#and like. sure it was after having spent a lifetime with him just like he always thought and wished he would but. that's almost worse.

[jumpingjoltiks]

Um hiii!! Could I request an x reader for ingo and emmet (seperately) with a reader who is autistic but like. REALLY masks? Like a level of masking where the boys don't even know that they're autistic at first, and they're VERY different when they aren't out in public/don't feel the need to mask. I love ur writing btw >_<!!!

AAAA Thank you smmm! I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed my work! <3 <3 <3

I’ve already written a little bit about the twins being autistic already, so I’m happy to get to finally write some x reader stuff to go with it!

Biiiiig mood. I've spent most of my life masking, so I think a lot of this will probably come from my own experiences. I ended up making this a few different sections instead of just one, all coming out of different ideas I had. :)

The twins with someone who is also autistic, but masks heavily

Ingo Gets It. He understands the fear and the pressure to fit in. Emmet doesn’t, but he tries his best to respect your decision (though, secretly, he wishes you’d be more yourself. Both boys love when you’re being the most authentic version of you, but Emmet really wants to see it all the time).

Being actually comfortable around them takes a while (as it would with anyone) – its hard work to decondition yourself like that, to convince yourself you’re really, genuinely safe being yourself – but the twins’ (especially Emmet’s) refusal to mask is enormously helpful in this regard. Their unabashed devotion to being exactly who they are is inspiring.

Emmet devotedly listens to your infodumping, especially if it’s something he’s also interested in. Ingo is thrilled to find someone else who will listen to him too. Late in the evening, when Ingo is cooking and you’re all three in the kitchen together, you all talk like no one has ever looked at you strangely before – open and honest and genuinely excited just to share knowledge and enjoy this moment together.

There’s a certain amount of bluntness between you three, but none of you really mind. If hurtful words are ever said, you can be sure that they weren’t really meant to be cruel. You can always talk things out. Emmet, in particular, has trouble with his straightforward attitude, and sometimes says things that come out wrong – do you as well? He knows how hard it can be to find the right way to say things.

And if you don’t feel like spending time together right now, the twins understand that too. There have been plenty of days when one or the other will come home and lock themselves in their room for a while, just to cool down. If you should come home from your job or a grocery run and need some time, they’ll handle the rest.

Decompression

Would it surprise you to know that it’s Emmet who catches on first? There’s a good reason for that! He’s had a lifetime of keeping an eye on his brother, who also used to heavily mask.

Your own tells are different then Ingo’s, to be sure, but they’re there regardless.

After a tough day, you’re taking the subway home. He notices that your posture and gait are different & your expression is stiffer. You’re clinging to your sense of self-control.

He’s got things he needs to attend to, but you’re a dear friend… your wellbeing comes first, he decides. Emmet doesn’t hesitate to fall into step next to you as you traverse through the station.

“Good afternoon! Are you doing alright?”

You know he’s not one for small talk… so what is he doing? The flash of a puzzled look crosses your face before you smile up at him. It’s humiliating, but you can’t seem to summon up words right now. This will have to do.

Emmet knows smiles. Yours is tight and strained, not at all like your usual smile. And you haven’t answered. He doesn’t like this at all. All signs are pointing to a systems crash.

“Your engine is overheated. I can tell. Do you need a place to step aside for maintenance? My office isn’t far.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to parse exactly what kind of metaphor he’s making.

But you’re too overstimulated and tired to put too much thought into it. Eventually, you sigh and nod. He leads you through the crowd with swinging arms and legs, and people part before him.

The office is an open space that is fastidiously tidy. A sofa is tucked against one wall, opposite is a set of shelves with all kinds of books and files neatly arranged. A pair of matching desks are stationed toward the back of the room. You’ve never been in here, but somehow you instinctively know that this is a safe place for you.

“I have a mini fridge. You are welcome to any of the snacks and cold waters I have. There are also noise cancelling headphones if you want. I know that Gear Station can be verrrrry noisy when overstimulated.”

You think that’s the longest stretch of words you’ve ever heard Emmet say, and you can only stare up at him wordlessly in response. You didn’t realize he had you figured out. Shame threatens to creep in, but then he smiles as he holds out a bottle of ice water to you. He smiles like he knows. There isn’t a single trace of pity or belittlement in it, only understanding.

You take the bottle of water with a small, genuine smile of your own. It’s the first one you’ve had all day.

When you sit down on the couch, Emmet takes off his coat and places it over your shoulders. It’s pretty big on you… but it’s also really heavy. You hadn’t realized it was weighted this whole time. The pressure feels nice, and you bury yourself into it. Emmet seems pleased, like he knew this would happen.

“I am going to do some paperwork at my desk. Would you like the lights off?”

You nod wordlessly and he flicks the light switch off in response. The only light in the room is the warm glow of a desk lamp, focused down onto his work station and away from you. Even the faint hum of electricity that would usually come out of a lamp like that is silent, which is an enormous relief.

The only sound for the next hour is Emmet’s pen near silently sweeping across the pages of his work. You stay quiet and buried under his coat, eyes closed and dozing somewhere between sleeping and waking. You feel safe.

After what feels like an age, you shift from under the coat and re-emerge, feeling much better. Emmet’s eyes flick up to you.

“Do you feel any better?” he asks. His voice is quiet.

“Yes.” You answer, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He cuts you off. “Do not apologize. Ingo and I have spent many afternoons doing the same. I’m just glad I was there to offer help.”

From that point on, things are… different between you and the twins. Emmet must have told his brother about what happened, because Ingo is more open around you.

You’ve been friends for a long time, but something seems to have unlocked now. The three of you quickly catch like a struck match.

Parallel Play

You spend a lot of time over at their place, and they at yours. Expect Ingo to politely ask if he or Emmet or both can come spend time with you.

This worried you at first, when you were still friends and not yet dating, but the twins don’t actually want your attention, per say. They just want to be in the same room as you while they do their own thing. Not having to “host” takes so much pressure off of you that you wonder why anyone entertains any other way.

Ingo will be reading, curled up in one of your chairs or on a couch, so still you’d think he was asleep if not for the intermittent turn of a page. Emmet is reviewing battle plans and notes, spread out across your table, one leg bouncing. Occasionally, he gets up to pace and mutter to himself, not looking at either you or his brother. You’re working on one of your hobbies in the living room. Not one of you bothers the others. It’s… peaceful. And nice, just having them unobtrusively nearby.

Do you stim? They have a cache of puzzle-y, twisty toys and clickers in a drawer. You’re more than welcome to them, or to anything else you need.

Eventually, if you’d like, you can curl up with Ingo underneath the weighted blanket he’s got spread across his lap. He’ll swing an arm around you without looking up from his book, and you listen to his heartbeat and steady breathing as you nod off.

Or Emmet might come over to you and quietly offer you a warm mug of hot chocolate. The two of you sit back-to-back in silence, sipping your drinks and working on your respective projects.

How nice it is, you think, to spend time with those who understand.

[lloydfrontera]

mmhh. javier had to wait ninety years to see lloyd once more while lloyd spent three years thinking he would never see javier again. what do you think hurt most. waiting a lifetime with the knowledge you'll see the person you treasure the most at some point or spending what you know will be your last couple years of life without the hope of ever seeing the one person you never thought you'd have to live without.

[scarletdreamers]

Can we, for a second, think about the fact that Hannibal dressed Will before he carried him home through the snow?

Will is naked when he's about to get the face surgery from Cordell. We see a scene of him in the operation chair where he's shirtless, lower body covered by a hospital blanket. Hannibal, who cut himself free from the ropes that were holding him captive on Muskrat farm, who then killed a large sum of Mason's staff including trained security and surgeons, saves him before Will's face gets removed. This all happens off-screen. The next scene is Hannibal carrying Will (bridal style) through the snow. In this scene Will is dressed, including a jacket for the cold and all that. Imagine Hannibal, the violent beast we saw when he killed Mason's men, blood probably still on his hands, finding Will there. Unconscious, and then dressing him. Dressing someone is a very intimate thing, especially someone unconscious. It requires care and gentleness. That, and knowing how to handle a body and loving someone enough to dress them while they don't need to be. He buttoned his buttons for him, tied his shoes, put him in a jacket to make sure he wouldn't get cold - I mean, Hannibal himself doesn't even wear a jacket in that scene. There's blood and wounds all over Hannibal's face, he's exhausted and probably the one in the most physical danger, yet he takes care of Will before he takes care of himself.

This hits even harder if you think about why they ended up in Muskrat farm in the first place. In Florence, Hannibal tried to 'eat' Will. He tried to split his head open with a bone saw. That intense violence, the grotesque and desperate nature of those actions makes a perfect and sharp contrast to him saving Will after outside forces try to take their lives, which is a heroically gentle and intimate action. He didn't have to dress him up like that, he didn't have to carry him that way, but he did. Hannibal fails to kill Will in Florence, and with that he fails his last attempt to get rid of his feelings for Will. Or at least, to make his feelings bearable. He thinks that he can control himself better when Will is dead, so he tries to kill him but he fails. Not because he's stopped, but simply because he can't do it. If Hannibal wanted him dead, Will would have been dead. Mason's men only interrupted his theatrics. They gave him a reason to put away the saw and act like it was purely their fault, but then Will is in danger at the farm and Hannibal does everything in his power to save him and get him home safe and well. At home he takes off his jacket, literally lays him in bed and tucks him in. He covers Will with a blanket, he tries to write mathematical formulas to reverse time and cleans his wounds. That's why Will's rejection when he wakes up is so tragic and hard to watch. It breaks Hannibal, unbreakable and inhuman Hannibal Lecter. It simply hurts him enough to break his heart. It breaks him enough to give up everything he ever lived for and surrender to the FBI, which he spent a lifetime running from. He does this because when he decided to save Will, he realised he would never get over the things he felt for him. In Hannibal's mind, the worst thing that can happen is never seeing Will again. He finally realised that, after everything, and that's why he surrenders to the FBI.

Hannibal honey, you don't want to eat his brain. You just wanted him to love you.

It's subtle details like this that always stick to me afterwards. It's just another thought I had and I felt like sharing.

[lovscb97]

— enhypen links [hyung line]

tags: hyung line!enhypen x fem!reader, established relationship, squirting (like . a Lot), daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (plz don't), creampie, rough sex, exhibitionism, bondage, edging, overstimulation, punishments, spanking, nicknames (princess, angel, etc), degradation (slut, whore, etc), reader being a brat, slight dacryphilia, etc

wc: 2.35k

add. notes: reposting bcs blr shadowbanned the last post BOOOOO also plz do not interact if u r a minor!!! look away shoo shoo!!! n also do lmk if some of the links r not working for u guys :] Also. sorry one last thing but u can tell how these answers got progressively longer LMFAOOOOO

. . .

⥽ … LEE HEESEUNG: 

link one.

heeseung loves making you squirt, it's a given knowing his ego and how much pride he takes in the fact that he's the only one who can make you feel so good. some days, he'll fuck up into you until you're shaking and squirming on top of him, crying out wanton moans of his name and incoherent pleas begging him to stop, but he doesn't listen of course. his one and only goal when engaging sexually with you is to make you shoot streams of liquid all over his dick and sheets, and he'll stop at nothing to achieve that. i'd even go so far as to say he can be pretty mean, although i wouldn't put him at the top of that list when comparing with the rest.

"seungie, please!" you sob, fresh tears streaming down your face as your boyfriend milks a third orgasm from you. "just one more, angel. you can do it." heeseung grunts, his cock painfully sensitive after having already cum inside you. but, of course, that won't stop him from giving you the fuck of a lifetime. his current goal right now is to make you cream all over his dick, but what he doesn't expect is clear droplets to be released from your pussy as he overstimulates you. your body slumps on top of his, tired and spent, but it's only a matter of seconds until you're being manhandled onto your back. before you can even ask what he's doing, your boyfriend cuts you off. "i need to see you do that again." he grins wickedly, and you sigh. it's going to be a long night today.

link two.

whenever you act out in front of heeseung, like going so far as to tease him in front of his friends by sending promiscuous photos of yourself or running a hand sensually against his clothed bulge, he never hesistates to put you back in your place. sometimes he'll be so pent up after trying to have enjoyed a boys night out only to have cut it short because of your raunchy actions, he won't even make it past the living room, dragging you towards the couch and yanking your panties down before he's sheathing himself inside you. he'll grip a fistful of your hair whilst drilling himself into your cunt, making sure to remind you who's in charge despite the fact that you both know you'll never learn your lesson.

"you wanna act like a slut, i'll fuck you like one." heeseung growls, his thrusts sharp and precise with the way he's delivering them inside you. by now, you've been reduced to a mess of gasps and moans, too fucked out to speak, which only makes your boyfriend chuckle darkly. "what, now you wanna go all quiet on me? what happened to all that attitude, princess?" he mocks, his palm striking a harsh slap on your ass which makes you yelp. "s-sorry, 'm sorry!" you whine, trying to push back on him with a hand, but heeseung only swats it away, tsk-ing at your behavior. "oh, it's too late for sorry, baby." he mumbles, bending down close to whisper in your ear, his words making you shiver. "i'm gonna fuck you until there's nothing left in that stupid, little whore brain of yours. and you're gonna take it. got that?"

⥽ … PARK JONGSEONG: 

link one.

jay loves giving it to you like he'll never be able to fuck you again. his movements are always precise, hitting that spot hidden deep inside of you with each angled thrust. his favourite way to have you is on your back in missionary too, both your legs hanging off the side of his waist as he pounds himself in you, making sure to coax lots of sweet noises from your mouth that he knows only he can make you let out. it's no secret that you love it too, relishing in the way his muscles flex as he thrusts inside your cunt that he's already cum in, his only current goal to make you cum once more before he'll pull out and wipe you down. or, if he's feeling particularly up for it, he'll continue fucking you even after you've both cum for the second time, making sure you're both overstimulated and tired by the end of things.

the only sounds audible by now are the noises of your loud whimpers and skin slapping as jay brutally bullies his cock in and out of you, your hands shooting out to resist his actions despite the fact that he's so much stronger than you. your attempts to resist him are completely futile, and it only makes him laugh sadistically at you struggling to take him. "aww, 's too much for you, honey?" he coos, and you only cry out with a nod, strings of curses leaving your lips at an expertly placed thrust that slams deep inside you. at this point, you're worried he's going to batter your cervix to a pulp, but that thought is long lost when his thumb comes down to swipe at your clit. "don't worry, sweetheart. daddy's gonna make sure he fucks you until you're crying, yeah?"

link two.

every once in a while, namely when you're both too lazy to indulge in it, your boyfriend will forego the dramatics and fuck you with nothing but love in his eyes. he'll kiss you so sweetly, his actions nothing short of gentle yet firm with the way he'll grip your waist and push himself into you bit by bit until you're clenching down on him in utter pleasure. he'll revel in the way your tits bounce in his face, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking on it which only makes the coil in your stomach that much closer to snapping. it won't take long until you're both reaching your highs, you creaming around jay's cock and him shooting ropes of white deep inside you to the point you can feel it gushing out from how much there is.

"fuck, princess. don't squeeze me like that, i'll cum." jay groans, confused when you simply shake your head with a moan. "wan' your cum, jjongie, please." you beg, and his heart positively melts because who is he to deny the request of such a beautiful girl, no less his own beautiful girl? it's only when you clench down on him and grab his hand to bring it up to squeeze your chest when he feels the band in his lower half snap, emptying himself inside of you with a long drawn grunt that only pushes you off the edge. there's so much cum that you can feel it seep out of your hole when he goes to pull his softening cock out, watching him eye it in awe. "you're so perfect f'me." jay praises, kissing you gently on the lips as you muster a tired smile back.

⥽ … SIM JAEYUN:

link one.

firm believer of the munch jake agenda just like anyone else because have you seen the man? his oral fixation goes craaaazy, up until the point he constantly needs to have your clit throbbing against his tongue as he drags the wet muscle through your folds. jake will happily spend hours upon no end between your thighs, his face buried into your cunt as he noisily whines into it. everything about it is intoxicating to him; your scent, the way your arousal leaks onto the sheets, how your tight hole clenches in need, all of it. he'd die a fulfilled man if you smoothered him to death in the midst of his endeavours so as long as it's because of your pussy that he's passing away. of course, you think he's a little insane, but you love him regardless.

