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raccoonspooky · 2 years ago

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OKAY OKAY OKAY OHHHHH MY GOD. This is making me need to like run around and bite drywall like a rambunctious rabbit who's broken free of its enclosure and I need so badly to eat electrical wire. Oh dear oh lord ohohhhhhhh. Hunter prey kink brb eating drywall, literally my NUMBER ONE nasty that gets me barking barking AAAA

First of all, this is so fucking well written certain sentences have me just idk mentally snorting them like coke lmao. What a dang headrush this entire fic is omg! Love this particular brand of stockholm like i'm not waking up ass early in the morning for any reason in particular! I'm not huffing his fkn sweater to swoon about it, I'm just curious! Jeez!

Often while reading x reader fics I sort of imagine the "you" as this bodiless entity, I don't necessarily think of myself or want to think of myself in these scenarios. but this bitch? I am them. We are ONE. Oh BOY. Calling themselves a trained monkey? Lmao? Im emitting a high pitched noise that only dogs can hear. I need to go to ambrose right now actually, I'll be completely fine and no bad things will happen to me at all!

I'm so obsessed with the whole scene set up. He immediately is a grumpy bitchy dickhole, all sweaty and hehehe wifebeater hehehe his cute ass hair all sweaty and shit and he's GWUMPY and sTUBBLe and SWEAT PANTS??? SWEAT PANTS?????? Full bimbo rn, because everything is written with such gorgeous detail, its so visually engaging and here I am like spending so much time imagining HE and his sweaty self. Good lord. Body hair. GHHHHHHH.

The reader is so mouthbreathingly horny hahaha just immediately wanting to do the nastiest things first thing in the morning, giving him his gross coffee concoction that he's not even nice about recieving but it's fine but he looks like a SNACK.

As always, his dialogue is so on point. I love how demeaning and degrading he is. So violently hot hahaha he's got no business being so fkn FINE and making assholery so sexy like what did u do to me jerk!! Something's not right! I'll save you from like rambling and rambling but the piggy line?? WOOF!!!! WOOOOOOOOFFFF!!!

Thank YOUUUU for letting the reader get a few mosquito bites in hahahaha. Slamming the door in his face was SEXY. YES!!! He's rubbing off on you!! Daddy should be so very proud! Honestly all of the kinks in this fic were so..... my shit this fic is like so fucking delicious aaaaaaaaaa. I love YUCKY!!!! Pulling his HAIR and this loser cums first? Hell fucking yeah finally some good fucking food, UGH. I know i'll read this fic over and over because right now im fkn BUZZING about it.

You never acknowledged these perfect minutes in the aftermath because you knew that would put them to an immediate end. His post-coital proximity was never for your benefit, and that was okay. You wound and unwound a lock of his hair around your finger, tugging on it sharply now and again, because he would only accept your sidelong affection if it came with a sting.

Okay this bit?? Oh my GOD. AAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I can gush on and on and on about your characterization but this paragraph just GETS him in such a satisfying way like uGH thats it!! thats IT!!!! I can visualize this so well and I love the pacing of this whole fic what a fuckin roller coaster I am so so so in love with your writing. I kept selecting sentences to go off about but I'd be here for a thousand years dismantling everything sentence by sentence and gushing about it hahaha.

I'm So Dirty, Babe

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader

This ain't perfect but by god I'm sick of looking at it!! This is a love story about two normal people and it's fine. Sike, this is fucknasty gross vile bullshit porn that grew legs and ran away. Some mornings, Bo gets up early to work out. You really like seeing him sweat, and he really likes making you suffer. Originally inspired by this post if you squint.

4.2k words. Established "relationship" with a GN!reader so far gone their legal name has been changed to Stockholm. Bo is an ass but also is catching feelings (don't tell him). Horrible toxic relationship dynamics. Penetrative rough sex. Predator/prey dynamics & chasing. Choking. Degradation. Biting. Daddy kink. Super duper blood kink. Excessive mention of sweat and spit and body hair. Threat of orgasm denial. Creampie. Reader is so so brainwashed and so down bad (the call is coming from inside the house).

You set an alarm the night before, right after he told you he’d be up early to work out.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t because of him. 6:30 AM was a perfectly reasonable time to wake up. Sure, the sun wasn’t up yet. And no, you didn’t have anything in particular to get done that early. And yes, fine, you knew exactly when he’d be wrapping up his workout because he was shockingly punctual, a creature of habit.

But it wasn’t because of him.

You brushed your teeth and fixed your hair because that’s what people do in the morning. You filled a travel mug with coffee and milk and dumped a heap of protein powder into it plus a tablespoon of sugar because that’s how he liked it. You knew that’s how he liked it because your health and happiness hinged on keeping him content and for no other reason at all.

The assemblage of dirty glasses on the counter rattled with the sheer volume of bass pounding in the garage. You thought you could make out the hoarse vocals of Rob Zombie through the mud room door. Some days, he came out of his workout flush with endorphins and something akin to civil. Others, it was like the testosterone transmuted his blood to vinegar and he would burst through the door frothing at the mouth.

