, thumbs digging into the bluntness of your bone. “Not yet.”

Your mind was too murky to collect the next several seconds of movement, but suddenly you were on your face, shoulders hunched over your cheeks, your ass arched in a flattering angle. And before you could process any change at all, he pressed his cock deeper than you’ve felt it.

He must have been deaf to your moans at this point, you gripped the sheets in front of you- the white fabric memorizing the timbre and pitch of your voice as you screamed his name and other useless curses.

The sound of his hips connecting with the pudge of your ass was near sickening, and he bent down, holding your hands in one fist to splay in front of you. He leaned by your ear, his free hand digging a plum grip on your hips.

“Come’n, Sweetheart. Cum for me…you can….hah….do it.”

You did.

The garden was gone. Scorched by something so fiery hot you could barely see. It burned the tendons and muscles beneath your pulsing skin, renewing the flowers for stars. Spots in your vision- comets eroded into something rougher (beautiful, still), the constellations spilling from your drool as you muttered something incoherent and unimportant into the mattress.

He rode you out through your high, whispering your name, capitalized by curses and mutters.

“Hah…shit- fuck oh god I'm cu-uhmm..”

He slipped out, an unflattering sputter echoing somewhere behind you as you felt him drip out on the gaps of your back.

Your ass fell limp to the side, legs crumpling under the weight of your own pleasure- searing. It wasn’t a broken feeling however, being split in two. Your cells buzzed with a ferocity you had been unfamiliar with until now, euphoric, frayed ends playing at the fringes of your mussed hair, the corners of your mouth- lifted.

You shuddered. You weren’t sure what to feel- if anything. Exhaustion and arousal leaked from the intimate parts of you- but anywhere else it was a mystery.

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand cradling your face that you registered what it could-should be.

Comfort.

“You alive?”

You snorted, sinking into the grooves of his palm. “It wasn’t good enough to kill me.”

Ken raised a brow, body curled next to yours in a position that felt, yet again, domestic. “Oh yeah? I recall you screaming my name loud enough that the neighbors might think I d-“

You placed a hand over his mouth, gentle enough that he could pull it away if he wanted too. You let out a quiet sigh, snuggling closer and laying your head on his arm.

“Shh. Don’t ruin anything by talking. You’re right- whatever…” you yawned, peaking one eye open, a butter smile creasing the base of your cheeks, “you feel lucky yet?”

His hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear- a movement familiar enough you’re beginning to think he had a habit of it. He smiles at you, drowse pulling at the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah. I do."

#oneshot #ultraman rising #fanfic #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ken sato smut #ken sato x you #x reader #fanfiction #f!reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you

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