"mm, jakey.." you whimper, feeling your boyfriend lick into every crevice of your core with meticulous precision, so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't even bother to pull away and only responds with a hum. before you can even get a word out, he's dragging his plump lips up to wrap around your swollen bundle of nerves, not caring how sensitive you may be because to him, this is the sweetest treat of all. "s-shit, 'm gonna cum." you whine, trying to warn him as the band in your stomach grows closer to snapping, but jake doesn't let up. he continues to eat you out even through your orgasm, his chin getting splattered with your juices in the process as he messily slurps everything up. by the time he finally pulls away, you're panting heavily, but your boyfriend is far from done. "again, please." he bats his puppy dog eyes at you, and who are you to deny him?

link two.

jake is also a certified freak. he's into risky situations where anyone could catch him, which makes sense when you consider how your picnic date with him turned into you getting absolutely wrecked by his dick inside your pussy. it started out so innocent, with you in your little sundress, and him in his favourite hoodie, but all of that was soon discarded and you were on your back against the scratchy grass, gushing around your boyfriend's cock as he pummeled into you with a fervor you'd never seen him have before. something about the prospect of fucking in public turned him on so much, and if you were being very honest, it turned you on too.

"ah, jake. we r-really shouldn't." you stutter, feeling your boyfriend's mushroom tip catch against your clit. you shuffle on the uncomfortable bed of grass underneath just as jake hushes you, slowly pushing himself in with one fluid motion that makes the both of you sigh in relief. "sorry, baby. you just looked so good in your pretty little dress, i had to have you." he groans, hiking said dress up your thighs as you whine, kicking your legs up. jake seems to get your cue because before you can continue pleading him to move at last, he's thrusting into you, thick cock plunging deliciously inside. your noises are loud, and there's no way anyone could mistaken what you two are up to if they were to pass by, so you really are glad for the fact that the entire area is deserted, especially considering that once jake's started, he's going to be insatiable, sure to cum inside you at least twice before he even thinks of taking you home to repeat the process all over again.

⥽ … PARK SUNGHOON:  

link one.

sunghoon's a perv, and like any other perv, he has his secret fantasies; your panties. even before he started dating you, he'd dream about fucking you after having tugged your underwear to the side, pushing his cock in your tiny hole while the flimsy article of clothing you've yanked aside becomes wet from your leaking juices, even better if it's after he's cum on them. sometimes, when he wants to punish you, he'll fuck you through your panties, making sure he indulges himself without directly giving you what you want— his seed. he'll even go so far as to edge you, cockhead bumping against your clit through the messy fabric, just enough stimulation to build up your orgasm, but not enough to have you tipping over the edge. how mean, indeed.

"hoonie," you cry, tears welling up in your eyes out of frustration after your fourth ruined orgasm, especially since this is the second time your boyfriend has cum, much less without you. "what is it now, you ungrateful slut?" he spits out, eyebrows furrowed in a glare as he stares you down, making you gulp. sunghoon got mean a lot, and each time he did, it never failed to have you leaking everywhere. "wan' cum. wan' your cum, too. please. 'm sorry. i'll be good, please." you beg shamelessly, and your boyfriend laughs with a sinister air to his voice. "oh yeah? you're sorry?" he bites his lip, admiring the way his cum has stained the pretty pink laces you've worn today. "too fucking bad." he hisses as he slides his red tip against your clothed clit once more, making you whine. "sluts don't get cum. they get punishments. so, be a good bitch and take what i give you."

link two.

tying you up is one of sunghoon's favourite things to do to you in sex. he loves the way you look, all pliant and moulded into the position he desires to have you in, especially with how the silk of the fabric decorates your skin. of course he'll kiss away the bruises you get after you're done, but that'll only be after he's had his way with you. he also gets off on the power trip it gives him. when you're bound by some material to the headboard, it gives him the liberty to do whatever he wants with you. it's like you're giving your body up as bait, except instead of missing out on it as the predator, he's seizing his opportunity to have his way with you, and boy does he enjoy it far too much.

"oh, my pretty angel. you look so beautiful like this, completely spread out and at my mercy." sunghoon purrs, his cold fingers grazing the skin of your back as you shiver. your face is muffled by the pillows he's buried your head against, the position your boyfriend has tied you up in this time leaving no room for speaking when you're ass up in front of him. you'd be a liar if you said you didn't love relinquishing control and satiating his desires like this, plus sunghoon always fucks you so deep whenever he has you bound for him. "now," sunghoon licks his lips, pumping his free cock in one hand as he brings it up to your opening. "i'm gonna fuck you, and if you stay quiet, maybe i'll think about letting you cum." your eyes widen, a quiet moan escaping you when he suddenly enters. it dies down in your throat when you feel a harsh slap land on your inner thigh. "i said be quiet, slut." sunghoon growls, causing you to swallow. oh, you were royally fucked.

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[libbybee]

IN THE HEAT OF YEARNING — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 6K ◜cw: mentions of astarion's past, dependence, masturbation [M], anorgasmia [M], piv, cock riding, creampie.

▹ summary. after cazador's defeat, astarion faces something he thought lost to time; his heat. the unfamiliar sensation of longing and freedom makes him torn between the instinct to dominate and the desire to surrender to you.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST

‎

It had been weeks, perhaps months, since you helped him put an end to his master, Cazador. Even now, Astarion wasn’t sure how to feel or what to do.

The sensation of freedom hit him like a tornado tearing through his life, leaving him adrift and uncertain. Even the pronunciation of the words caught on his tongue, clinging to his throat whenever he tried to voice a trace of what he felt.

Declaring himself “unchained” sounded jarring to his ears, but, fortunately, there you were to help him adjust to these unfamiliar emotions that weighed on his shoulders. With everything that freedom entailed. Everything.

He hadn’t told you about this… personal problem of his. Truthfully, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, ashamed of what you might think or say if you found out.

After so many failed attempts, he stopped considering it altogether, only cursing himself for not telling you sooner.

Astarion knew it was foolish to feel so ashamed, especially considering the kind of person you were and how much better you treated him than the nightmares of his past—the loneliness that had surrounded him since he had begrudgingly accepted the curse of immortality. But, gods, just thinking about it made his throat tighten painfully and his hands tremble with cold sweat.

He tried his hardest to confess to you on those unique occasions you shared in private, when there was no one else around to overhear, but every time, he backed down.

Now, feeling this unbearable urge, he was determined not to say a word. Nothing in hell would make him… except his very self.

His lips whimpered pathetically, your name slipping through gasps muffled against the fabric of your panties. His eyelids squeezed shut, his other hand massaging the head of his cock tightly enough to hurt, desperately trying to mimic the sensation of your warm walls wrapped around him. Only to fail miserably.

His vampirism had awakened this cursed heat, a condition he loathed to the very core of his damned nature, yet he couldn’t prevent or fight against it. He had spent decades quelling his desires in solitude, without anyone to ease the craving when he needed it most.

The self-pity of it swelled his skin, feeling himself become so… damned “sweetly necessitous” and so lovesick for anyone who crossed his path in those times when he was still delivering prey to his master. But now he had you. And gods, you were going to be a problem. The faint traces of your arousal on the crushed fabric pressed to his nose were enough to drive him mad; you smelt so, so irresistibly good…

Fleeting memories of the first time he bit you flashed through his mind in a haze of desperation to reach his orgasm. The sweetness of your blood, like rich port wine on his tongue, was the finest thing he’d experienced in his entire existence.

He was quite clear just how thoroughly you’d unravelled his self-reliance. This inefficiency blazed brighter than ever in his mind each time he found himself dependent on you, and you weren’t there for him, just like now. Craving you in a way he hadn’t needed anyone in lifetimes.

The sheer sensation of having your naked body pressed up against his while he buried himself balls deep inside you. The feeling of the perfect, welcoming warmth from that exquisite pussy of yours, gripping him as if he were the most vital thing in your life… He’d give anything to feel you like that right now, having you to ease his agonising heat until his pain and loneliness were fully sated. But these thoughts only sent his urgency skyrocketing higher than ever.

The side of your shared bed still held your intoxicating scent. Pressing your panties to his sharp nose reminded him of how tightly your walls would clench around him every time he thrust in and out of your perfect cunt as he fucked it exactly how he knew to so well. An intense desperation took hold of him, slamming his clenched fist into his quivering pelvis to fuck his hand with a ferocity that echoed how he would fuck you again if you were here. By now, thick beads of his precum trickled from his swollen tip, sliding down his pale, agile fingers.

His silky white curls clung to his sweat-dampened forehead and nape, his teeth gritting in nothing but frustration at his inability to reach that elusive release. Each time he came close, the peak seemed to slip away, taunting him from just out of reach. But he couldn’t fully blame himself, because deep down, he knew he didn’t want to cum like this.

It wasn’t just the release he craved; it was you. Without you here, everything felt hollow; his touch was a pitiful substitute for the real thing. He wanted nothing more than to cum inside you, to hear the sweet, melodic sounds of your moans and gasps as his warm semen filled you, seeping out around the edges of his cock as he stayed buried deep within. He longed to watch you bask after your climax, knowing you were utterly his in that moment, both bound in bliss.

The fantasy gripped him, vivid and fierce—an impossible hope to leave something lasting within you, to fill you until he could almost imagine creating life together, even though he knew his cursed being would never allow such a thing. Yet the thought alone, however unattainable, only drove his need further, intensifying his urge to fuck you completely, as if every part of him belonged to you, even in ways that fate had denied him.

He tried once more to focus, though his body trembled atop the sheets with sheer need. He closed his eyes and fantasised about your pussy all reddened and swollen for him, glistening in your rich juices and so deliciously wet that you’d be dampening the sheets beneath you.

A deep flush spread from his cheeks to the very tips of his sensitive ears as he realised just how utterly charmed he was by you and how his mind overflowed with visions of you and only you. He could see it all so vividly: your gorgeous, tempting pussy, the soft contours of your breasts that fit his hands as though crafted just for him and his carnal lust, your lips swollen from his endless kisses, and your eyes glazed, pupils blown wide with pleasure.

Every detail of you was etched into his mind—an addicting vision he couldn't escape. You were the star of every lustful scene that played out in his imagination, the embodiment of his most desperate fantasies.

Astarion could almost feel the anxious pulse of your clit, just begging for his mouth and tongue. The thought of his lips grazing that sensitive bundle, tormenting it to the point of agony, filled his mind, and he could hardly help but drool. He could practically taste you, the luscious, toxicant sweetness of your arousal filling him as he’d lavish every inch of your cunt with his mouth, sucking and licking with ravenous need until you were drenched.

He let out a low, frustrated growl, swirling his closed fist just around his incarnate tip in a futile attempt to force his climax. But his mind betrayed him, flooding with vivid images of your sweaty body and the insatiable pussy he yearned so badly. However, he was pretty clear: nothing could replace you. Not his hand, not the fantasies that had become a poor substitute; nothing could come close to the reality he wanted.

In his mind, he saw you beneath him, legs spread-eagled, your lips calling his name in whispered moans that grew louder with each thrust. He could nearly feel your breath against his ear, filling him with the sweet sound of your whimpers, each one more desperate than the last. His hand felt pitifully inadequate compared to being buried deep inside you, his body pressed down against yours as he consumed every last piece of you.

He was completely lost, so absorbed that he didn't even hear the soft creak of the door or the faint shuffle of your footsteps.

In the quiet shadows of your bedroom, he trembled with the wrenching pain, torn between hunger and exasperation. His voice whispered out, barely audible, “My love… I need you.”

Astarion’s breathing came in ragged gasps as he chased a release that refused to reach him. Tightening his hand to increase his movement speed, he became almost frantic, as though sheer desperation could fill the emptiness of not having you. His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a strangled moan against your panties, your lovely name slipping from his lips like a mantra.

You’d woken in the night, drowsily reaching for him only to find the other side of the bed empty, letting your hand land on cool sheets instead of his skin. Concerned and bleary-eyed, you went looking for him, thinking that perhaps a nightmare had drawn him away.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you.

In the dim light spilling from the cracked curtains of a window, his silhouette trembled, his hips bucking desperately into his hand as if he couldn’t stand another second of the ache inside him. His cheeks were flushed with a feverish red, and his lips parted to release soft, breathless whimpers. His grip on himself was almost punishing, fingers digging into his flesh as he stroked with an almost frenzied pace, trying to force himself to the relief he sought but clearly struggling.

You inched closer, entranced by the sight of his body arching and tensing, brow knit in frustration as he let out quiet, ragged curses under his breath. His voice, thick with desperation, cracked as he whispered your name as if the mere thought of you was both a balm and a torment. He was so lost, so utterly engrossed in his aching need, that he didn’t notice your presence.

Unable to resist, you let out a quiet voice calling his name while opening the door, just loud enough to break through his veil.

He snapped open his eyes; his red irises gleamed in the darkness as he finally became aware he wasn’t alone. Astarion froze, lips parting in shock as his gaze met yours, the flush in his cheeks deepening as he felt instantly embarrassed with your underwear under his nose. The rich fabric of his Victorian shirt clung to his chest, slightly askew from his restless movements.

“I was… I wasn’t expecting you…” He managed to speak with a low, rough voice, as if pulled straight from the depths of his body. He relaxed slightly in an attempt to regain his composure, though his cock gave a subtle, instinctual thump against his stomach as he failed to suppress his arousal. Then he swallowed hard, the exposed skin at his throat glistening in the dim light from his sweat, his expression a blur of yearning and bashfulness.

You took another step closer to your old bed. The intensity of his state made your breath quicken as you took in every detail of his parted lips, the flush trailing to his ears, the slight tremor in his fingers as he tried to maintain them steady…

“Come here…” He reached out, inviting you. His eyes gleamed with want, and, at that moment, he felt himself wholly yours to possess and do whatever you wanted, but you didn't know just yet.

“Couldn’t sleep, Astarion?” You asked with both curiosity and… somewhat understanding.

Astarion let out a sigh while a soft smile tugged at his lips. “It seems I have… trouble finding satisfaction without you, my dear.” He lowered the fabric of your underwear from his face to leave it on the nightstand, his eyes never leaving yours, although his vulnerable yet unabashedly captivated emotions.

His delicate fabric slightly loosened at the collar and sleeves, a bit untied, his hair tousled… This image of him awakened something inside you, drawing you deeper into his charming and cuddly spell.

You reached for his hand, marvelling at how adorable he looked at this moment. With a serene smile, you settled beside him on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you sat close enough to feel his body almost touching yours.

Astarion let out a long, shaky breath, his body finally relaxing as he leaned into you, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder. He was warm, and you could feel the faint tremor in his body as if something had unravelled his entire being. 

Then he let out a low, breathless giggle; the sound tinged with relief and a hint of humour. “You’re toying with me…” He murmured softly against your skin before placing a kiss on it with a touch of playful reproach. “Leaving me here all night… suffering by myself.” His words were light, but you could feel the weight behind them, the hollowness he rarely showed.

As his head rested heavily against your shoulder, Astarion’s fingers tangled in your hair, gently gripping it as if securing himself to you. His touch was both eager and tender as he instinctively snuggled closer to encircle your waist, seeking solace in your embrace. It was a stark contrast to that usually composed and confident vampire you knew, making him appear almost childlike as if he were looking for comfort after a nightmare.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer against you. The way he nestled into you made your soul melt in affection, but a flicker of concern crept into your mind as you wondered what had haunted him in the quiet solitude of the night. His sigh was soft, barely audible, and his grip on your hair tightened as if he feared losing you.

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” You asked softly while caressing his arm gently. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He furrowed his brow slightly, the weakness in his demeanour becoming more pronounced. “I suppose… I thought I could manage. But it seems I could not.”

Before continuing, he took a deep breath to steel himself. “There’s something I haven’t told you… something I’ve been trying to suppress.” As he spoke, his eyes peered at your face, a mixture of uncertainty and yearning reflected in their blackness. The playful humour that often danced in his gaze was gone, replaced by a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings.

You searched his eyes to urge him to continue while your thoughts were already wondering what it could be. “What is it?”

Astarion swallowed hard, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his emotions. “I… I’m in my heat…” He finally confessed. “After everything that happened with Cazador, I thought I could control it and push it away. But it’s relentless. This… need; it’s too much, and I’ve been fighting it alone for so long.”

You instinctively pulled him closer, the warmth of your body against his providing a gentle anchor in the storm of his turmoil. Feeling a surge of empathy, you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek, hoping to erase any sense of his silly shame. “Astarion… You are not alone any more. I’m here… with you.”