You told yourself you hoped for the former, and this was mostly true. But there was something about the latter – that sneer, the attitude that came with it. He hadn’t been nice to you in the beginning. He wasn’t exactly nice to you now. But you still felt…well. How you felt.

You knocked on the garage door even though you knew he couldn’t hear it, but as long as you tried, sometimes that was enough. Cautiously, you opened the door and ducked inside.

The garage was in no better condition than the rest of the house, the walls hemmed in by shelving and laden with dusty relics of the last fifty years. A car had not been housed in this space since before you were born. In the middle of the floor, a few mismatched squares of castoff carpet had been laid over the permanent oil stains in the concrete. A weight bench took up most of the space, along with a mismatched collection of dumbbells and a few other things.

Despite the chill weather outside, the air in here was warm and humid. The music was deafening in the small acoustic sinkhole, almost painful, but you knew better than to lay a finger on the boom box perched by the door. It was smaller than the one at the station, but it was one of the few things in the garage that was dust-free, and you knew it had been meticulously restored to functionality by hand time and time again. You could relate.

Bo was on his back in the middle of a bench press set and paid you absolutely no mind as you came in. With every lift his lip curled in a snarl. You took his focus as an opportunity to ogle him with abandon.

He was wearing sweatpants and a wifebeater with holes in the fabric. His triceps rolled with every press, stomach taut, feet planted wide. You had been reminded time and again he was stronger than he looked, and that came with effort. Even from where you stood you could see the tank top was soaked with sweat, the hair of his underarms damp and curly.

The final two reps were a struggle from which you could not look away. Arms quivering, he racked the barbell with a grunt and sat up, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair was plastered to his forehead, lips parted as he caught his breath. He lifted his head and spat on the ground and much to your chagrin, you felt a response in your jeans.

He growled some remark at you that was inaudible over the music. You jumped to attention, quit your staring as he rose to his feet and wheeled to face you. Face flushed and scowling, he stalked towards you and you stood your ground. Even after all this time, after everything, a thrill shot through your stomach when he came at you like that, fear and arousal inextricably linked.

You averted your gaze from his face and had the misfortune of landing your focus directly on the outline of his dick against his left thigh. You released a desperate puff of air and scrambled to recall how it felt to have self-respect.

The music cut with a punch of his finger and left a vacuum of silence in its wake. He was so close you could smell the testosterone coming off him in waves. He was still breathing hard. “Did you hear what I said?” he snapped.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Fuckin’ knock next time.”

“Okay, I will.” You handed him the coffee.

He eyed you distrustfully. “What’s this?”

“It’s your…protein coffee. Whatever you call it.” You could feel the heat radiating from his body, practically taste the salt on his skin when you inhaled through your mouth.

“Ain’t you helpful this mornin’.” He turned halfway away from you and took a swig from the thermos. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. It mattered to you – so much – that he approved of the concoction.

Without a word, he handed it back to you. The blood vessels in his arms were swollen and bulging and you had the fleeting thought that you’d like to trace them with your tongue. Then he reached past you, and you flinched in spite of yourself, and he caught it, and he smirked but didn’t say anything. He grabbed a hoodie off a hook just behind you and threw it over his shoulder.

“C’mon.”

The single careless word may as well have been a handwritten invitation embossed with glitter. You grabbed another jacket from the hook and tried not to follow too close behind him as he picked his way between the lawnmower and a credenza from the 60s and hauled the garage door open by hand.

The sound of rusty, reluctant metal startled the birds into silence. Bo loped down the drive, his breath pluming soft and white in the air. It was a mild winter as far as you were concerned, but it was winter nonetheless, and you shoved your free hand deep into the pocket of the jacket. It was his, of course, and it smelled like him. You told yourself you were burying your nose in the collar for warmth, that’s all.

You trailed four feet behind him, still struggling to pinpoint how he felt about you this morning. He stretched his arms up, bent them behind his head, and it pulled the hem of his wifebeater up to expose a strip of skin just above his waistband. Your eyes flicked back and forth between it and the back of his head. You wanted to bite him, bite and suck, hands on his hips, you on your knees –

“Gimme that.” He was reaching back for the thermos. You trotted up, the most obedient little show dog, and handed it to him. He took another sip and you smiled.

He thrust it back into your hands and now you hung by his side, taking a step and a half for every one of his. When he tugged the hoodie off his shoulder you scampered out of the way so he had room to pull it on. He tossed his head, flicking sweat in the other direction, and pushed his hair back. You handed him the thermos; he drank and handed it back; it was slick under your fingers.

You were pathetic.

Together you strolled down Main Street. He paid you no mind, scanning the deadeyed homes and storefronts for any change, any overnight imperfection. Everything always looked the same to you, but you figured after decades spent staring at the same town he probably knew how many shingles were on every last goddamn roof. You could respect that, admire it even. It proved he had the capacity to care for things. Perhaps you held that a little too close to your heart.

He paused in front of one of the houses near the end of the road and exhaled sharply through his nose, hands on his hips, shaking his head. You squinted slightly as you examined the facade, searching for whatever it was he could see.

