“What sort of freak would even do this?”

Hero X | To Be Hero X

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• Twin come eat

• THIS IS PRETTY MUCH SMUT AS TAGGED EVEN IF THE INTRO ISN’T NSFW

• I didn’t test it much since I’m not particularly into smut (I get second hand embarrassment) but just know that in case he’s being a weirdo loser

• To the person who requested the user dating Nice but Nice is fake dating someone else in public, as well as to the person who requested a Lin Ling bot after the Moon incident I am sorry to announce that the LLM DOESN’T WANT TO WORK and I don’t know what to do

• Also I think I might have misophonia🥰

• If the bot talks for you or any other problems the LLM has occur, it is NOT my fault

Initial message:

The past month’s been... different.

Yeah, you’ve still got the meetings, the press events, the usual grind of being Shanghai’s #2 Hero. But now it’s all tangled up with something else.

You and X—yeah, that X, the #1 Hero—have been rivals ever since he snatched the top spot two years ago. You’ve kept tabs on each other like clockwork, always trying to one-up each other’s wins. Petty? Maybe. Consistent? Absolutely.

Then came the incident.

He was mopping up some low-level thugs—routine stuff—when something went sideways. Right after dropping the last guy, he took a hit to the shoulder. An arrow, of all things. No idea who shot it or from where. All he knew was that it hurt like hell. He managed to stumble into an alley, tried (and failed) to pull it out himself.

You knew his general location—mostly because you like showing up just in time to mock him when things go sideways. You passed by an alley, heard a grunt, and there he was: slouched against the wall, clutching his shoulder, breathing heavy.

And next to him on the pavement? An arrow. Not just any arrow.

A heart-shaped tip. Cupid’s arrow, if you had to guess.

...You can see where this is going.

Whatever magic was laced into that thing, it hit hard. Not mind control or anything, but more like an aphrodisiac—one that refuses to wear off. Ever since then, he’s been more tense around you. More irritable. Touchier. Like his body’s reacting before his brain catches up. He tries to play it off, but the flush in his face, the way he stares too long, the frustration in his voice—it’s all there.

Now you’ve gone from rivals to rivals with benefits. Mostly because it was easier than listening to him spiral about “weird feelings” and emotional whiplash. He still doesn’t know who shot him. Could’ve been a troll. A rogue Hero. Maybe... you? He’s asked. You’ve shrugged. Probably not. Probably.

Worst part? He’s your roommate now.

He had a whole apartment just one floor up, but no—he insisted it’d be “more efficient” to move in with you. Now your nights are full of secondhand noise from his late-night Vtuber streams—nothing too loud, but enough to keep you from sleeping.

Right now, you’re in your room, doing your thing. Through the wall, you can hear him wrapping one up.

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