He leaned into your touch, a faint shudder passing through him as he let out a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly for your words. “I didn’t want to burden you with this, darling…”

“You could never be a burden to me, silly.”

A liberating glint passed through his eyes before they narrowed slightly, his expression gentling as he leaned his cheek into the warmth of your hand. “So tell me, my darling… what are you going to do with me now?” He asked sweetly, smiling with some curiosity, as though he were either coaxing you forward… or daring you to finish what he’d started.

You held his gaze for a few seconds longer before letting your eyes drop to his hard, aching length.

You slowly pull out of his embrace to rise from the bed, then with unhurried motions, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of your pyjama trousers and your panties, sliding them down your legs. The fabric fell to the floor, quickly joined by your bra, leaving you bare before him. The chilly winter air grazed your skin, causing a shiver to dance along your back and harden your nipples instantly.

“I’m going to take care of you…” You saw how his eyes roamed over every inch of you with his usual intense, hungry gaze, caressing your body as though it were a precious treasure he could finally hold.

Astarion’s gaze returned to yours with a warm, wide smile, brimming with adoration and desire. “You’re…breathtaking…” He murmured, almost as though speaking the words out loud might shatter the moment.

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, so open, so vulnerable, and so utterly yours. You settled back onto the bed beside him, leaning close as you placed a soft, reassuring kiss against his cheek. Letting your hand drift from his thigh to his lap to wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling the hardness of it, respond immediately to your gentle touch by throbbing excitedly. You began to slowly stroke him, keeping a slow yet steady rhythm.

He moaned softly, his head fell back, and his eyes closed while a subtle shudder ran through him. His fingers instinctively clung to your arm; the look of pure need etched from his face only spurred you on. Your strokes grow firmer as each pass of your hand drew a new, delicious sound from his delicate lips. During that, you leaned closer to let your warm breath graze his neck before you started to spread soft kisses along it.

His usual composure had crumbled, giving way to a raw, unrestrained need—a desperation born of decades of unsatisfied feelings and the maddening ache of his heat. He tried so hard to find satisfaction, but nothing had ever been enough since he met you. Only you could soothe this torment and bring him the relief he required.

You pulled back slightly from his neck, meeting his eyes as you paused your attentions to gently nudge him onto the bed. He didn’t resist at all, allowing you to do whatever you wanted with him and looking at you with sparkling impatience across his darkened pupils.

You ran your hands along his thighs one more time, fingertips tracing over every taut line and curve, savouring the feel of his skin. As you settled on the mattress to straddle his hips, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, your lips grazing over the fabric stretched over his torso. Your hands travelled up, resting on his chest, where you could feel his muscles tense beneath his clothing. With a teasing smile, you left a gentle trail of kisses along his uncovered chest, up to his collarbone, and finally brushing your lips along his jaw.

His hands locked to your thighs, his breaths warm as he relaxed in your presence. He allowed himself to be vulnerable before you, and it was unlike anything you had seen in him before. He looked as though he might beg at any moment, desperate and undone. His fingers trembled slightly as he held you tighter, sliding his hands up to grip your hips.

“Is this what you want?” You asked, although you already knew the answer well, just to savour this moment, having him so needy for you.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his answer slipping out almost without thought. “Yes.” His voice was harsh, barely holding together as he looked up at you in admiration like he could hardly believe he was so close to the release that he’d been yearning for.

Astarion moved his hands from your hips to your waist, guiding you down as he suppressed a desperate groan, his head tipping back into your pillow, still infused with your intoxicating scent. “My darling…” He purred, calling out to you. “I need you, please…” The words spilt from him with urgency, though his seductive edge persevered. His hands gripped your hips again, uncertain where to grab, only knowing he wanted every part of you. “Pretty please…”

At the same time, your other hand slipped lower, cradling his sac and massaging softly in rhythm with each stroke. His sighs came faster, a soft groan escaping him as your fingers trailed along his sensitive skin.

The transformation in him was almost endearing, watching his pride melt in the face of his heat. You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks warming as he let slip those velvety, magical words.

Reaching down, you let your fingers brush over the base of his cock, feeling the rigid heat of his arousal. You spit into your palm and took his hardened cock to slick him out, stroking him slowly up and down. You weren’t entirely wet yet, and you wanted this moment to be as perfect as possible for him.

You moved your focus to his swollen, pulsing glans now, slick with precum that had trickled down his length. You continued stroking with both hands now, smoothing the warm fluid mixed with your saliva to make sure he was well lubricated. Finally, positioning yourself, you let the head of his cock rub your clit and your entrance.

You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation until you heard him release a strangled moan, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as if holding you could somehow ease his ache. Reopening your eyes, you saw his flushed cheeks and closed eyelids, and you felt captured by his vulnerability. Your heart pounded against your chest at seeing him so… exposed to you.

Although you were keenly aware of his need and, in a way, his impatience to bury himself inside you, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to draw out this special moment as long as possible.

Finally, you let the head of his cock kiss your entrance, beginning to lower your hips as you felt the delicious stretch of your slit as it let him through and of your interior accommodating him. You felt yourself tighten instinctively around his thick length, your walls gripping him as he slid deeper within.

Once he was fully seated within you until his tip was pushing against your cervix, you began to rise and fall slowly. Rolling your hips slightly forward and back, you felt the rigidity in his cock and every vein deliciously caressing your walls. His grip tightened as he released sweet, breathy sighs with each massage you gave his cock with your cavity, his eyes fixed on you, utterly enraptured as he felt himself dissolve beneath you.

“Just you…” His voice trembled with a tone you haven't heard from him. “I’ve needed this… needed you… for so long. I tried to resist… gods, I tried… but nothing, nothing else could…” His words trailed off in an involuntary moan as his pelvis lifted instinctively to feel every inch of your insides squeeze his painfully swollen cock.

A satisfied moan escaped your lips as you watched him giving in to pleasure, his expression lost in bliss. Spurred by his urge, you began to move with more eagerness, riding him harder and faster, your pelvis colliding with his in a wild rhythm. Every thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you both as your hips moved in perfect sync.

Bracing your hands on his chest, you leaned down to capture his lips, and he responded with a yearning whimper, returning the kiss with impatience. “I’ve never seen you like this, Astarion.” You murmured against his lips, admiring the flush across his cheeks. “It’s… adorable.”

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, though his voice was thick with longing. “I’m yours, my love…” He confessed in a low tone, holding your gaze with an unusual intensity, his eyes shining. “With you… I can’t help but lose myself…”

His hands slid up to grip your waist, attempting to guide at least your intensity and reclaim a hint of control, but you took his hands in yours. Sliding them over your torso to your breasts, letting him grab them and feel the softness of them. "Love, let me…” He raised his hips once more to penetrate you deeper. His need to bury himself inside you almost agonisingly, each motion making his tip hit your sensitive G-spot and coax gasps from your lips as he struck it with raw precision, just as your cervix.

You threw your head back, a strangled whimper escaping as the blend of pleasure and faint pain sent shocks through your womb.

“Astarion…” You called after recovering your breath just enough to let your lips brush his ear. One hand tangled into his silky hair while the other traced his chest, your fingers skimming over the fabric of his shirt. “Let me… I want to make you feel good, my love…" You whispered, letting your breath ghost over the sensitive skin of his neck, feeling him shiver beneath you because of how responsive he was to your closeness.

Astarion’s throat caught at the sensation of your warm lips on his neck from your sudden smooch, his fingers tightening around your breasts. A sly smile played on his lips, though his usual sharp wit softened because of his heat.

“Oh, my darling…” He rasped with his tone both a plea and a command as his fingers slid down to your hips, anchoring you closer. “You already do make me feel good… so exquisitely good.” His lips found the spot behind your ear to press a kiss against it. Descending to the curve of your jaw, and then lower, tracing a path full of delicate, heated kisses down to your neck.

Then he pulled you, rolling you onto the mattress in a sudden but gentle motion. His body hovered over yours as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you beneath him. “But I think it’s time I return the favour.” His voice dipped into a low growl, his thumb smoothing against your cheek as he cradled it. “Let’s see just how well I can repay you, love…” He whispered before diving to your lips with a ferocity that left no doubt of his intentions.

Every single touch and lingering kiss was a deliberate act of his devotion, focusing entirely on bringing you to the same heights of pleasure he so desperately craved.

Your lips crashed against his with a passion that mirrored his, a burning hunger in every kiss. You tangled your fingers into his silken, white hair to hold him close, refusing to let an inch of space between you. Your other hand gripped the fabric of his shirt in his waist, tugging it firmly, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin against yours.

Before drawing you into his embrace, he positioned his cock at your entrance to enter back inside you, joining his hips firmly against yours with a delicious thrust that made your clit kiss his bare pelvis. A guttural groan escaped his mouth as he responded eagerly to your touch, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. Each of his movements quickened, his hips surging forward with growing intensity, each thrust driving you both toward a shared frenzy. Impulsively, he broke the kiss to trail his lips along your neck, leaving a searing path of devouring kisses and grazing your skin with his fangs, sending a subtle shiver through you.

“Gods, you're… intoxicating.” He whimpered roughly between kisses. His hands slid to your hips, gripping you rigidly to guide your body in time with his as he fucked you. His lips stayed on your neck, savouring every moan you gave him, lost in the sensation of your bodies moving together with an urgency that none of you could contain.

Astarion’s hand grabbed firmly at your nape, his fingers threading through your hair as he held your head in place against his shoulder. Positioned snugly between your legs, his thighs lifted yours, angling you so that every inch of his cock entered your pussy, leaving no space unfilled.

He bobbed his hips forward with a ferocious, exhausting pace that drove him impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth returning in trailing hot kisses all over your skin. His grip on your nape tightened with each surge of his pelvis against yours, anchoring himself in the intensity of it, feeling how your walls massaged and vibrated around his cock. His other hand gripped your waist, drawing you closer to him as if he wanted to merge your bodies completely.

The rhythm had become urgent and desperate, his mouth leaving feverish kisses along your neck and shoulder as his pace grew erratic, driven by the overwhelming, raw desire consuming him. His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you more tightly as his thrusts grew harsher.

The fire in your body was exactly like his, a blazing need that surged with every stroke. Your hand slipped down to your swollen clit, fingers stroking it in synchrony with his pleasurable thrusts. Your actions only seemed to drive him further; a primal growl escaped his lips as his hips snapped forward with a force that stole your respiration.

“Look at you… so eager for more…” Astarion purred, his tone rasping and dripping with lust. His crimson eyes roamed down your body, pausing at the place where your fingers moved against yourself. He observed entranced how your fingers stroked your entire clitoris, slick and needy while meeting each of his thrusts. The sight seemed to inflame him, his pupils dilating as he devoured the scene before him. A wicked grin curled on his lips. “You’re utterly delicious… I can hardly resist the urge to devour you whole.”

His voice was thick with desire, and how his crimson eyes darkened further made your heart race. You could see the pure hunger burning within him, igniting an answering fire deep in your lower belly. As you continued to stimulate your clit, the tension grew unbearable, stretched so taut that one more push, one more touch, was all it would take to send you both over the edge.

He dipped his head, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to hear every delicious sound you make, every gasp and moan.” He murmured, the rasp in his voice thickening with each thrust.

As if in response, you moaned louder, the heat pooling between your legs intensifying as you clung to him. The urgency in his movements grew, his thrusts becoming a frantic tempo, pounding into you with a force that sent waves of ecstasy crashing inside your entire pussy. You could feel him nearing his peak, the way his cock hardened impossibly harder inside you, leaving copious amounts of precum between your walls. The quickening pace of his breath and the tightening grip on your hips only made it more evident.

“My love…” He purred, his voice a seductive growl that resonated deep within your pussy. “I want to feel you cum around me…”

“Please…” You pleaded in a whisper, not fully sure of what you were pleading.

Astarion surged forward, claiming you with a fervour that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust felt overwhelming, as though he were trying to mark you as his own, to leave a lasting imprint on your body and soul. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, a primal dance that sent shockwaves through you both, pushing you closer to the precipice of bliss.

As the words sunk in, you felt your walls tighten further around his cock. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and the delicious pressure built higher and higher, threatening to spill over.

“Together…” You gasped, feeling the edge draw nearer. “I—” His lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, drowning out your words as his tongue rapidly tangled with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you entwined in this frenzied embrace. And then, as if replying to your unspoken plea, the dam broke.

Your climax hit you like a storm, pulsing through your core and leaving you spent as your arms tightened around him and your hips moved to fuck his cock as well. Astarion let out a shuddering moan that broke the kiss, his grip almost bruising you as he reached his own release, his body trembling and spasming as yours with the intensity of it. You felt his warm cum exploding inside you, each release sending a delicious sensation up your womb and cervix, prolonging the endless pleasure crashing through you. His hands held you against him as you both rode out ecstasy, lost in the shared, heady sensation of being completely intertwined as he kept buried inside you.

You clung to him, surrendering to the exquisite moment, feeling utterly consumed by the heat and the connection that bound you together. The aftermath left you gasping for air with your heart racing, both of you lost in the afterglow of passion.

As the lingering waves of your climax subsided after a while in each other's arms, you gazed at Astarion, a playful smile tugging at your lips. His tousled hair fell charmingly over his forehead, and a layer of sweat glistened on his skin, making him look beautiful and irresistibly enchanting.

“You know…” You started softly with a glimmer in your eyes, “You look absolutely adorable like this, all consumed by your heat.” Your heart fluttered as you watched his brows knit together in playful disbelief.

“Adorable?” One of his eyebrows went up. “I assure you, my dear, that’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Oh, come on!” You replied, laughter bubbling up like the sweetest melody for his ears. “Just look at you! You’ve never looked more charming—practically irresistible!”

He warmly chuckled, a rich sound that filled the air with joy. “My dear, I was merely indulging in what is quite natural for me. Thank you.”

You feigned a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over your heart in mock shock. “Darling! Just admit it! What an honour it is to see you in such a cute light! Who knew a fierce vampire could also be a cuddly little beast?”

Astarion rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips was an undeniable admission of his enjoyment. “Cuddly? Now you’re pushing it, sweetie.”

“Maybe.” You said, leaning closer to him as your eyes sparkled while you batted your eyelashes playfully. “But honestly, there was something so sweet about you right now. You were so lost in the moment, like watching a passionate artist at work.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with an exaggerated huff, his attempt to maintain composure failing delightfully. “I suppose I must allow you this little delusion, but do not mistake my passion for cuteness.”

“Whatever you say, my fierce little vampire.” You joked, inching even closer. “But I stand by my word. You’re absolutely adorable.”

With a soft, fluttering laugh, you reached up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. The moment felt electric, charged with love and affection. Astarion’s lips curled against yours before reciprocating your kiss, and for a fleeting second, the heat of passion intertwined with the sweetness of the moment, turning the surrounding air into something truly magical.

As you pulled back, you found him looking at you, a soft smile gracing his features that melted your heart. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” He murmured in a playful voice mixed with exasperation and fondness.

“Only for you.” You replied, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “And I think you love it. A reason more to the list for being with me!”

“Don’t say it too loud.” He replied, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his bravado.

You laughed, his presence enveloping you as you revelled in the playful banter, your hearts intertwining in the sweetest ways. At that moment, every worry faded, leaving only the bliss of shared affection, laughter, and the delightful intimacy of you two.

‎

[kakushino]

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground. 

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines. 

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position. 

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching. 

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.” 

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd. 

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom. 

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him. 

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do. 

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber. 

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration. 

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World. 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?” 

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed. 

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?” 

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size. 

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

[solxamber]

Supervillain's Guide to Romance || Rook Hunt

You, Supervillain, planned for a lifetime of rivalry, but instead, the Hero, Rook Hunt just keeps breaking into your lair with snacks.

Where did it all go wrong?

(Villain! Reader x Hero! Rook)

You have waited for this moment forever.

The world has been terribly dull as of late. Sure, your evil empire is thriving, the peasantry cowers at the mention of your name, and several major institutions have crumbled beneath your perfectly polished boots.

But without conflict, without an opponent, it’s just… paperwork and infrastructure maintenance. And while managing the economy after singlehandedly obliterating capitalism is hilarious, it does not provide the visceral thrill of a good old-fashioned deathmatch.

But now. Now.

The Goddess has finally chosen her Hero.

And you are so ready for this.