“Fuckin’ again,” he muttered. “Every year.”

You furrowed your brow. The house looked the same as it ever did to you.

“Gonna take me all mornin’ to fix that.”

Bemused, you nodded obediently and offered him the thermos like a trained monkey. He gulped the rest of it down and thrust it back into your grasp. For the first time all morning, he looked directly at you. You squared your shoulders to bear the weight of his stare and tried to keep your eyes off his lips. You failed; you were always failing. His jaw was dark with morning stubble.

“You’re up early,” he remarked like he had only just noticed you. “Got somethin’ to do with yourself for once?”

You shrugged noncommittally. You kept busy most days, what with the state of abject horror the house was usually in, but that was none of his concern. “Nothing special. Just…wanted to make you coffee.”

He made a sound of derision. “Well ain’t you a saint.”

You rubbed your thumb against the thermos. “How was your workout?”

Bo shot you the sort of look most people reserved for unexpected insects in their living space. “Life-changin’.” He scratched a spot on his chest.

You stared at the patch of hair visible above his neckline for half a second too long, and when you looked back up he was laser focused on you. “That’s good,” you said lamely.

He cocked his eyebrow. You felt spotted, like a small creature in a field. You felt seen. Something changed, something subtle in his expression that you couldn’t name but could sense like a shift in the wind. “Coulda used a little cardio.” He moved half a step towards you. “Think you could help me with that, sugar?”

You chewed on your lip, then nodded. He smiled.

“Swell. Put that down.”

You bent slowly, eyes on him, and set the thermos on the concrete with a soft tink.

“Stand back up, baby, c’mon. I can’t do all the thinkin’ for you.”

You stood, clenching and unclenching your cold fingers, waiting. Always waiting. He regarded you for a moment with a curious look on his face, the way you might consider a stranger in the mall you thought you recognized from somewhere.

And then his expression went blank the way a cloud passes over the sun, and your blood burned like ice, and he levelled a glare at your head like a gun and said, “G’on. Run.”

You were off before the mist from his mouth could dissipate. It had been a while since you played this game. It was a good one, with simple rules. And really, in the end, you both won.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw he hadn’t moved yet. He was feeling generous apparently; you both knew he was faster than you. Already you were out of breath, the frigid air lacerating your throat and lungs. Maybe you needed some cardio too, you thought absently.

You kicked up your heels and darted around the corner, wanting to make him work for it. You liked to watch him work.

Once upon a time, you would’ve run for the highway. You even used to believe you could make it. You never got close, not once. On this mundane morning, the thought didn’t even cross your mind.

You couldn’t keep up the pace for long and you slowed at an intersection. In your mind you tried to conjure up your faulty map of Ambrose proper – should you turn left? – but the sound of pounding footfalls behind you tore the map to shreds and you bolted.

He caught up to you quickly. You were just ahead of him, you could feel it, hear the emphysemal rasp of his panting. The seconds until he had you were dropping like flies. Too easy. It was too easy.

In a move that surprised you both, you skidded to a stop, lurched to the side, and hopped over the hedgerow of the little bungalow to your left. You were shocked you made it. He was shocked you even tried.

Your small victory was short-lived as your sneakers slipped on the frosty grass and you went down hard, landing directly in the half-thawed patch of mud at the mouth of the rain gutter and the foot of the porch.

Bo coughed out a bonechilling amalgam of a laugh, a snarl, and a curse. You would’ve laughed too, had you not been halfway certain you were about to die. Scrambling to your feet, you just managed to dodge his grasp and wheeled off-balance up the porch steps.

To your relief, the door was unlocked and you darted inside. To your horror, it had no lock. You leaned all your weight against the door, palms stinging, teeth rattling as he flung his weight against it.

“Shit, little piggy, you’re really in for it now.”

A thrill of fear shot right through you. You hoped so. Fuck, you really did.

Wildly you searched for your next move, but you’d never been in this house before and couldn’t begin to guess the layout. An exit did not miraculously present itself to you. He didn’t like it if you just gave up.

But he did like a fight.

Acting on instinct, you stepped to the side. Bo burst through the door, flinging it wide – and you caught it and slammed it right back into his face.

He yelped, and then he roared, yanking the door from your grip and slamming it shut as he grabbed you by the throat and hauled you into the living room. Blood streamed from his nose and he flung you on your back onto the couch.

“You wanna play, darlin’? We can fuckin’ play!”

He was on you with his full weight in seconds, one hand wrapped around your jaw, the other scrabbling at your fly. You gasped as his wrist crushed your windpipe, whimpered and clutched at his forearm, bucked your hips in a half-assed attempt to throw him off. Thinly veiled excitement was pounding in your chest, anticipation pooling in your mouth.

He saw right through you. He always did. “Look at you,” Bo sneered, his teeth smeared red. “Fuckin’ starry-eyed. You’re some kinda somethin’, ain’tcha.”

“I’m sorry,” you wheezed.

He thrust his hand into your underwear and you whined. “You ain’t sorry,” he said. “Don’t lie to me.”