Your Ultimate Doomsday Device™ is primed. Your Evil Lair is bathed in appropriately dramatic red lighting. Your constructs—hulking, ominous, heavily armed—are lined up in terrifying symmetry, all enhanced with freshly sharpened weaponry and, crucially, eyeliner. Because aesthetic matters.

And you?

You are a vision of villainy. Cloak billowing, sword gleaming, boots heeled just enough to exude power but still practical enough for dramatic combat maneuvers. You spent three hours in front of a mirror perfecting your “I’ll kill you and laugh about it” smirk. You are prepared to be an absolute menace.

And then he arrives.

Standing atop the nearest cliff, silhouetted by an impossibly well-placed moon, is him.

The Goddess’s Chosen Hero.

Rook Hunt.

He is posing. His bow gleams. He looks like a romanticized painting of a hunter-king about to declare war on a stag. And then—

“Ah-ha!” he cries, pointing dramatically at you. “At last, we meet, O Dark Jewel of the Night’s Malevolence!”

…What.

Rook places a hand on his chest, eyes alight with unhinged enthusiasm. “What poetry! What drama! What an exquisite monologue that must have been as you awaited my arrival! Tell me, mon cher adversaire, how long have you rehearsed this glorious moment?”

…What.

You were expecting many things.

A clash of ideals. A heated battle. Perhaps a reluctant respect forged in the fires of combat.

You were not expecting your mortal enemy to sound like a theater major experiencing religious ecstasy at the sight of your properly villainous cape swish.

You squint at him. “You’re… excited?”

Rook nods so fervently his hat nearly flies off. “But of course! To stand against one so resplendently wicked! To trade blows—nay, souls—in this eternal dance of justice and villainy! C'est magnifique!”

He’s smiling.

Why is he smiling.

This is a deathmatch, not a wine tasting.

You clear your throat, lifting your chin in the most intimidating way possible. “Do you have any final words before I bring ruin upon you?”

Rook inhales deeply, eyes glimmering like a man utterly in love with the idea of his own demise.

“You are radiant in your menace! A blinding star of destruction! Smite me, O Harbinger of Dread! Let me bask in the beauty of your malice!”

He spreads his arms as if to embrace the impending carnage.

You slowly lower your sword.

“…What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shrug it off, maybe the Goddess likes them unhinged.

You had prepared for this moment your entire life.

The darkness swirled dramatically around you as you stood atop your obsidian throne, gazing down at the battlefield below. Your constructs—your beautiful, eyeliner-wearing minions—were poised, weapons gleaming, capes billowing, eyes smoldering with unholy (and stylish) rage.

The sky rumbled, lightning cracked, your "smite-a-city" device hummed ominously, and a general sense of doom and destruction filled the air.

This was it. The fated clash between good and evil. The battle that would shake the heavens, rend the earth, and—

"Ah, mon cher, your stance is exquisite! But tell me, would you rather have dinner instead of world domination?"

You freeze mid-swing, sword inches from his throat.

Your constructs freeze mid-battle, one still mid-air, about to deliver a flying kick. The thunder hesitates, the lightning awkwardly fizzles out, the wind that had been howling through the battlefield just kind of... stops, like it forgot what it was doing. Even your "smite-a-city" device lets out a confused beep.

Rook Hunt—the Goddess’s Chosen Hero, The People's Champion, The Bringer of Light and Justice, The Reason You Haven’t Been Able to Have a Peaceful Afternoon in Months—gazes at you with sparkling green eyes, utterly unbothered. He is smiling. He is batting his eyelashes. He is somehow more dazzling than the lightning.

You, in contrast, are short-circuiting. "HUH??? WHAT??? NO???"

"Magnifique." He lunges again, sword clashing against yours, his grin only widening. "Then I shall vanquish you with the elegance you deserve!"

The world unfreezes as if someone hit 'play' on reality again. Your constructs return to attacking, the wind resumes howling, thunder remembers how to be intimidating, and you—still reeling—dodge a particularly poetic strike from the overly enthusiastic Hero of the World.

You're not sure what just happened, but you do know one thing:

You absolutely refuse to die without getting some answers first.

And maybe, just maybe, you need to recalibrate your entire life plan.

You had been prepared for a worthy opponent. You had been prepared for grand battles, for expertly crafted schemes, for a rivalry that would echo through the annals of history.

What you had not been prepared for was Rook Hunt.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing a rare moment of villainous peace. The sun is setting, your latest evil scheme (a devastating tax loophole reform) is progressing smoothly, and—most importantly—Rook Hunt is not around.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you relax, you feel it. That unmistakable tingle of being observed.

Slowly, you lower your cup.

And there he is. Peeking through your window.

His stupid hat. His stupid cape. His stupidly enchanting green eyes shining like a cursed emerald in the dim light.

"Bonsoir, mon cher!" he greets cheerfully, dangling upside down from your roof like a particularly well-dressed bat.

You nearly drop your tea. "WHAT THE FU—"

You're exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You decide to dedicate an entire day to self-care. Face masks, fluffy robes, a villainous bath bomb infused with the souls of the unjustly rich—you are determined to ignore the world.

As you stretch luxuriously in your grand lair, you hear a faint thunk.

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your gaze toward the door.

There, pinned straight through the wood by an arrow, is a neatly wrapped face mask.

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. You fail to count to ten because you are seething.

You yank the arrow out and unroll the note attached to it.

"Self-care is crucial, mon ami! Hydrate well and let your skin glow like the celestial heavens! À bientôt~!"

There is a little hand-drawn heart at the bottom.

You have never known rage like this.

At this point, you’re convinced the Goddess chose him purely to fuck with you.

There is no other explanation. None.

Because every time you turn around, he is there.

He is watching.

He is smiling.

He is way too into this.

You are a responsible supervillain. You do your own paperwork.

This is crucial.

Do you have minions? Yes. Constructs? Absolutely. Are they efficient? Of course. Do they understand the fine intricacies of tax-deductible lair maintenance expenses? No.

So here you are, suffering, hunched over your desk, reviewing budgets for your upcoming Doomsday Apparatus™ (pending patent).

Your shoulder aches. The price of evil, you suppose.

Then, hands.

You sigh, assuming it’s one of your constructs trying to be helpful, but the texture is all wrong. Not cold. Not metallic. Not vaguely threatening.

You freeze.

These are human hands.

You whirl around so fast you nearly fall out of your chair.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. The Menace of Your Existence.

Wearing that same infuriatingly pleased expression he always has when he manages to unnerve you.

“Mon trésor, you are so tense! Do not fret, for I am here to ease your burdens—”

Your hand is already on your emergency drawer.

Because of course you keep a glock in there. You’re a responsible supervillain.

But before you can make him truly holy, he lifts a plate of your favorite cookies.

You squint.

You squint harder.

The cookies look perfect.

You hate him.

But you love those cookies.

“...Fine,” you grumble. “Dining room. Now.”

And that’s how you end up having the most awkward tea party of your life.

Your constructs—tall, looming, deadly—stand against the walls like confused statues.

You glare at Rook. He beams at you.

You eat a cookie. He sips his tea like he’s the most welcome guest in the world and not your mortal enemy.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’m going to destroy an entire city district next time.”

Rook hums, interested. “Hm. But which one? Have you considered an aerial attack for maximum devastation?”

Your constructs shift uncomfortably.

You blink. “...What.”

“If you truly wish to inspire terror, mon cher, a coordinated offensive utilizing shadow and fire would be most spectacular. Oh, imagine the fear in their eyes! The poetry of destruction!”

Your constructs are now visibly uncomfortable.

You stare at him. “...You realize I am trying to defeat you, right?”

“Oui.” He takes another dainty sip of tea. “But what is a villain without a hero? What is a hero without a villain? We are locked in the most beautiful dance, and it would be a shame if your evil was anything less than... magnifique.”

You hate how good that sounds.

Your constructs, sensing the sheer unhinged energy at this table, collectively decide they are done.

You’ve had it.

Rook Hunt has been breaking into your lair every other day, treating your villainous empire like it’s some kind of all-you-can-antagonize buffet.

So tonight? You strike back.

Your plan is perfectly petty. You sneak into his house, bypass his defenses, and leave a nasty little surprise—a copy of his stupid hat, but without the feather. Symbolic. Brutal. Devastating.

It’s dark inside. Suspiciously dark. You move silently through the halls, your villain senses tingling, when—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You let out the most unvillainous, undignified little squeak known to man.

A candle flares to life.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. Smiling. Smug. Suspiciously pleased.

And behind him?

A fully set candlelit dinner table.

What.

You yank your wrist free and glare at him. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t!” He laughs, delighted, as if this entire scenario isn’t absolutely deranged. “I’ve merely been setting this up every night for the past week, hoping one day you would.”

You stare.

Your brain buffers.

Your evil plan—your brilliant, petty, symbolically devastating evil plan—is completely ruined.

But also.

You are weirdly, deeply flattered.

Which is so annoying.

You grumble and stomp over to the table. “Well, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal.”

Rook positively beams as you sit down, pouring you a glass of something fancy.

You stab at your food aggressively. “You suck, Hunt.”

“Ah, mon amour, flattery will get you everywhere.”

You contemplate murder.

You also contemplate dessert.

Your life is hard.

As a renowned and feared supervillain, you have many responsibilities—world domination, economic destabilization, overthrowing the bourgeoisie—but even the greatest of evildoers need time to unwind.

For you, that means art.

Tonight, you sit in your grand lair, sketchbook in hand, dreamily doodling while fantasizing about the day you will finally, unequivocally, beat Rook Hunt.

Perhaps you’ll trap him in an inescapable dungeon.

Perhaps you’ll trick him into an elaborate psychological game that will break his very spirit.

Perhaps you’ll put a single grain of sand in his boots and let nature take its course.

The possibilities are endless.

You’re so absorbed in your creative villainous process that you fail to notice the cryptid himself materializing behind you like some kind of woodland horror story.

“Ah, mon trésor, what are you drawing?”

You freeze.

Your villain instincts kick in, but it’s too late. Before you can shove your sketchbook under your cloak and play it off like a true mastermind, Rook Hunt has already peeked.

A beat of silence.

You watch as, for the first time in history, Rook Hunt blushes.

You look down at your sketchbook.

Oh.

It’s a doodle of him.

With a heart drawn near it.

Obvious context:

It’s a threat.

Clearly, you meant “I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Obviously, this is not romantic.

Clearly, he should know this.

And yet—

Before you can explain this very normal and absolutely not embarrassing drawing, Rook makes a strangled noise—and then, without warning—

He launches himself out of the window.

Full-speed.

No hesitation.

You stare blankly at the gaping hole in your wall.

The night breeze drifts in.

A loose paper flutters off your desk.

Your jaw clenches.

You pull out your calculator.

“Alright. How much is this repair gonna cost me this time?”

It had been months. Months of what was supposed to be an intense, dramatic rivalry, full of mortal combat, fire, and the kind of operatic duels that would make even the gods weep. Months where the world should have trembled at the very mention of your name as you and the so-called Goddess’s Chosen Hero waged battle across the land.

Instead, what had actually happened was this:

Rook had become a persistent, feathered plague upon your life. Every time you so much as breathed, he was there. If you drank tea, he was peeking through the window like some kind of blonde cryptid.

If you took a relaxing villainous bubble bath, he left a scented candle by your doorstep with a little handwritten note.

If you tried to sleep? Oh, well clearly that was the perfect time for him to send a love arrow straight through your pillow, just narrowly missing your skull.

This was not how hero-villain dynamics were supposed to go.

And apparently, the Goddess had finally taken notice, because today, as you and Rook clashed swords atop your usual scenic cliffside battlefield—lightning flashing, your cape billowing just right—a new hero arrived, looking exactly like the bootleg discount protagonist you’d expect from a last-minute recast.

“Villain!” he bellowed, dramatically pointing his sword at you. “Your reign of terror ends—”

You vaporized him on the spot.

Your constructs, standing dutifully in formation, collectively gasped.

Rook, who had been mid-flourish with his sword, stopped and blinked at the rapidly dissipating ashes of what had, just seconds ago, been an eager new recruit in the grand war of good versus evil. Then, he turned back to you, smiling fondly.

“Ah, mon trésor, how dashing you are when you wield your power with such effortless grace!”

You scowled, pointing your sword at him this time. “Why are you acting like I just did something romantic? I murdered that guy.”

“Oui! And beautifully so!” Rook twirled his own blade, utterly unbothered. “Like a star snuffing out another in the vast cosmos! Poetry in motion! Ah, my heart beats faster just thinking of it.”

Your constructs, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.

One of them, a hulking, six-armed behemoth of enchanted steel, hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh. So. Boss? Just so we’re clear—”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No, no, just a quick question,” it continued, with the slow, careful tone of someone addressing a very temperamental god. “You just smote a hero instantly. Like, zero hesitation. Which means you can do that. So, um. What exactly is stopping you from smiting him?” It pointed at Rook.

Rook, the absolute menace that he was, waved cheerfully.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered your options.

Then, in a show of supreme villainous dignity, you turned on your heel and dramatically stomped away.

Your constructs stared after you.

Rook sheathed his sword and sighed wistfully. “Ah, such passion. Such fire. Such restraint! Truly, they are the one chosen for me.”

The constructs turned to him in absolute horror.

“What have you done to our boss?”

You were having a perfectly normal evening.

By "normal," of course, you meant that you were lounging in your grand, candlelit villainous dining hall, sipping a glass of expensive wine (stolen, obviously), while Rook Hunt, your mortal enemy and frequent dinner guest, debated you on the finer points of mid-air combat.

"Mon trésor, think of the artistry!" Rook exclaims, gesturing wildly with his fork. "A battle in freefall—two souls clashing against the endless sky, the wind whipping our capes, the suspense of who will deploy their parachute first!"

You scowl, jabbing a piece of steak. "No. That’s impractical. There’s no stable footing, gravity ruins your attack trajectory, and if one of us dies before hitting the ground, there’s no dramatic final duel."

Rook gasps. "But what of style, mon cher? What of the poetry of two destined foes plummeting through the heavens, locked in the embrace of battle?"

You roll your eyes. "What of the reality that I’m not breaking my legs just so you can fulfill some mid-air fencing fantasy?"

Before Rook can counter with another unnecessary metaphor, there's a knock at the door.

You pause. Rook tilts his head. Your constructs—the ones assigned to not be traumatized by your ridiculous rivalry—shift uneasily.

No one knocks on the door of the Evil Overlord.

You cautiously rise, striding toward the entrance, adjusting your cloak. If this is some dumb assassin, you’re going to vaporize them before they finish their opening monologue.

You throw open the door.

Standing there, shimmering with divine light and looking deeply, deeply exasperated, is the Goddess.

You blink.

Rook, behind you, immediately bows with theatrical reverence. "Ah, my divine patron! What honor do we have to—"

She shoves a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Not a word from you."

Rook makes a delighted noise behind her palm, as if being personally scolded by a deity is the highlight of his week.

Then, the Goddess turns her gaze to you.

"You," she says, voice layered with millennia of barely restrained frustration.

You raise a brow. "Me?"

She points accusingly. "You are not even a villain."

You stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"The people adore you!" she snaps, throwing up her hands. "Your so-called empire? Has better infrastructure and social services than any kingdom in the world! Your so-called evil policies? Fixed the economy! Your supposed tyranny? Universally beloved by the peasantry!”

You gape at her. "I run a dictatorship."

"A benevolent dictatorship!"

Your eye twitches. You glance back at Rook, who is absolutely vibrating with amusement.

The Goddess rounds on him next. "And you!"

Rook straightens, looking delighted to finally have her attention. "Oui?"

"You are the worst hero I have ever chosen."

His smile widens. "Merci!"

"That wasn't a compliment." She pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s developing divine stress migraines. "You were supposed to defeat them. Not take them to dinner, deliver self-care gifts, and give them advice on better city destruction tactics."

"But, my Goddess, what is heroism if not—"

She holds up a finger. "Finish that sentence, and I swear on the cosmic balance, I will smite you myself."

Rook, wisely, shuts up.

Your arms cross, and you scowl at her. "So what do you want, exactly?"

The Goddess sighs. "Nothing. I am done. I am sick of this. I gave your world a clear narrative, and you two have turned it into—into—" she gestures wildly at the two of you, "whatever this is."

She looks exhausted. You take a slow sip of wine. Rook sips his tea. Your constructs, still lurking awkwardly in the background, look on in silent horror.