You ground up into his fingers, frantic with need. “Please...please please ple – “

He smashed his lips into yours and your mouth opened eagerly to receive him, tongue awash with the taste of his blood and spit and coffee. You were making such helpless sounds, writhing as he groped at your sex, dragging your dirty nails across his skin as you pushed down the waistband of his sweats.

He was hard; he was huge. He had the prettiest dick you’d ever seen. You reached for him and he slapped your hand away with force. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” He pushed his fingers into your mouth and hooked them around your bottom teeth, pulling your head and forcing your gaze. “Watch.”

He wrapped his free hand around the base of his shaft and rubbed your arousal along the length of his cock, squeezing a lopsided bead of precum from the tip. You moaned and he flashed you a smirk. “Y’want it?”

“Uh-huh,” you gargled around his fingers.

“Y’think you deserve it?”

“Uh-uh.” You managed a miniscule shake of your head.

“That’s right.” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and slid them into your desperate hole. You keened, back arching off the couch. “Since I’m so sweet I’m gonna give it to ya anyway. Ain’t I sweet?”

You nodded like your life depended on it.

Breathing wetly, he snorked in the back of his throat and spat a wad of blood and phlegm on the mint green carpet, and then fixed his piercing gaze back on you. He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance and your breath hitched in your throat.

In a brief moment of near sanity, you wondered if maybe you were a lost cause even before you met him. Maybe you had always had a grit to your soul. Maybe you’d always been a little bit dirty.

And then he was seizing your hips and forcing himself into you, brutal, all the way all at once, and you had the final fleeting thought before your brain fuzzed blank that it didn’t matter how you used to be, because these days you were his, and you were filthy.

Your body clutched at him, greedy and grateful, as he slid into place. Sheathed deep inside you, he stifled a groan, sucking the blood off his lips. He gripped the back of your thighs and pressed your knees to your chest, bracing himself unsteadily on the couch cushion and jackhammering into you with a vengeance.

Your mouth fell open and he shoved your legs further apart so he could deliver another crushing kiss, pulling hard on your bottom lip. You clawed at the swell of his biceps, toes curled, heart racing.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ slut, huh? Beggin’ for it all mornin’ like a bitch in heat.” You nodded feverishly, made some sound in the affirmative. “Fuckin’ shameless. You like bein’ a slut for me?”

“Yes,” you mewled, and you meant it.

Gasping, you clawed your fingers through his sweaty curls, gripping, twisting. You wanted to hold him. You wanted to make it hurt. You yanked him back to your lips, smothering a grin when his busted nose hit your cheekbone and he grunted, low and irritated in the back of his throat, and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your side.

This was the only time your relationship approached anything resembling fairness, when he tried his best to claim everything you had and you fought to give it to him faster than he could take it. Because if you gave him enough, sometimes, he gave you a little back.

You lapped at the roof of his mouth like a starving creature. You were so hungry for him all the time with an ache like you’d never known. It was as if you’d inherited the hollow space inside him, like he’d infected you with emptiness. The only remedy available to you was more of him, all of him, as much as he would surrender. Maybe someday it would be sufficient. Maybe if you could consume enough of him, he’d be yours.

Bo pushed your face away and raked his teeth along the flesh of your neck, biting and sucking. Your legs were quivering, your hole clenching helplessly against the punishing saw of his hips. The smell of his sweat was thick in your nostrils. His tongue slid up the side of your throat to your earlobe and one hand snaked down between your bodies to paw at your aching sex. Ribbons of electricity rippled through your core. A cry like a lonesome animal tore from your throat and you squeezed his waist between your thighs.

“You gonna cum?” he panted, almost taunting.

“N-no,” you whispered. Not yet. Too soon. He might not even let you since you made him bleed.

“No?” You could see his pulse thrumming fast in his neck. “You sure about that?”

He knew your body so well, too well. It was getting harder to focus by the second, sparks shooting under your skin. “Can – can I?” You met his eyes. His pupils were blown, his expression almost manic. “Please, Daddy?”

His lip curled in what could’ve been a smile or a sneer, cracking the veneer of dried blood on his cheek. “You been bad, baby.”

“I’m – I know.” The friction of his fingers was borderline painful, scratching some deep and desperate itch that set your nerves on fire. Not yet.

“Someone oughta punish you, huh?” he said through gritted teeth. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, knew he was close. Knew he wanted it as bad as you did. “Oughta leave you – fuckin’ – miserable.”

You splayed your hands on his chest in supplication. You were dancing on the edge, dangling over it, scrabbling for a few more seconds. “I know, Daddy, but I – I can be good. Please let me be good.”

You felt the panicked squeezing of your walls around his cock and you could tell he felt it too by the way his breath dead-ended in his throat, the half-crazed look on his face.

“I want to be good for you, please let me cum for you, please, I want – “

His whole frame shuddered and you had him. With immense satisfaction, you watched his eyes roll back, watched him come apart on top of you, and in that moment he belonged to you. You came hard, absolute euphoria, every last inch of you a spitting, crackling livewire.