Finally, the Goddess rubs her temples and lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

"I give up," she declares. "I abandon this world."

You blink. "What."

Rook gasps. "Mon Dieu!"

She throws her hands up. "No. Not your "Dieu" anymore. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Conquer the world. Get married. Build a flying opera house of destruction. I do not care."

She turns on her heel, divine light flaring around her, ready to vanish back into the heavens. But before she fully ascends, she pauses, turns back, and levels one last glare at you.

"And fix your damn roof. I know he broke it." She jerks her head at Rook.

Then, with a flash of light, she is gone.

Silence.

Your constructs do not move. You do not move. The air is thick with the weight of divine abandonment.

Then—

"Mon trésor," Rook breathes, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? We have divine permission to wed!"

You throw your wine glass at his head.

You were going to prove a point.

The Goddess’s words still echoed in your mind:

"The people adore you."

"Your so-called tyranny is beloved."

Absolutely not. You are terrifying. You are a villain. You are the Dread Overlord of Shadows and Eternal Night, not some beloved community figure.

So, naturally, you stormed into the city streets in full dramatic regalia, determined to strike fear into the hearts of the people.

And, of course, they were absolutely terrified.

(There are children braiding flowers into your hair.)

Their knees knocked together in terror.

(The baker personally handed you a warm loaf of bread, saying, "It’s your favorite, dear. Fresh out of the oven.")

They shrank away from you, trembling.

("Can we get a selfie, Overlord of Shadows? You look so cool today!")

They screamed in fear.

(M’overlord, would you consider attending our town’s Harvest Festival? It wouldn’t be the same without you.")

By the time you made it back to your lair, the weight of reality had crushed your entire soul into a fine powder.

Your constructs barely had time to move out of the way before you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sprawled dramatically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was not normal.

Nothing about today was normal.

You were supposed to be evil. The darkness lurking at the edges of civilization. The terrifying ruler who demanded obedience, not… not fan interaction.

You reach up and pull a flower from your hair. A daisy. A cute little daisy.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, you sit up and reach into your pocket.

You pull out the loaf of bread. It’s still warm. It smells amazing.

You take a slow, deliberate bite.

You chew. You swallow.

You scream into a pillow.

Your constructs watch in silence, wisely choosing to let you process your existential crisis.

Then—

A slow, steady clap echoes through the lair.

You groan, rolling onto your side, as Rook Hunt steps into view, absolutely beaming.

"Mon trésor," he breathes, looking so unbearably pleased. "Did you have a revelation?"

You almost hurl the loaf of bread at his head.

You wake up with a revelation so profound it shakes you to your very core.

You don’t have to fight Rook Hunt anymore.

Not because you won—oh no, if anything, it’s because you never actually fought him to begin with.

This so-called “battle” had always been one-sided. You, pouring your very soul into villainy, scheming, plotting, monologuing—only for Rook to respond with enthusiastic admiration instead of righteous fury.

You had never been fighting a hero. You had been performing for a very intense fan.

And you are so tired.

So you get up, summon your constructs, and announce with all the dignity of a fallen monarch:

"I’m retiring."

They blink.

Your war construct, a towering mass of steel and death, hesitantly raises a hand. "Uh. What?"

"I’m retiring." You rub your temples. "I was never really a villain, apparently. The people adore me. The Goddess abandoned this realm. And my greatest enemy is currently sitting on my chandelier, smiling at me like a particularly pleased house cat."

A collective glance is shared. The constructs all look up.

Indeed, Rook is perched there, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

A few seconds of silence.

Then, your constructs all just nod.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

"Honestly, I think we all saw this coming."

"So what now?"

You sigh and gesture vaguely at the lair. "Do whatever you want. You’re free. Find a new purpose. Go live your lives."

And, to your eternal exhaustion, they do.

Your once-feared War Construct? Now bakes delicate cream puffs.

Your impenetrable Shield Construct? Wears a frilly little apron and dusts the rooms.

Your Lurking Shadow Beast of Eternal Horror? Manages the garden.

You watch all of this unfold with a blank stare, feeling your villainous reputation crumble into nothing. And you?

You don’t even care anymore.

You sit at your grand villainous dining table, Rook across from you, smiling, victorious, insufferable.

He raises a teacup in toast. "To the end of an era, mon trésor."

You sip your tea.

Then, with all the resignation in the world, you simply mutter—

"...Yeah."

Rook just winks.

If you were going to commit one last act of villainy, it had to be grand. Poetic. Fitting for the infuriatingly ridiculous story that had become your life.

And so, you decide.

You were going to steal Rook Hunt’s heart.

… Metaphorically. Probably.

So you don your best dramatic cloak, grab the most intimidating bouquet of flowers you can find, and march to wherever Rook is lurking (which, statistically speaking, is either your lair or right behind you).

But before you can utter a single villainous declaration, you stop.

Because Rook is already kneeling.

Already holding out a ring.

Already smiling like he knew this would happen.

"When’s the wedding, mon trésor?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

You stare at him. Stare at the ring. Stare at the flowers in your own hands like an idiot.

And then—

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, because this is your life now.

The Goddess abandoned your world. Your constructs run a quaint domestic empire. The people adore you. And the so-called Hero?

The Hero beat you to the proposal.

You shake your head, still chuckling, before pulling him up by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you murmur, "we can have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met."

Rook exhales something close to a sigh, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, soft and victorious.

"Magnifique," he whispers.

And, honestly?

Yeah.

Magnifique indeed.

Masterlist

[cybergoth1]

beyond the cowl | prologue | batfamily x isekaide!reader

masterlist | chapter 01.

synopsis: ❛❛you're just a normal twenty-one-year old girl trying to navigate life with a shitty job and a useless degree. life isn't easy, and between expensive therapy sessions and the constant feeling of failure, you suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours, with a past that wasn't yours. now, in another dimension, you're dealing with the fact that you're a crucial part of the caped crusade that shaped bruce wayne's life. you're the second robin, the former girl wonder, and the vigilant gotham needed so much.❞

warnings/tags: swearing. reader being emotionally immature bc we love toxic women. no beta we die like jason todd. reader really needs her lexapro. alfred being a sweetheart in the end (pls lets pretend bane never killed him).

Sometimes you felt like they had lied to you. Straight to your face. Your friends, your family and your professors. 

They all made you believe that something important was out there, just waiting for you. They patted your back while you poured out your insecurities like the self-doubting idiot you are, and with the most convincing tone, told you that the world was your oyster. That opportunities are everywhere.

They said you shouldn't be that worried about getting a job. You still have plenty of time after graduating. Right? 

Right.

Their nice words turned out to be useless the moment you stepped out of college. Your dreams and expectations were shattered during your first month sending out resumes to every single company and agency you could find. And then, before you knew it, eight months had passed without you landing a decent job. The endless rejection emails and mounting bills started to make you lose sleep as you spent countless nights tossing and turning in your single bed.

That’s why you ended up here, one year later, in a café downtown, learning the difference between a flat white and a cappuccino for a living.

You wiped down the counter for the sixth time in the past half hour, keeping an eye out for any trace of coffee left by the last customer when he spilled it all over your hands and apron. The feeling of the cloth under your fingers was the only thing grounding you as your thoughts began to spiral for the third time that day. You couldn’t even hear the annoying hiss of the espresso machine or your manager's high-pitched voice nagging at you about some shit you didn't care about.

You only lifted your head when a customer called you by your name. It was the same high school kid who always ordered a caramel macchiato. Mia or something. Your mind wandered as you pulled a shot of espresso for the new order.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn't be pretending your lifetime dreams were nothing. You shouldn’t be pretending that you feel fulfilled cleaning counters and serving people who barely looked up at your face while you handed them their orders.

You heard Mia asking for extra vanilla syrup.

Shit, that was so unfair to you. You did everything right; every single thing they told you to do. You checked all the boxes.

You got a degree, unlike half of your family, who barely finished high school. You didn’t get knocked up at sixteen, unlike your mom and older sister, and you didn’t get addicted to fucking alcohol, unlike your dad. So why are you still living like this — paycheck to paycheck, unable to afford dental care, healthcare, or even the most basic stuff like a new pair of shoes.

Deep down, you know why.

Poverty is an eternal, miserable, and unbreakable cycle — you were just naïve enough to think you could overcome it with simple actions. You kept your eyes fixed on the tall iced latte in your hand while zoning out. Yeah, time for another therapy session.

“Here you go” you tried to smile while handing her the cup. Hiding your growing anxiety and negative thoughts behind your customer service voice was a skill you were slowly, but surely, building up. But you probably looked weird as fuck since she gave you an awkward smile while muttering a "thanks".

"I still don’t know how you got this job. You look like a psychopath," you heard Nate, your coworker, from behind you, holding an empty milk pitcher.

He would be a nice, solid dude if he didn't act like a middle school bully most of the time.

"Yeah?" you rolled your eyes, finally turning your body to look at him. Damn, he really needed to shave his sideburns; he looked ridiculous. "Want me to tell you what you look like?"

His red hair and weird face made him look like a distressed orangutan. A very ugly orangutan.

He just smirked at your sarcastic tone. Fucking cunt.

"Nah, I'm good".

As the rest of the shift slowly passed, you kept checking your phone over and over, waiting for that email from the agency you applied to two weeks ago. You got nothing, as usual. Nothing besides a text from your sister asking for forty dollars; she probably ran out of baby formula again.

With a loud sigh, you decided to scroll through Instagram while Nate flirted with some customers. You quickly noticed that your college friend Christine had just been promoted again. She had been working at her father's company since her sophomore year, and her longtime boyfriend, Tom, had proposed to her in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Uh, wow, that's nice—good for her.

"Congrats, babe! Oh my god, he's so lucky to have you in his life. And good luck at your new job," you send her a quick DM, like a good friend would.

And you are, objectively, a good friend. You're even congratulating her on her promotion as if she weren't a spoiled, airheaded bitch who never accomplished anything on her own. Christine had everything handed to her on a silver platter; her parents got her an amazing job at their company, then paid for her boob job, her nose job, her new car, and her apartment—the list goes on.

You watched the couple showing off the engagement ring under the Parisian sunset and felt like the most self-absorbed cunt on Earth. At this point, you're used to feeling like that, at least twice a day. You spent the rest of your shift watching her stories over and over until it was time to close.

“I’m heading out,” you said to Nate as you finally grabbed your stuff from the break room. The city felt colder than usual that time of year; you could feel your lips getting chapped every time you stepped outside, so you quickly wrapped your old yellow scarf around your neck while zipping up your jacket. The café was already empty; the other employees had left fifteen minutes earlier, leaving just the two of you to close up.

Nate barely looked at you when you said goodbye to him.

You didn't care.

During your walk to the bus stop, you looked around the dark street pretending you’re not totally shitting yourself under the dim streetlights—holding your purse tightly against your frame, like you're about to be mugged by the thin air.

In those moments of raw vulnerability and panic, the whole idea of vigilantism seemed pretty cool. People in latex or spandex you don't actually know, jumping off buildings and beating up bad guys, defending the working class and pretty girls in distress. That's pretty neat, uh?

And very unrealistic.

Once inside the bus and comfortably seated, you let your thoughts wander again. You didn't know what you were doing with your life anymore. You never did, in fact.

The beauty of the night, the cold air coming from the bus's open windows, and the lights of the buildings dancing against the dark sky managed to soothe some of your pain for a few minutes. Your legs ached after hours of standing behind the counter, you felt burns on your hands, and your feet were uncomfortably squeezed into shoes that were a size too small.

Gradually, you fell asleep leaning against the bus seat, thinking about a nice pair of shoes you saw in the mall three days ago.

The first thing you noticed while slowly waking up was how comfortable you felt. The fabric beneath your body was as soft as silk, and the scent of fresh lavender emanating from it indicated that it had been recently washed—fuck, what is this? Heaven? You whined, shoving your whole face against it and breathing in.

Yeah, that’s definitely lavender—

Wait.

Public transportation didn’t smell like lavender, last time you checked. Your whole body went rigid as a cold shiver ran down your spine.

You immediately opened your eyes.

Fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening?

You weren't on a bus anymore, that's for sure. Jesus, where's your purse?

“Fuck!” you almost screamed in pure panic as a painful sensation spread between your ribs and stomach, burning so much it seemed to take your breath away as you tried to sit up.

You were on a bed. A king-size bed. Sitting on silk sheets.

“Oh my god, someone kidnapped me—”

You looked around the bedroom as tears immediately filled your wide eyes. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled as you tried to make sense of the unfamiliar place you had woken up in.

The growing panic and fear for your life were so overwhelming that you couldn’t even notice the beautiful, very personal decor around the room or the several photos on the walls and desk, showing your face next to people you had never seen in your entire life.

"Oh, miss, thank God you're awake" a gentle voice said — is that a british accent? — close to the bedroom's door.

That's it, you're going to be killed by a weird, rich old man, and he's going to sell your organs on the black market.

Oh God, you quietly sobbed, you've always slept on the bus on your way back home, and you've never had any problems before—

Through the tears that blurred your vision, you could finally make out the figure of a tall man slowly approaching your bed. He was holding a cup of tea and a plate with what looked like a sandwich.

A cucumber sandwich.

"It seems like you may have hit your head quite hard. And your ribs," he said, handing you the cup and placing the plate on the bedside table. The man sighed loudly. "Master Damian really needs to contain his enthusiasm during sparring sessions."

The cup shook in your left hand as you looked at him with tearful eyes. He politely pretended not to notice your desperate state or the tears in the corners of your eyes as he walked back to the door.

"Hey, Alfie, have you seen my white socks?" another voice called out, this time from the hall.

"They're still on your bedroom drawers, Master Dick."

"Oh, right, sorry."

Wait, that was Batman's butler or—

Your vision faded to black as you collapsed back onto the silk sheets.

tag-list: @rosescarlettx, @btsloveer07-blog, @rainbowstar, @xingyunny, @mikyapixie, @sheep-from-rad, @fandomly-obsessed, @migilore, @natsukicookies, @candlewitch-cryptic, @socialmess-jery, @mona1704, @dieforcoffee26, @stupouid, @astrelz, @dind1n, @cxcilla, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @ceridwyn3, @sunako50

[areislol]

genshin men getting reverse isekai’d into creator! reader’s world

►— pairings. genshin men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. fluff, although it is a gender neutral reader it does mention afab reader, lowercase intended, not proof read 🙅🏻‍♀️

►— synopsis. albedo created a machine where it would bring back their creator, who was stuck in another world, back to where they belong. but instead of bringing you here to them, it brought them to where you were.

►— a/n. i have been meaning to write isekai’d or reverse isekai’d fic for SO long but i’ve been busy and procrastinating so 😢 this is sagau!!