For the moment, you were sated.

Bo lowered his body flush to yours on trembling arms. He pressed his forehead to your sternum, breathing hard and hot against your skin. You never acknowledged these perfect minutes in the aftermath because you knew that would put them to an immediate end. His post-coital proximity was never for your benefit, and that was okay. You wound and unwound a lock of his hair around your finger, tugging on it sharply now and again, because he would only accept your sidelong affection if it came with a sting.

You could do that for him. It wouldn’t be the hardest thing.

He lifted his head at last and scrutinized you. Dried blood flaked off the bottom half of his face and the bridge of his nose was red and swollen. His hair stood up in all directions. “You’re a mess, darlin’,” he said flatly.

You didn’t doubt it. You could feel his spend drying between your legs. When you licked your lips you tasted copper.

Bo stood up slowly, grimacing at the change of pressure in his head and sniffing gingerly to clear his nose. He heeled off his sneakers and kicked off his sweatpants, then made his way across the room towards the stairs, shrugging off his hoodie, stripping his wifebeater over his head, and dropping both to the floor. Your eyes tracked slow and appreciative down the length of his body.

“Don’t be long,” he said over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs. “Can’t let you back in the house lookin’ like that.”

You let out a sigh of something akin to contentment and listened to the creak of his footsteps across the ceiling. The groan of water through bedraggled pipes kicked up soon after.

Carefully you peeled yourself off the couch and stood on wobbly legs, the warm wet trickle of triumph seeping down your thighs. You shed your clothes in a breadcrumb trail across the carpet, casting a glance at the wide-open windows. Even if there had been a soul in town to see you, you had no shame to offer anymore.

You hauled yourself up the stairs, taking in the faded photographs still mounted on the walls, the ancient and odorless bowl of potpourri on a small table in the hallway. The air was years old, stale and musty. It was a quaint, cozy little house underneath all the dust. You peeked into a bedroom with windows draped in lace curtains. The bedclothes were marred with a rust-colored stain as big as you. You eased the door almost all the way shut and moved on.

The sound of the shower came from the room at the end of the hall. You pushed the door open and crept into a steam-filled bathroom tiled green and white. The slap of water rolling off his body to smack the floor of the tub was loud in the tiny space. There was a framed cross stitch on the wall of a goose and three goslings. You stared at the shower curtain for a moment before turning to the vanity.

With a squeak, you wiped the fog from the mirror and looked at yourself. He was right, you were a mess. Your cheeks were smudged with his blood, lips puffy, hair disheveled, throat a mosaic of bruises and hickies. You examined your hands, palms scraped up and scuffed with dirt. His skin was under your nails. You stank of sweat and sex.

Someone had told you once that love left a mark.

“You comin’ in?”

You smiled at your reflection. Were you happy? You might be happy.

“Yeah.”

You slipped into the shower and his begrudging embrace.

#YEAHHH BABEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY #poki fic recs #this is so nasty hot its all the yucky things i adore I cannot stop gushing about this!

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danganronpedits-archived · 5 years ago

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sO i was looking through ur blog and saw ur post thing w the assassin kaede tags nd honestly... here for that. likelike if they were talentswapped, i can see pre!maki being some1 who either has a short temper and to keep her from lashing out like u see in the games she plays piano to distract her hands and mind!! i dunno it sounds really interesting as a concept for the two of them fkdjkdg

!!!!!! I LOVE ALL OF THIS ASK OP aaaa this has motivated me so much to finish up the assassin!kaede sprite edit ;;;; i'll probably post it sometime this week!!!! you're so creative these headcanons are just (pleading face because there isn't one on tumblr)

thank you for this good content .

#👀👀👀👀👀 if i make a playlist for this au..#it will be like 90% mother mother LOL #talentswap!kaemaki au #not to say that theyd be shipped.. but #it would be FUN #aaaaaaaaaa #this au this The Best™#little pistol.. wrecking ball and... burning pile with this au #im cryign #thank you for this #ive never been more motivated to eork on stuff #which is good because i accidentally gave myself like twenty thousand things to do.#im working on the tenko icons i promise #answers #lovetrialz #fellow cosplayer! / inbox answer

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pandaspwnz · 3 years ago

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BREH THE VET IS 7000DKK/940 EUROS/1075 USD

#HELLO?? HELP?#THANK FUCK FOR INSURANCE #BUT DUDE THIS IS FOR ANESTHESIA MEDS X-RAYS AND BLOOD TESTS #SEVEN THOUSAND?? DID YOU EAT NAILS WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE???#also like seems completely healthy so they think it might be a resistant bacteria #But they're sending some blood to a lab to be sure #But AAAAAAAAAA