►— wordcount. 3.8k

✧ part one | ✧ part two | ✧ part three | ✧ part four | ✧ part five |more tba.. NAVIGATION

at first, it was the genshin men who wanted you to be transported into their world. you know.. the world you’re familiar with. but somehow albedo’s machine malfunctioned and did the opposite of what it was supposed to do.

it was a normal day, well for the residents of teyvat who were just minding their own business, but not for the men who had gave away nearly all of their mora for albedo’s machine to work.

a very selected few men from each region gathered to mondstadt (sometimes it took a few days for a week to arrive there but they were determined to arrive there faster as they didn’t want to waste time).

kaeya, diluc, venti and albedo from mondstadt gathered were anticipating for the day albedo would put out the news that the machine would finally work. everyday when they had spare time or whenever they could, they would vist albedo in dragonspine and check up on the machine and ask for the good news

if albedo needed anything or needed some mora (or if he needed someone to run errands for him) they would happily oblige, anything for their grace.

zhongli, xiao, baizhu from liyue would anticipate for the news ever since they had gotten the information and letter from albedo himself as well from jean about the machine that would supposedly bring the creator to their world.

they immediately started to help with whatever they could, even travelling to mondstadt to see if there was anything they could help or provide with, if nothing they would stay for however long they could and watch albedo work on it, fiddling with their fingers or twisting their articles of clothing from anticipation, trying to hold back their excitement and joy of finally meeting their creator.

zhongli is one of the few who were your oldest worshippers, in his prime he would sculpt many statues of you, based on what the scripts had described of what the creator looked like and he was sure that it was one his most best work in his lifetime.

zhongli definitely gave albedo all of his mora, not caring if he needed them to buy food to eat, why worry about that when he has something else to prioritise? all he needed was you, to survive.

kazuha, itto, gorou, ayato, heizou and thoma from inazuma was ecstatic at the news of your soon arrival!! they spent their minutes, hours and days filled with excitement and could not focus on anything.

although ayato was calm and collected, there was no denying that deep inside he was freaking out like c’mon? the creator is finally descending? after thousands of years? and they expect him to be calm? no way.

all gave albedo and sucrose their up most help. giving him materials that would only be found in their region and not in mondstadt, for the machine. in their spare time they would fight the enemies and gather whatever they dropped and send it to albedo in the hopes that it would be a major help to the machine (it was and albedo sent his thanks in a letter).

cyno, al-haitham, kaveh, wanderer and tighnari from sumeru was shocked to say the least, at first they were wary of the news. i mean of course they believed in you, and the story of your descent but at the same time how could they trust this.. albedo person? but after getting the letter inviting them to dragonspine to see the machine for themselves and to see his blueprints, notes and so on, they agreed and once arriving, they definitely believed him.

after confirming that everything was real, they began to team up with albedo (if he allowed them but albedo was more than happy for some help as he was getting tired just from doing majority of the things with sucrose..) and helping him. kaveh was an architect so he helped albedo with the model of the machine and with al-haithams, tighnari and wanderer’s knowledge they began to make the machine more safe and reliable.

they’re all very happy and overjoyed knowing that soon they will bring their creator back to where they belong, just knowing the fact that they will soon be able to see and witness their grace in their glory and flesh was everything.

lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley, freminet and aether from fontaine was more than ecstatic upon hearing the news. lyney started to practise more with his magic tricks, trying to add more action and more of the surprise factor in his tricks so that he could impress you and hear you praise him.

neuvillette almost cried tears of joy (and flooded fontaine) at the letter albedo sent to him. just looking at the sentence “we will be able to see our grace soon, please help in anyway you can.” made his eyes water.

he started to mentally and physically prepare himself for your arrival, making sure to look his best and presentable, while also preparing for how he would greet you. a bow would do- no.. a bow where his forehead touched the ground, yes, that will do. he couldn’t wait for your arrival (even explaining to the very excited melusines too about his profound love and adoration for you).

neuvillette admired you from hundreds of years ago, hearing your stories and heroic acts made him fall more in love with you. he goes to your temple (that he made by himself) and prays every day before going to bed.

wriothesley, freminet and aether on the other hand was more calm although nervous at the same time. wriothesley (and everyone else) had heard many great stories about you, the great power you hold like no other, your kindness, your hospitality, your beauty—everything. so there was nothing else he wanted than to witness you in the flesh, although he is scared what your beauty may blind him.

aether is also anticipating your arrival, when he was younger his parents would tell him the great stories about you and how the elements came about, not only that but he has a hunch that you could possibly help him find his sister, no.. he’s positive you will.

and from the other regions, childe, capitano, dottore, pantalone, pierro and dainsleif were almost going batshit crazy once word spread that the creator was going to be teleported into their world from albedo’s machine. dainsleif could feel it in him, he could feel the shift in teyvat, the way the trees and nature around him started to be more responsive and grow more large and.. prettier?

the fatui had paused all of their plans and focused soley on you, their creator. they wanted to make sure that the archons or anyone else doesn’t reach you but.. that would be diffcult considering that a non fatui was creating this machine along with the help with so many different people from different regions.

they had always worshipped you and was hopelessly devoted to you, giving you gifts right below your statue, sometimes even ranting to you about their problems and how the archons were absolutely useless.

dainsleif was.. consumed with many emotions. he believed that he was one of your most devoted and the most loyal of them all followers. he believed that your word was law and whatever you ordered him to do or whatever order you give to anyone, they should obey. and if not he would love nothing more than to deal with them, anything for you.

altogether, they all (reluctantly cough cough the fatui, diluc, tighnari and wanderer cough cough) helped cooperate with bringing you back to the world you belong in, giving albedo thousands and millions of mora, any material from their home region, their support and so on. that was how devoted they were to you.

and finally, the day albedo and sucrose sent out all of letters telling them that the machine was ready, everybody came scurrying to dragonspine, their hearts racing in an inhumane beat, once they all arrived they were swearing BULLETS and albedo offered them all towels since he knew none of them would like to be presented to the almight creator looking… sweaty.

everybody stood around the machine, their eyes shining with excitement and their hearts beating from nervousness, and on the count to three, albedo would turn the notch and whatever came next, well, they would just have to cross their fingers and pray.

“1..”

“2..”

“3..!”

albedo turned the notch on the machine and within a milisecond a bright light had appeared, blinding everyone as they quickly raised their arm to cover their eyes.

some started to cough as smoke filled the room, many yelling in confusion, yelling on top of their lungs if it worked to which no one replied of course, they couldn’t open their eyes nor felt anything different until their bodies started to feel all gooey like they were melting. their vision (despite covering their eyes) was going white, their mind was foggy and they were dizzy.

but after a few seconds they felt better, they felt like they were in a different place, they could sense it.. after waving their hands away to clear the smoke and before they knew it, they were in a totally different room and place. they were inside of a room, not a room from their world, their was unknown technology on a desk that they have never seen before. there was unknown stuff all around them.

they all looked around in confusion, taking in everything. “where are we?” “what is this place” “are we going to meet our grace?”

suddenly, zhongli spotted someone on the bed, sleeping calmly despite all of the ruckus they had caused. zhongli shushed everybody to which some scowled at (wanderer mainly) and before they could argue back, he pointed at you.

pointing at the sleeping figure on the bed wanderer immediately shut his mouth. it was dark so they couldn’t make out your face but no worries! your phone just lit up and everybody looked at it, curious at the light device. kazuha paid no mind to it and grabbed the strange device before shining it on your face. his breath hitched, stumbling back just a bit.

everybody else looked at your face and was stunned. their voice caught in their throats as they finally, finally saw you, their grace.

your beauty was like no other, even the little drool seeping out of the corner of your lips were adorable!

some started to sob quietly, too overwhelmed with their feelings and with the fact that they just saw their creator (neuvillette, lyney, childe and zhongli a little bit..). while everyone else was murmuring under their breaths about what they should do, you were sleepinf peacefully. and everytime you moved in your sleep everybody would tense up and hold their breaths, scared to wake you up (and scare you in you did).

but after a few minutes you did wake up, to their horror and fascination. you rubbed your eyes and looked around groggily and through the seeping moonlight through your blinds you could make out the many black silhouettes in your room, surrounding you.

freaking out, you held your breath and tried to calm yourself down, telling you that your mind was playing tricks on you but after gulping and turning on your lamp to just reassure you it was nothing, you saw many men surrounding you, wincing at the sudden light.

your jaw dropped before screaming absolute bloody murder, grabbing your pillows and (your poor) plushies and throwing it at the unknown men in your room, closing your eyes shut you prayed to god that this was just a dream when someone spoke.

his voice was dreamy and so soft although deep, like silk. it flowed smoothly like running water.

“are you alright, your grace?”

your what? opening your eyes, you could see that some of the men were grabbing a hold of your plushies while some were on the floor, meaning some did get hid while some others didn’t.

wait a minute.. as you took a closer look at the people you realise that it’s…

“zhongli..?” you mumbled, squinting your eyes to see if it was really him and there was no doubt it was really him. you could see his eyes lighting up, he seemed really happy that you said his name, it was sort of cute.

that was when childe and heizou along with others pushed zhongli, trying to get your attention as they called you their “grace” and acted really really happy to see you.

observing everyone you soon realise that all of these men are all from the very famous game you play—genshin impact. “w-wait a minute.. zhongli-“ you point at him, he nods with a tender smile, you could only smile back nervously, totally unaware of the death glares zhongli was getting.

“heizou, childe, thoma, dainsleif, xiao.. holy crap!” your eyes widen and you hop off your bed, slipping on your slippers are you look at everyone else. “this isn’t real…” you mumbled, holding your head with one of your hands. looking around once more you felt the very intense gazes of the very handsome men staring you down.

your cheeks flushed red as you took in the fact that these handsome men are fighting for your attention, and are literally standing in your room and just.. there!!

walking back into your room, you yank the mattress with all your strength when dainsleif and xiao walked up to you, offering you help to which you shake your head at. “no i’m good, thank you though!”

everybody was waiting patiently for you as you set down the mattress.

“okay.. you guys can sit and sleep there for now.. now tell me what happened. as far as i know you two aren’t from this world, obviously because you are all from genshin impact! you know, the game?”

you said, sitting down on your bed as you watched some of them sit on the mattress while some stood beside the mattress.

they all nodded before albedo spoke. “you see, your grace, we intended to bring you back to our world because that is where you belong—the world you created.” he began, looking into your eyes to look for any reaction.

your eyes widened at his words. “me..?” you said in disbelief. “oh.. uh continue!” albedo continued on.

“and we spent many months working on the machine, and today i had finished it, i called everybody else who are in your room and i turned the notch, and there was blinding light, and then we were in your room.”

you nod your head at his words, taking in the information. “i’m just as confused as you are, your grace.” albedo reassures you, you could only give him a small smile before speaking again.

“listen i’m just.. i’m confused on why you’re you know.. calling me ‘your grace’.. i mean i understand the formalities and all but..”

zhongli and neuvillette raises their brow. “that is because, you are our creator, you created the elements, giving us visions, you carved the very world we live on, teyvat.” zhongli explains.

furrowing your brows, you tried to understand him, you really did but, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing all of those great things zhongli explained to you.

“listen.. you probably have the wrong person and-“ “no,” everybody whips their towards dainsleif, giving him a scowl for him daring to cut their creator off.

“i can feel like, you are our creator, you.. this feeling you give me, to us, is other worldly, please.. your grace, believe me.”

dainsleif pleads, his eye(s?) staring deep into your soul, begging for you to understand. and to be honest you felt yourself getting lost in his eyes, it was tempting you and… you gave in.

gulping you closed your eyes and sighed. “i-.. fine, i may not believe that i was capable of doing all of those mountain moving stuff but i will.. you know.. just call me y/n.”

all of their eyes widen from surprise. kaveh breaks the mumurs of the men among him. “y-you would give us the honor to call you by your real name? i’m afraid we can no-“

“nuh uh, no need to call me ‘your grace’ anymore, it feels weird being called something so high..” you cut kaveh off and you could hear the collective, audible gasps from around you.

venti, heizou and kaveh (who were standing beside the mattress) basically launched themselves onto you, almost crying from happiness of the fact that you were allowing them to call you by your name.

“oh your grac- no, y/n!! it would be such an honor to call you by your name!” venti cries, hugging your body as heizou and kaveh clinged onto your arms, tears brimming their eyes.

you could only laugh nervously at the sudden affection and pat venti on the back, when you realized that this was a one in a life time experience where you actually meet these handsome (fictional but not anymore) men so you decide to hug venti back, patting his back.

“i-it’s all good venti but uh.. you’re squeezing me a bit too hard..” you managed to get out, tapping him on his arm. venti pulled back and smiled sheepishly. “oops..”

venti, heizou and kaveh got a good scolding from zhongli and dainsleif about jumping on the creator like that.

it was starting to get a bit hot and stuffy in your room so you decided to get up (with kaveh still clinging onto your arm) and walk over to the window and opening it up. feeling the cool breeze hit your face you sighed with satisfaction.

turning back around you saw all men staring right back at you. right.. you still had 23 men in your room. “uh.. so, are you guys thirsty?” you said nervously, offering them a small smile. it was your first time having a guy over at your room let alone 23!!

you don’t even know why you offered them water, you just wanted to ease the awkwardness.

they all nodded and you nod your head, making your way to the door and you could feel them staring holes into the back of your skull.

“i’ll go get some water, i don’t know if i have 23 glasses though..” and as you walked out of your room you could hear many footsteps following behind you, through the hallway and into the kitchen.

sighing, you crouched down to the cabinets and opened it, grabbing as many cups as you can. there was only 10. geez, who knew those “best child in the world” and “best co worker in the world!” would come in handy? you had 5 each, filling each of them up with cold water before passing it to thoma, xiao, neuvillette, wanderer, al-haitham, and a few others.

they were all fighting over who would get the last cup since you held that cup, it was special.

“‘kay, once you’re done drinking just wash and pour another cup for the others okay? here’s the tap and here’s the water jug.” you pointed to the water jug and once they gave you a nod of acknowledgment, you made your way back to the bedroom with zhongli following right behind you.

soon, everybody else came into your room, talking amongst one another. you plopped down on your bed and took a deep breath, taking in everything.

you were sleeping peacefully, woken up to 23 handsome men in your room, threw pillows at them, sat down and talked to them about their situation, offered them water and a place to sleep. yeah.. what a day.

“everything alright, your- y/n? i know it’s a lot to take in i… i want to apologize. is there anything i or we can do to make it up to you?”

turning your head, you faced zhongli and smiled softly. “no, it’s okay, if anything im worried for you guys.. i mean how do you feel? you’re not home anymore and i don’t know how long it’ll be until you guys go back home.”

the men hum and agreement and started to question when they will come back home. that was until neuvillette spoke up.

“but, y/n, we worship you and devote our entire selves for you.. i mean yes we would miss our positions but being with you is much more meaningful.

hm. interesting.. you thought to yourself. they seem very fond and loyal to you. it was cute. yawning, you blinked away your sleepy tears and hummed, making yourself more comfortable in your bed.

“blankets and pillows are in the closet right behind the mattress, make yourself at home..” you mumbled sleepily. “if.. if there’s no more space then you can sleep with me, i can only fit two or three people.”

honestly, who on earth would offer that? but you couldn’t pass this opportunity with these handsome men!! so why not?

everybody’s eyes widen at this offer. some of them scrambling to get onto your bed to sleep by your side, dainsleif, zhongli and neuvillette were pulling back heizou and venti back onto the mattress, knowing they would probably be up to no good next to you.

the ones who managed to get on your bed was childe and xiao, yes, xiao. he wasn’t trying to fight for a spot though (kind of was..) but he accidentally pulled away kaveh instinctively and landed him a spot beside you!!

childe sighed happily and snuggled up close to you, while xiao laid on the bed motionless, it kind of scared you.

“it feels so nice to be by your side y/n~” he mumbled, holding onto your arm, xiao scowled at him—staring daggers at childe. “don’t be so jealous, you’re beside them too you know..”

xiao narrows his eyes before staring up at the ceiling again. even though it was dark you noticed how he seemed to be blushing, was xiao always this cute?

the rest of the men had to sleep on three different mattresses, some even sleeping on the floor because they refused to sleep beside some people. most people ignored itto because he snored, really.. really loudly. he kept you up until 3 am.

you knew you were way too calm when reacting to this situation but then again, you have been a big fan of genshin impact for years now.. and you were crushing on all of them!! you would always wish on the very same bed you’re sharing with childe and xiao, that you could meet them, even if it was in your dreams.

so now that you could actually feel, look and talk to them.. you decided to take this opportunity and try to become as close with them as possible.

even if they have to leave in the end, you want to create many happy memories.

> ✧ part two

note: THIS WAS SO RUSHED AND DOESNT MAKE SENSE I KNOW IM SORRY 😭😭 i promise next part will definitely be better 🙏🏻 as i said before this is not proof read so excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes 😢

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: I CAN ONLY ADD 30 TAGS? GOD

[isaadore]

CLOSE TO THE EDGE MAX VERSTAPPEN

paring max verstappen x childhood friend!reader

SUMMARY you and max have been inseparable since you were kids. you both promised that no matter what happens, you’ll always be there for each other. but when the pressures of max’s racing career and a growing distance between you strain the friendship, you’re both left to find what you really mean to each other. word count 1.9k words

warnings self-criticism, themes of anxiety and stress, angst, jos verstappen

note requested :)

MAIN MASTERLIST MV1 MASTERLIST

THERE WAS SOMETHING nostalgic about the sound of engines revving; how it pulled you back to your childhood, back when life was simple, and the only thing that mattered was Max’s kart circling the track. You sat on the pit wall, the roar of engines around you as familiar as the heartbeat you couldn’t seem to steady.

The air smelled of gasoline and rubber, the sun already hot against your skin, but you were used to it. You had spent too many days like this to mind. From the time you were little, following Max around the karting circuits, this had been home. But it was different now.

Max was different now.