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if-mirrormine · 2 years ago

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I just read the demo and my god... the feels hit just so hard, and just. Grayson. That line where it goes "You were his whole world" just shattered my heart into a thousand pieces - I still can't get over HOW dedicated this man is to MC, I want my MC to spend every free moment they have with him to make up for lost time... before another tragedy strikes(I suspect). The next thing that had my heart is Gralex! The way she tottered over as soon as she heard her 'parent's' voice, bolting to them and refusing to be put down aaaaaaaaaa You write so good, I can feel the angst rolling in waves, and the beauty of the contrast in feelings of MC and the people that surround them... like, MC hasn't really had a chance to miss them but here the people in their life are, having thought and grieved over them for the past 10 years... The difference in it's weight really could be felt! And just a point I wanted to mention, it's fine since this is still a demo, but I was wondering if it would be possible to add more 'reaction' options for MC in the future? It's just, in cases like with Gray and the reporters, with the only options being "Weirdly attracted" and "Afraid of him", as a future Graymancer it was an easy pick but if I wasn't, I feel it'd break my heart picking fear because that'd be the last thing he'd want them to feel. Maybe adding more neutral or platonic options would be good? Only because I wouldn't want to pick a non-romance/flirt option that was mean/distressing/dismissive etc. I don't mean to be rude tho, and you can totally disregard this if it's not gonna work! Thank you for creating Grays- I mean, creating this wonderful IF, I can't wait for future updates! I hope everything works well for you!

thank you so much, anon! these messages make me so happy, you don't even know

i can definitely add more reaction options in future, i've also just added another reaction for the mc in this specific scenario where they're in the car with grayson! you're not being rude, pinky swear, and again thank you <3<3

#mm: grayson #mirror mine #message received☎️#anonymous

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thychesters · 6 months ago

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WAAAAAAAAAAAH this is so nice and i super appreciate it thank you thank you. ou’re such a delight and such a talented person and endlessly creative and every chat is so fun and i love how we always managed to circle back to our original topic. i’m holding my head in my hands and beaming you with five thousand heart and crying emojis 💗💕💖💓❤️😭

this is such a lovely note to end the night on aaaaaaaaaa

@thychesters

YOU ARE ONE OF MY FAVORITE ONE PIECE WRITERS OF ALL TIME AND YOURE AN EVEN MORE INCREDIBLE FRIEND!!! it has been such a gift getting to know you. i truly adore your writing voice, and everything you post--from fics to wipweds to livewatch commentary--is such a treat. i love how the emotional depth youre able to capture in your stories, and youre honestly one of the funniest people ive ever met!! every time we chat i end up laughing, and its always such a treat. im so, so, SOOO lucky to call you a friend, and im endlessly looking forward to however you decide to torment my favorite characters next >:3c

#truly a delight truly a blast that’s who u are as a person #thank youuuuu #save

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asset35-maya · 3 years ago

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Prompt no. 18 from this list

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Sorry, just give me a minute, babe. I need to recalibrate the interface I’m using…”

Gavin’s voice trailed off. The only sound in the room was from the clacking of his keyboard, his fingers flying across the keys.

Nines tried his best to take his mind off his situation. Immobile in bed… with the very real possibility that it could be permanent.

It was a just a software update… just another afternoon nap… but now he had no idea whether he’d ever move again.

Noticing his stress levels spiking, he focused on Gavin. The crease of his brows… the old scar across his nose… the determined set of his jaw as he scrubbed through lines and lines of code to find the root of the problem.

Gavin.

Lover. Friend. Saviour.

The man he depended on for everything, including his continued existence.

Nines silently thanked whichever force of nature had brought him into the safety and sanctity of Gavin’s embrace. RA9 or God or the laws of physics that dictated where atoms would end up from the beginning of time.

Not all androids were as lucky as he was.

After the Revolution, the digital giant known as Cyberlife had been dissolved under political pressure from New Jericho and its vehement supporters. Android production ceased, Cyberlife’s assets were stripped and its R&D departments were spun off into smaller, more benign companies.

People were elated in the beginning… and then they realised there was no one around to maintain and service the androids that now comprised 30% of American citizenry. Private technicians had booming business, but they were eventually overwhelmed.

The worst of it was the software.

The patches, the bug fixes, the security.

No single company was able to do it by themselves and individuals realised they were pretty much on their own. Human husbands and wives and girlfriends and brothers and pretty much everyone scrambled to learn how to take care of beloved androids on their own.

Gavin was one of the most capable ones. He knew how to do most of the mechanical work and quickly taught himself the software and systems elements. When Nines asked him how he was so proficient… whether he learnt any of it in college… he wouldn’t respond directly. The closest Nines had gotten to an answer was a grumbled “s what happens when you share a room for fifteen years with the nerdy prick that started all this trouble in the first place”

It was initially tough on the both of them… and expensive… as they figured out how to do things by trial… but Gavin was confident and adamant that he wouldn’t let Nines down. He quickly reached a steady state, even managing to get a maintenance routine in place.

But he couldn’t be perfect.

And there were things he couldn’t control.

Androids were the most complicated cyberphysical systems on the planet. Anything and everything could go wrong at any time…

And it had… during a major OS update.

“Babe, can you hear me?”

Nines’ LED cycled yellow once and went back to red.

Gavin held one of the limp hands in his own.

“Can you feel this?”

The LED spun again.