You watched as he climbed out of the Red Bull car, peeling off his helmet to reveal damp, sweaty hair, and an unreadable expression to anyone who hadn’t known him as long as you had. His features were sharper now; chiselled with the kind of confidence that came with years of pushing himself to the limit, of knowing he was the best. But behind his calm exterior, you could see it: the frustration, the constant war with himself to be perfect.

He glanced in your direction briefly, but you knew he wasn’t really seeing you. Not anymore.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when you were the first person he’d come to after every race, win or lose. You’d sit together on the track, the world muted around you, just two kids who didn’t care about the future. But that felt like a lifetime ago now, and you weren’t sure when it changed when the distance between you grew so wide, you didn’t know how to cross it.

You weren’t even sure if he wanted you to.

20 YEARS AGO

“Faster, Max! You’re too slow!” you teased, legs dangling over the barrier as you watched him zoom around the small karting track your families had brought you to for the weekend.

Even at seven years old, Max was serious about racing, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sped past you in his kart. His father, Jos, stood nearby, arms crossed, watching Max’s every move like a hawk.

“I’ll show you slow,” Max shouted back, grinning as he floored the pedal, the little kart shooting forward with a speed that made your heart skip a beat.

You laughed, running to the edge of the barrier to watch him cross the finish line, his face flushed with excitement when he pulled off his helmet.

“Did you see that? I was way faster than last time!” Max exclaimed, running over to you, eyes bright with triumph.

You nodded enthusiastically, always his biggest supporter, even when you didn’t understand the technical details of racing. “Yeah, but you still couldn’t catch me on foot,” you said with a teasing grin, before darting off towards the grassy area behind the track.

“Hey!” Max shouted, chasing after you, both of you laughing until you collapsed in a heap, breathless and grinning under the summer sun. It had always been like this, simple, easy. Max was your best friend, the one constant in your life that you never had to question.

PRESENT DAY

That memory flashed through your mind as you watched Max now, his shoulders tight with tension as he talked to his engineer. You wondered when the last time was that he laughed like that, really laughed, not the polite chuckle he gave to fans or media. You wondered if he’d forgotten how.

The race debrief dragged on, and you shifted on the bench, your eyes flicking towards your phone. You weren’t there for the media, or the race engineers. You were there for Max, but lately, it had started to feel like you were just another fixture in the background of his life, like you had become part of the scenery instead of someone he needed.

You were still deep in thought when you heard his voice, closer now. “Hey,” Max said, but it lacked the warmth it used to have.

You looked up, forcing a smile. “Hey. How was the car?”

“It was fine.” His tone was clipped, distracted, as if his mind was already miles away, focused on the next race, the next challenge.

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. “You’ve got the weekend off after this, right?” you asked, hoping to reignite the friendship, the ease that used to come so naturally between you.

“Yeah,” Max replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got a couple of media things, but I’ll be free for the most part.”

There was a pause, a beat too long, and you wondered if he was going to ask you to do something, like he used to. Back when weekends off meant go-karting for fun, or late-night drives where you’d talk about anything but racing.

But the invitation didn’t come.

“Good luck with the media stuff,” you said finally, the words falling flat between you.

Max nodded absently, already turning away to speak to someone else, and you were left with the bitter taste of something unspoken in your mouth. The silence between you was louder than the roar of the engines, and you wondered how long you could keep pretending that things hadn’t changed.

12 YEARS AGO

It was the first time you had ever seen Max cry.

You were both fifteen, standing outside the karting track after he had lost a crucial race. It wasn’t even a huge competition, but for Max, every race was an important one. He hated losing more than anything, and you could see the way it ate at him, the disappointment in his eyes when he realized he wasn’t invincible.

“You were still amazing,” you had said, trying to comfort him, but Max just shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.

“No, I wasn’t,” he muttered, kicking at the gravel with his shoe. “I should’ve been faster. I should’ve won.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just stood there, waiting, offering your silent support the way you always did.

It was only when the others had left, when it was just the two of you in the fading evening light, that Max finally let the walls crack. His fists clenched at his sides, and he looked at you with those piercing blue eyes, tears threatening to spill over.

“I can’t keep losing,” he whispered, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. “I have to be the best.”

You hadn’t hesitated. You reached for him, pulling him into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around his tense frame. Max resisted for a moment, stiff in your embrace, but then he crumbled, burying his face in your shoulder as the tears came.

“I’m here, Max,” you had whispered into his hair, holding him as tightly as you could. “I’ll always be here.”

PRESENT DAY

You wondered if he even remembered what it felt like to rely on you for support. Now, it felt like you were the one watching from the sidelines while Max barrelled through life at breakneck speed, focused on nothing but the finish line.

The days when he used to confide in you, to trust you with his fears, seemed so far away now.

Later that evening, you sat in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your unspoken thoughts pressing down on you. You couldn’t keep doing this, watching Max drift further and further away, pretending like it didn’t hurt.

The sound of your phone buzzing broke the silence, and you glanced at the screen. It was a message from Max.

Are you free to talk?

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing in your chest. It had been a while since he had asked to talk, really talk. You quickly typed back a reply, and a few minutes later, your phone rang.

“Hey,” Max’s voice came through the line, quieter now, almost hesitant. “I just… I don’t know why I called.”

You felt a flicker of hope in your chest. “You don’t need a reason,” you said softly.

There was a long pause, and when Max spoke again, his voice was lower, more vulnerable. “Do you ever feel like… we’re not the same anymore?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the very thing you had been afraid to admit to yourself.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

There was another silence, and for a moment, you were both suspended in it, the weight of years of unsaid words hanging between you.

“I miss how things used to be,” Max admitted, and it was like the walls he had built up over the years were starting to crack, just like they did that day when you were fifteen.

“So do I,” you confessed, your voice barely audible.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Max said, and you could hear the fear in his voice now, the same fear he had when he was fifteen, terrified of not being good enough.

“You won’t,” you promised, the words coming out before you could stop them. “I’m still here, Max. I’ve always been here.”

Max let out a shaky breath, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were on the same page again, like the distance between you wasn’t so insurmountable after all.

The next few days passed in a blur of media obligations and sponsor events, but there was a shift in the air between you and Max. It was subtle, little things, like the way he sought you out in the crowd, the way he lingered after conversations as if he was afraid of letting you slip away again.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling day, you found yourselves sitting on the balcony of Max’s hotel room, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

“Remember that time we raced each other on foot after your kart race?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

Max chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, and you tripped and scraped your knee. You wouldn’t stop crying until I gave you my ice cream.”

You laughed, the memory of it warming you in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’d still take your ice cream, by the way.”

Max grinned, but then his expression softened, and he looked at you in that way he used to when you were kids; like you were the only person in the world who truly knew him.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “For what?”

“For… everything,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “For letting things get so messed up between us. I didn’t mean to push you away. I just—”

“Max,” you interrupted gently, reaching over for his hand. “You didn’t push me away. I just… I didn’t know how to help you anymore.”

Max squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve always helped me, even when I didn’t realize it.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. There was so much you both still needed to say, but for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were finally on the right track.

“Do you think we can fix this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max looked at you, his blue eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in years; hope. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

And for the first time in a while, you believed him.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ MV1 MASTERLIST

[mssalo]

masterlist - mssalo

Welcome!

I write a mix of content, including dark themes and smut, so please make sure to always check the warnings before reading each fic. Some stories may explore darker topics, and those will be clearly marked with appropriate content warnings.

18+ ONLY.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

ma'am - smut, sub!joel

here

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

after hours - smut, sub!joel (part two of ma’am)

here

Joel Miller has been yours for a month now, and while things between you are steady, Jackson’s demands have kept you too busy for his liking. Missing you fiercely, Joel decides to pick you up after a late night, only for his mood to sour when Paul monopolizes your time. What starts as a simple check-in turns into something much more when Joel finally gets you alone or well... the other way around.

· · ─

fixation - smut

here

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

· · ─

taste - smut

here

You've slowly chipped away at Joel's gruff exterior, turning his frowns into smiles. One night, your playful teasing leads to something more, and when Joel finally gives in, the intense passion between you two becomes impossible to control.

· · ─

hummingbird - smut, dark

here: I  II

In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by an obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination turns into something much darker as his protective instincts morph into possessive desires, blurring the line between safeguarding and owning her.

· · ─

safety - smut, dark

here: I  II III IV V

Joel’s life is built around control and keeping danger at bay. But when a sweet young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. His obsession with keeping her safe quickly spirals into something darker.

· · ─

worship - smut, bestfriendswife!reader

here part two

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

· · ─

access - smut, husband!joel

here

You and your husband, Joel, share a deep understanding - your body is his, to fuck and taste whenever he desires, without question or hesitation.

· · ─

debt - smut, darkish!joel

here

Joel saved you, and now you depend on him for survival. But after one mistake too many, he demands you repay him-with your body.

You owe him, and he's done keeping you safe for free.

· · ─

dirty old man - series, smut

caretaker!reader x oldman!joel (a lot of new smut will come with this duo)

dirty old man - the beginning

dirty old man - the doctor’s office

dirty old man - on your knees

dirty old man - sleeping

dirty old man - field trip

You were assigned as Joel Miller’s caretaker, but he’s a perverted old man who just can’t keep his hands off you. And the truth is, you don’t mind one bit—in fact, you want more.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[favefandomimagines]

The Alchemy (j.m)

Request: @mrslestappen “May I request ( shy!Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank ) pleaseeeeee, where she has been friends with the boys just like Kie, (Kie, her and Sarah were the trio of friends) and after they reconciled she is super happy because she has her two best friends back. And let's just say JJ has a soft spot for her, even though she's a kook he's always taken care of her. And they have matching necklaces (the shark tooth one, let's just say that when he got his he also created hers and they have always had matching necklaces) + kind of obsessed with her (in a nice way) and let's say because she's always been with the guys she's never really been in a relationship so imagine the reaction JJ would have if she tells him she wants him to be her first kiss (first kiss is soft, second one is hot/possesive poor JJ will devour her, because only he knows how long he waited) and the rest I'll leave it up to you. (In my head this sounded better sorry)”

Summary: she always was going to pick him, he just needed to show her.

JJ Maybank didn't think he'd ever like a Kook. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever even tolerate one. The Kooks were the people who had everything he and the other Pogues didn’t.

They were the rich kids on the other side of the island, the ones with trust funds, yachts, and pristine lives. JJ had seen enough of their type to last a lifetime, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

Except for her.

Her name was Y/N Y/L/N, and she was the only Kook JJ had ever been able to stomach. In fact, he more than just "stomached" her — he adored her.

He couldn't remember when it started, but he was pretty sure it was around the time he realized girls were more than just annoying distractions during surf sessions.

Somewhere between scraped knees on the beach as kids and sharing late-night bonfire confessions, Y/N had become more than just his friend.

She wasn’t like the rest of the Kooks. Y/N might have lived in one of the fanciest houses on Figure Eight, but she didn’t act like it. She hung out with JJ, John B, and Pope since they were kids, running wild through the marshes and crashing parties on the Cut.

Her mom used to be close with John B’s mom before she left, which meant Y/N spent almost as much time in the Chateau as John B himself. She was their bridge between worlds, best friends with Kie and, surprisingly, even got along with Sarah Cameron after their recent reconciliation.

JJ had given her a shark tooth necklace that matched his own back when they were kids, and she had worn it ever since. The necklace was a symbol, a quiet testament to their shared adventures and secrets.

It rested just below her collarbone, a constant reminder that she belonged with the Pogues, even if she didn’t entirely fit into their world.

For the most part, JJ was content just having her around. But sometimes, like right now, with the sun setting over the water and Y/N laughing at something John B had said, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his chest that he wanted more. More than just her friendship, more than just stolen glances and the occasional accidental brush of hands.

||

It was one of those hot, sticky Outer Banks afternoons when Y/N came to find him. JJ was at the dock, cleaning up the HMS Pogue, when he saw her walking toward him. She looked like sunshine personified, with her long hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling as if she held the secrets of the universe.

“Hey, JJ,” she greeted, her voice light and carefree, but there was something nervous in the way she bit her lip.

“What’s up, Princess?” he asked, straightening up and wiping his hands on his jeans.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers toying with the shark tooth necklace he had given her. “I, uh, need to talk to you about something.”

JJ’s heart sank a little, the teasing grin on his face faltering. Usually, that phrase meant bad news. “What did you do this time? Burn down another country club?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but laughed. “No, JJ, not this time. It’s… it’s about a guy.”

JJ froze. “A guy?” he echoed, feeling like the ground had just shifted beneath him.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice softening. “I… I got asked out on a date.”

JJ’s stomach dropped, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He’d always known this day would come eventually, but he wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt. “Who?” he managed to ask, trying to keep his voice steady.

“His name’s Trevor. He’s new in town, just moved here from Wilmington,” she explained, her eyes flicking to JJ’s face to gauge his reaction.

He knew the guy — tall, dark hair, probably some rich Kook kid whose family had money to burn. JJ felt the jealousy bubble up, hot and fierce. “And when’s this date supposed to happen?”

“Tomorrow night,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The girl he’d been in love with for years was going on a date with some random guy who had just waltzed into town. “Do you even like this dude?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, looking genuinely conflicted. “But… what if he tries to kiss me?”

JJ’s jaw clenched. “Then tell him to back off,” he snapped, his temper flaring.

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not that simple, JJ. I’ve never… I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

The admission hung in the air between them, and JJ felt his heart stutter. Y/N, the girl who could light up a room with just her smile, had never had her first kiss. It was almost unfathomable. He swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the tidal wave of emotions crashing over him.

“Y/N…” he began, not sure what to say.

“I know it’s dumb,” she said quickly, looking down at her feet. “But I don’t want to mess it up. What if I’m terrible at it?”

He wanted to laugh because there was no way in hell she’d be bad at anything. “Are you seriously asking me for kissing advice?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Actually… I was hoping you could… you know… be my first kiss.”

JJ’s mind went blank. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. He stared at her, trying to wrap his head around the idea that the girl he’d been crazy about for years was asking him to be her first kiss. But not because she wanted him in that way — no, it was just so she wouldn’t screw up with some other guy.

“Y/N, are you serious?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

She nodded, her cheeks turning pink. “I trust you, JJ. I know you won’t make it weird.”

Too late for that, he thought bitterly. But he couldn’t say no to her, not when she was looking at him like that. “Alright,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But if I’m gonna be your first kiss, I’m not gonna half-ass it.”

Her eyes sparkled with gratitude, and she took a step closer to him.

They stood on the dock, the sun casting golden light over the water. JJ’s heart was pounding in his chest as Y/N moved even closer, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. He could see the nervous flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips parted just slightly.

“Just… close your eyes, okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

Y/N nodded, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips trembling ever so slightly. JJ took a deep breath, his hand moving up to gently cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her skin, and he could feel her shiver under his touch.

Then, with a tenderness he didn’t even know he was capable of, JJ leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft, gentle, the kind of kiss that could be over in the blink of an eye if you weren’t careful. But for JJ, it felt like the world had stopped. Her lips were warm and soft against his, and he could feel the way her fingers clutched at his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard, their eyes locked.

“How was that?” he asked, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Y/N was staring at him, her eyes wide and dazed. “That was… perfect,” she whispered. But then, as if realizing herself, she shook her head. “But maybe… one more time? Just to make sure I’ve got it?”

JJ’s breath hitched. This time, he didn’t hold back. He kissed her again, harder, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every unsaid word and unspoken feeling into that kiss. His hands cupped her face, Y/N melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, and he was lost. He was completely and utterly lost in her.

When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping for air. JJ rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face. “Don’t go on that date, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his. And then she smiled, that beautiful, sunlit smile that he loved so much. “Yeah… I think I need to cancel that date,” she said softly.

||

It wasn’t long before the rest of the Pogues found out. Kie was ecstatic, practically tackling Y/N in a hug when she found out, while John B just grinned knowingly. Pope was the most surprised, but even he seemed happy for them.

“Finally!” Kie exclaimed, throwing her arms around JJ and Y/N “I was wondering how long it would take you two to figure it out.”

JJ just grinned, pulling Y/N close to his side. “Better late than never, right?”

The group celebrated their newfound relationship with a bonfire at the beach, laughter and music filling the night air. JJ couldn’t keep his hands off Y/N, whether it was holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her waist. He’d spent so long wanting this, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

As the night drew to a close, JJ pulled Y/N aside, away from the others. “I’m glad you picked me,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes shining. “I always would have picked you, JJ. I just needed you to show me first.”