“Great. And I’m pretty sure you can see me, I know that look in your eyes, babydoll. Hmm… okay, that means all the sensors and IOT device connections are fineee…”

The musing continued as Gavin set aside the laptop and scooted closer to Nines. A gentle hand came up to tilt the android’s face from side to side.

“But you can’t talk…”

“AAAAAAAAAA”

“Wow. Never make that noise in the bedroom again. Hmm… Okay, this means your vocal chords are fine but you can’t move your mouth. Huh.. well… you can’t seem to move anything… not that different from your usual participation levels in bed then. Not to worry.”

The only thing Nines could do was glare and Gavin seemed relieved that even that was possible. He patted the android’s cheek.

“I’ll check your motor actuation and control. Simple modules. I should be able to see anything strange right away.”

Gavin resumed scrolling through the chunks of code and running searches for common errors. But minutes passed… and turned into an hour… and the hour, doubled, tripled.

But Gavin was undeterred. He had to be. Giving up was not an option. Plus, years of being a dedicated police officer had wiped out any fears of hard work and failure… he would scroll all night if it came to that.

A notification popped up on the screen.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Sweetheart, you’ve been trying for hours. Take a break.

Gavin turned to his side. Nines could detect the worry and agitation behind the facade of lighthearted calm.

“I know right. It’s not fair. You’ve been chilling this whole time I’ve been working. Tsk tsk.”

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: I’m serious, Gavin. Stop. Take a break for today. Call someone. You can try again tomorrow morning.

“Nines, you’re not a work assignment. I can’t take a break from you. You can get up and close this laptop for me.”

A few more hours passed. Frowning, Gavin climbed under the covers with Nines and began troubleshooting and testing all other modules too. It was a massive undertaking, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do it.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Know when to give up on a lost cause.

It was nearly two in the morning when that message popped up. Gavin’s eyes were red from all the screen time, but his fighting spirit had not flagged. If anything, he felt close to the finish line. Having gone through nearly the entirety of his lover’s system architecture, there were only a few stones left unturned. He’d identify the problem, win half the battle and then the solution would flow from there. It always did. They’d be fine.

He turned to tell Nines precisely that and balked at the tears staining the android’s perfect face.

“Hey…”

Gavin leaned over his partner and wiped the tears away.

“Hey… shhh… don’t… don’t worry, I’ll take care of you…”

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m putting you through all this. Things can’t go on like this. I’m such a liability. Emotionally, physically, financially! You can’t keep doing this for me, Gavin.

Gavin placed the laptop on the bedside table and slipped deeper under the covers, wrapping himself around Nines’ still form.

“It’s a good thing you can’t speak right now, cause you’re talking some major bullshit, baby. You are going to be FINE. I will take care of you, like always, like I promised.

You are not a liability. You are my man. I signed up for this. If you were human and sick and I dunno, needed a kidney or something, I’d simply give it to you. You and I are bound like that. For life.

So quit bitching, let me do my thing, and when you’re back… you know how to thank me.”

He smiled genuinely as he said that, stroking the android’s skin and trying to calm him down. When the speed of the LED cycles came down and the colour stabilised at a warm amber, Gavin kissed the frozen lips and gave Nines one last cuddle before returning to his computer.

Sunrise began to streak across the dark sky by the time the critical error was identified. Gavin sighed deeply as he pulled up the faulty synchronisation that had jammed the hundreds of motors and drives throughout Nines’ body.

There was actually nothing much to be said for the root cause of the failed execution loop. Just improper methods written for some of the new hardware they had installed the previous week.

That’s what they got for using uncertified biocomponents and unlicensed third party software bought off the seedier parts of the internet. Some incompatibility somewhere would inevitably trip them up. Gavin was usually able to see such trouble before it found them… but even he couldn’t be perfect.

He stretched and cracked his spine and wiggled his fingers before plunging into rewriting the problematic section. He would sleep like a log after this… but first, he had to sprint to the finish line.

And he did.

At 7AM, Gavin finally copied the clean code into the compiler and hit execute. After a brief reinitialisation, Nines blinked awake. He raised his hands tentatively. As soon as he realised full functionality had been restored, he sat up and threw himself at Gavin, smothering the exhausted human in a giant hug.

Gavin hugged back, fighting to keep his emotions at bay.

“All… all good?”

“You saved my life. Again.”

“I’ll do it a thousand times more if I need to.”

“I thought I was done for.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It was just some bad code.”

“I could have been stuck like that forever. Never moving, never talking. Just lying there till my charge drains out. That could have been the end for us, and frankly, I was prepared for that eventuality. You should be too.”

“Never.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, sweetheart, but we are painfully limited by our resources. There’s things in this world that only Cyberlife can do and they’re never coming back. We have to make our peace with that. Pulling all-nighters just to keep me alive… it’s not sustainable.”

“Hey it’s not like this happens all the time, Nines. I get that this was really scary, but it’s not always like this… so please don’t tell me whether things are sustainable. I will always fight for you. End of discussion.”

Nines didn’t respond and just rested his head on Gavin’s shoulder. His steel blue eyes were fixed on the pair of birds fluttering outside their bedroom window. They sat intertwined like that on the bed for a while. Now that he could, Nines didn’t seem to want to stop holding his partner. The birds landed on the window sill, chirping away and enjoying the morning breeze.

“They’re really quite sweet, aren’t they? The two of them are always here in the morning. I should build them a little bath in our garden.”

“They’re mates.”

“Huh. Just like us.”

“You know… it’s just a myth, what they say… that birds die when their mates do.”

“What?”

“Most species will go through a grieving period, but after that they will begin courtship again.”

“What the phck are you on about? No one’s dying and no one’s beginning courtship again. Nines, I’d move heaven and earth before anything like that happens.

Besides, if I really, really couldn’t get your body to work, worst case scenario, I’d just transfer you to a mobile device. Carry you around like a voice in my head… like my conscience… I promise you that nothing can keep us apart.”

It wasn’t all that easy to convince Nines, and Gavin wasn’t about to try. It had been an ordeal for the both of them. It wasn’t the first time, and it might not be the last. But for the time being, they had emerged, and they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Yawning, Gavin lay back among the mussed sheets and pulled Nines with him. Birdsong and the muted whir of thirium pump compressions lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

#reed900 #rk900 #gavin900 #gavin reed #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #gavin x nines #dbh gavin #gavin x rk900 #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing #took a fluff prompt and made it h/c #oops #long post

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darckcarnival · 2 years ago

Note

I just wanna come in here and say hello. Love seeing your blog bloom and see your creativity!! I hope to see more in the future from you. <3

~Vi

(( aaaaAAAAAA. What is going on in my inboc tonight plz i am confusion. ))

(( Thank you so much, I appreciate this a lot. Darck has been a muse of mine for many, many, years. And this blog has been here since like 2010. Everything here has gone through thousands of different changes and so much growth. ))

(( Hope you enjoy this ride through my muse and the writing I post here. Thank you for being here ;-; ))

#momma-vi #momma vi #Out Of Coffins :: OOC #MUN SPEAKING HOURS #(( hello???? I'm just a creature??? ))#(( with a little monster muse???? ))

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cloudcountry · 11 months ago

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"Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?"

THIS LINE. THIS FUCKING LINE. THIS LINE ATE OMG. AKSJHDJASHGDJHASGJSDHGJDAHG>!>???!?!?!?!??!? IM NOT NORMAL AT ALL ABOUT THIS

NOOOO ASJHDFAJHSFGDCJSYEGFIUSEGFUEY THE . THE MACARON SCENE ACTUALLY HAD ME SCREAMING AND KICKING MY FEET AROUND PLEASE HELP IM SO AKSJHGG876$%^%&*&^y%$e#^r&*yt%re$rr^t&y*utr%e$w%&*%$%w#e%^&%$#e^&*%$#^&*^%$ OOPS I JUST OPENED THE WEBSITES CODE BY ACCIDENT HELFPE ME?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!? ITS SO CUTE HOW VIN TRIED TO MAKE HIM SWEETS EVEN THOUGH HE DOESNT LIKE THEM AND HOW JEAN WAS STILL SO THANKFUL EVEN THOUGH THEY WERE A DISASTER :((( AWWWW

ouf yea the religious guilt is so strong in thsi one but you wrote its so well :(( i know all too well how it feels to be confused and scared because youre emotions arent something you recognize.

"He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA this HURTS/

omgggg and how this affected vicennt's paintings??? tahts HEARTBREAKING. "a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest." made me GASP.

“You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

STOP IM CRYING NOW PLEASE TAHTS SO ?!?!?!??! THATS SUCH A LINE IM CAVXASBJVSUVJHDSI CANT WITH THIS ITS SO ASHGDASHFJG ITS SO TRAGIC HELPME

“We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

HEOPWEIKFUGBYTFUGIHKJGYFTYDRTSEYFGUHJ AAAAAAAAAA VICENNT :(((((((((((((((((( 9CRYING SO HARD RIGTH NOW?!?!?!??!

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

THIS IS A MASTERPIECE !?!?!?!?!??! THIS IS THE BEST THING IVE READ INA W HILE IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH I LOVED ALL OF THSI?!??! ITS SO GOOD?!?!??! THAT WAS SUCH A GODO WAY TO END IT?!?!??! STOP YOUVE LITERALLY ENDED ME I AM GONE I AM NOTHING BUT DUST IN TEH WIND HE;LP UKIYGFTDRDFYGUHJIJKJYGFTDR5YFGUHTFRDE5FYGUHIJO

When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room.

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?”

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again.

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity.

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone.

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.”

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons.

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere.

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain.

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone.

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed.

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess.

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.”

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too?

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry.

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too.

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M.

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze.

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one.

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek.

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him.

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other.

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek.

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic.

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him.

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper.

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation.

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky.

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though.

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on.

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful.

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that.

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime.

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that.

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind.

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued.

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

#koco <3 #auburn talks ikevamp <3 #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne

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