He kissed her again, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that felt like coming home. And for the first time in his life, JJ Maybank felt like he had everything he ever wanted.

The waves crashed around them, the world fading away until it was just the two of them, lost in each other. The Pogues cheered in the background, but JJ didn’t hear any of it.

All he could focus on was the girl in his arms, the girl who had always been more than just a Kook, more than just a friend. She was everything.

And she was his.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!Conner kidnapping reader after she rejects him😔

(I'M HAPPY YOU'RE DOING WELL<3)

Yandere connor Kent x reader

Conner Kent was used to losing things—control, stability, even his sense of self—but he didn’t think he could lose you. Not after everything. You were the only person who didn’t look at him like a walking science experiment or a Superman knockoff. You didn’t ask him what it felt like to have two dads who didn’t care enough to stick around. You didn’t treat him like a weapon in waiting, either.

You just saw him, the way no one else did.

And for someone like him, who had spent his entire existence clawing for meaning, that sight was everything.

So when you said no, when you told him you didn’t feel the same, it was like a fist to his gut. He played it cool, shrugged, tossed out some half-hearted "No big deal," before walking away. But inside, something cracked open. Something dark.

Because rejection wasn’t just rejection—it was abandonment. And Conner Kent had been abandoned enough for one lifetime.

When you woke up, the room was dimly lit, with the faint smell of leather and motor oil clinging to the air. The bed beneath you was soft, but the weight of an unfamiliar blanket felt suffocating. You blinked against the hazy light, your brain sluggish as it tried to make sense of where you were.

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, something low and grungy that vibrated through the walls. You tugged at your wrists and realized, to your growing panic, that they were tied—not tightly, but enough to keep you from slipping away.

"Morning, sunshine," came a voice from the corner of the room.

Your head snapped toward it, your heart lurching as you spotted Conner leaning against the wall. His leather jacket hung off his broad shoulders, and his arms were crossed over his chest, muscles taut beneath his white t-shirt. His face was unreadable, but there was something dangerous in the way his blue eyes caught the light.

"Conner?" Your voice came out small, shaky. "What the hell is going on?"

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Relax. You’re safe. Isn’t that what everyone wants to hear?"

You struggled against the restraints, your panic mounting. "Safe? Are you kidding me? Let me go!"

He pushed off the wall and sauntered toward you, his boots heavy against the floor. When he stopped beside the bed, he crouched so his face was level with yours.

"Yeah, that’s not happening," he said casually, his tone almost bored.

Your stomach flipped. "Conner, this isn’t funny! You can’t just—"

"I can’t just what? Take care of you? Make sure no one hurts you? Because guess what? I’m already doing a better job at that than anyone else ever could."

"You call this taking care of me?!" you snapped, tears welling in your eyes. "This is insane!"

His jaw twitched, and for a second, you saw the cracks in his cool exterior. "What’s insane," he said quietly, his voice low and sharp, "is thinking you could just walk away. Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t—" He stopped himself, exhaling harshly. "Do you know how many people have walked out on me, [name]? How many times I’ve been left behind like I didn’t matter?"

Your breath caught as you saw the raw, unguarded pain flicker across his face.

"But you?" He continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You were different. You made me feel like I was more than just some half-baked clone. And then you threw it all away like it didn’t mean anything."

"Conner, that’s not—"

"Save it," he cut you off, standing abruptly and running a hand through his messy black hair. "You don’t get it. You don’t see what I see. But you will. I’ll make sure of it."

He turned back to you, his smirk returning, though it was laced with something darker now. "You’ll thank me eventually, you know. Once you realize I’m the only one who gives a damn about you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your fear and anger warring with the flicker of pity you couldn’t quite suppress.

"Conner," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "This isn’t love. This isn’t how you treat someone you care about."

He froze for a moment, his expression hardening. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "You don’t know what love is," he muttered. "But don’t worry. I’ll teach you."

And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, his boots echoing in the small room.

"Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "You’re gonna need it."

The door closed behind him with a resounding click, and you were left alone, the weight of his obsession settling over you like a heavy chain.

(A/n: sorry for the wait! I've been writing all day, my hands are aching there's like 15 asks edited in my drafts 😭 TYSM FOR THE WORRY though you don't need to, im fine😛 but not today.. This is my last post before I go to a short hiatus, maybe for 1 or 2 weeks? Either way, I'm not gonna post for awhile because of mental health issues, exams, and chirstmas. Merry Christmas everyone!!)

[mymoshangthoughts]

okay, okay, okay, bear with me

mobei jun already knows about shang qinghua as airplane

oki ive decided to take advantage of the fact that WE NEVER GET A MOBEI JUN POV AND I'LL BE FORVER SALTY ABOUT THAT SHIT

but like, shen yuan figured airplane out REAL fast, right? they barely spent time together before the immortal alliance and then it takes one surprise before airplane is saying stupid shit, right?

and i cant help but think, mobei jun aint dumb and he's been spending How Many Years crashing at shang qinghua's leisure house whenever the fuck he feels like it?

he also finds shang qinghua to be Hella Sus because come on, ofc he does. a human just declares their undying loyalty to you after one fucking meeting??? even if he believes shang qinghua is being sincere in the moment, the fact that he was so quick to betray his sect doesnt speak of a loyal servant

so why wouldnt he snoop? why wouldnt he pay extra close attention when shang qinghua says shit that doesnt make sense? why wouldnt he notice when shang qinghua speaks or writes in a language that he doesnt recognize? airplane canonically isnt fluent in english so if he used a bit of it, especially chinglish, wouldnt mobei jun be able to learn some of the meanings of the words just by context clues? especially when he has YEARS to decode it? like if airplane was fluent, maybe he could hide the meaning, but a limited vocabulary adapted to another language isnt actually super hard to decode. it's the same reason that you can generally understand what slang means before you look up the definition. you might not know what 'rizz' means, but you can pick up the meaning from context clues.

anyway im over explaining the linguistic aspects ALL IM SAYING IS what if airplane kinda depends heavily on chinglish to be his Secret Language that Theres No Way That Anyone Here Can Get. and sure, for most people, it does seem like gibberish. but again, mobei jun has YEARS at his side and reasons to nitpick at it and decode it.

like what if airplane had a habit of writing out pidw plot points in chinglish bc look he is Going to forget shit no matter what, he wrote that novel a lifetime ago, but theres some info thats pretty important for him to Not Forget. so mobei jun is just left with a huge stash of Impossible Information that shang qinghua writes about

everything ranging from future events to obscure demon world facts that theres just no justifiable reason for shang qinghua to know about and just everything in between.

but also what if shang qinghua wrote his feelings? his thoughts? his issues? like cmon, he literally has NO ONE to consult with about the insanity of his life before cucumber-bro, and his life is really crazy, and he used to be the person who wrote out his feelings via novel but look dude he's not about to tempt fate by writing out another novel rn so a diary makes sense. or at least like, random venting

and again, this isnt even mentioning airplane having some potential verbal fuckups that mobei jun can add to his ever growing file of "shang qinghua has something fucking going on"

and like, maybe mobei jun hasnt actually figured out the exact truth but he has some eerily close guesses. or maybe airplane wrote a lengthy journal explaining literally his entire fucked up life and mobei jun knows Everything.

look im just a little bit obsessed with mobei jun casually being aware for YEARS that shang qinghua is from another world and might have once had god-like powers over this world. i think this is very funny and i think it could work in a canon compliant way. cuz i also like to think that some of mobei jun's aggro at shang qinghua was a mixture of

you literally wont tell me who you really are. you claim to be my loyal subject but you wont even tell me your real name and Yes I'm Upset About That

you fucking fucker, you literally PLANNED that horrible event to happen???? you suck so bad omfg. THAT WAS TRAUMATIZING FOR ME YOU JERK NO I DONT CARE IF YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT NOW

your handwriting sucks and im mad that i didnt just have to decode your weird other language, i also had to decode your fucking horrendous handwriting and i dont know if i can ever forgive you for that

you barely ever show your real personality in front of me and i have to learn how you really feel by reading this fucking notes and YES IM UPSET ABOUT THAT

i also just love the idea of Something Happening to do with the multiverse and basically mobei jun is the only one who isnt remotely surprised lmfao. binghe is in crisis mode, cucumber thinks he's gonna die, airplane is freaked out, and mobei jun is just like "yeah, figured some dumb shit like this might happen. you didnt know binghe? dont you pay any attention to your husband :/ dude, they're not even good at hiding it, i thought you were supposed to be smart"

also the simultaneous heartattacks that cucumber and airplane would have that mobei jun just KNOWS like thats hilarious. imagine they need to talk about something secretly in public and its super urgent and mobei jun just starts using chinglish or webspeak or something perfectly and cumplane are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT

mobei jun: that mofo is hella sus, but keep it on the dl. ttyl i need to do a vibe check

cumplane: ?!?!?!?!?!?

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hello love reading your mikaelson fics especially the yandere ones

If u want how bout Yandere sugar daddies klaus and Elijah sharing sugar baby reader wants to become exclusive(to be lovers) but reader is not sure if she wants too. She’s scared to take the next level. Pls smut if u can

She had become their Sugar Baby when they overheard her conversation with Elena, Bonnie and Caroline about her current Sugar Daddy being a piece of shit who just wants to fuck her and drop her, no more taking care of her.

Klaus and Elijah had never had that kind of relationship before so it was definitely different, but of course they could afford to give her everything.

Y/n had stayed at the bar after her friends left and Elijah approached her, buying her another drink and asking her to join them. She was cautious but they could see she was also intrigued.

Elijah had been obsessed with her since he first came to Mystic Falls, and while he had had several relationships over his lifetime, none of them had made him feel like Y/n did. He had watched over her the whole time he was in town, until of course his brother daggered him. Klaus had become interested in her upon returning to the town with Stefan to fix his Hybrid problem. He’d sent her a drink before having to leave again and promising to make her his upon his return to the town. They had started talking the night before when everyone had been in un-daggered and upon realizing they were obsessed with the same girl, they decided to have her together, they had done it once as humans with Tatia, why not now when they were far more well off and able to give her everything she wants?

They bought her a few drinks and just talked, asking what it was she needed from a Sugar Daddy, explaining what they wanted from her and it all seemed rather perfect. They invited her to be their date to their families Ball the next night and promised her the perfect outfit, and the brothers were thrilled when she agreed.

She had allowed them to drive her home and while she didn’t invite them in, at least they know where she lives now and they Hate that it’s an apartment on the edge of the town. Klaus went home and found the perfect dress for her to wear to the Ball and Elijah picked out some jewelry for her to wear with it. There’s no way their girl wouldn’t be the most perfect Princess at the Ball.

That was how it all started. They paid her bills for her and she spent nearly all day every day with them unless they had a supernatural problem to deal with. Elijah loved taking her shopping, she would go with him to help him decide what suits looked the best on him, he loves having her opinion and hearing her tell him how handsome he looks. Klaus enjoyed spoiling her in other ways, whisking her away for an overnight trip to Paris on a jet (Klaus for the food and Elijah for the shopping), A quick stop in Italy when he insisted she needed to know what ‘real’ pasta was like, and even a stop over in New Orleans for the ‘Worlds Best Beignets’. Y/n both loved and hated the fact that Klaus enjoyed feeding her, he watched her eat like it was the most fascinating, beautiful thing in the world and he was definitely turned on by it.

It was a month into the relationship that Y/n began noticing them behaving a little more…personal? They became far more touchy with her, which was nice but she began to realize it felt different. The way they looked at her was as if staring into her soul, and while most Sugar Daddies enjoy people looking at their babies, wanting to show them off to the world as if to say “Look at what I have, you could never afford her”, Klaus and Elijah were jealous, possessive even.

Once Klaus had nearly beaten a man on the street into a coma for looking at her too long she knew she needed to say something.

‘We need to talk.’ She spoke as they sat down in Y/n’s room in their home that they had gifted her, now full of all of her many, many, many clothes. Both men looked shocked but waited patiently for what she needed to say. ‘This isn’t normal, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’ve been a sugar baby since I was 16, I love it, I enjoy being taken care of and shown off like I’m special.’

‘You are special.’ Klaus responded, taking her hand and kissing her palm, pressing her soft hand to his face but for the first time she pulled away from his touch and he instantly didn’t like that.

‘But it feels like you don’t want to show me off, you don’t want other men looking at me like every other man ever! What guy doesn’t want others to look at their girl? That’s always been half the point for the men I spend time with, you almost killed that man the other day Klaus! And you! You growled at a man checking me out at the register 2 days ago! What is wrong with you guys?!’ They could see she was frustrated and they wanted to make her feel better.

‘We love you Princess. We love you so much and we want you to be ours.’ Elijah admitted and her eyes widened in shock.

‘What? No, no, no…that’s not what this is guys, this isn’t a real relationship, why would…why would you want a girl to treat you like a living bank account? I don’t-‘

‘You love us just as much as we love you and you know it, you just try to hide it, we refuse to do so.’ The suited man responded and she didn’t seem to know what to say.

‘Admit it, you don’t treat us like every other guy you were with, you care for us, and we like buying our girl nice things if you haven’t noticed, love. We enjoy spoiling you and showering you in clothes and nice food, everything you want, however we do not enjoy other men thinking they have the right to stare at what is ours. You are gorgeous, Bunny, every inch of you…and every inch of you is ours.’ Klaus growled from deep in his chest and Y/n hated how much she loved the sound.

‘I’ve never had a real relationship and I don’t want one! Men know what they’re getting into with me, there’s no hidden agenda or misunderstandings. There’s no pain when you cheat or leave and I don’t want that! I can’t-I’m sorry. I can’t.’ She stood up, walking to the door and grabbing her bag when suddenly the door was slammed shut, Klaus cutting her exit off.

‘Where are you going? You live here now my love.’ She took a step back, she had never been afraid of Klaus and unlike everyone else in the world she knew he would never hurt her, but she also didn’t know what lengths he would go to to keep her.

‘My apartment, I need to think, I want to be alone right now.’

‘Apartment? We had you moved out of there weeks ago Princess, you’re ours now.’ Her eyes widened and she took several steps back before hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. ‘We know you love us, and we understand that you’re afraid of being hurt but that’s not an option with us Y/n, we will never leave you, you’ll never lose us, we’ll never die. We’re immortal-‘

‘But I’m Not!’ She shouted and the brothers looked at each other for a moment before Klaus kneeled down beside her, kissing her palm once again and holding it to his face.

‘We can fix that problem right now.’ Y/n sucked in a breath, looking from Klaus back to Elijah in shock but he just tilted his head as if waiting for an answer.

‘Have you been planning this?’

‘We’ve been hoping for you to agree to be ours since before we had drinks…we love you Princess and we don’t plan on letting you go. We know you love us too…please just let us have you?’ As Elijah spoke, Klaus kissed his way up her arm and tilted her head to bare her throat, kissing and sucking his way up to her jaw before down to her chest.

‘Why me? After 1000 years, why me? How do I know you won’t get bored and leave?’ She hated how vulnerable and weak she sounded but they already knew how lonely and scared she was, keeping herself unavailable to keep from getting hurt.

‘We both fell in love with you a long time ago Princess, you’ve been mine since the day I came to Mystic Falls.’

‘And mine since I sent you that first drink.’ Klaus mumbled against her chest where he continued sucking love bites onto her perfect flesh.

‘You’re already ours Y/n…all that’s left is for you to admit it.’ Elijah tucked her hair behind her ear before leaning closer, kissing along her jawline and she knew she was done for. No women can have 2 Mikaelson’s sucking on their neck and chest and then reject them, physically impossible!

Her fingers tucked into both of their hair and held onto them desperately. ‘Please?’ That was all she said, but it was all she needed to say before Klaus’ hands grabbed ahold of her thighs and lifted her up effortlessly, dropping her onto the bed the next second and tearing her dress right down the front. ‘Hey! Not the dress!’

‘Bunny, I’ll buy you 100 more dresses tomorrow if that’s what you want but anything that obstructs my view of your perfect body deserves to be torn to shreds.’ Her bra was torn off next and Klaus finally got his lips around her breasts like he had clearly wanted, or so she thought. Elijah���s lips claimed hers roughly as Klaus kissed and nipped his way down her stomach and hips, pulling down her panties and revealing her pussy to him. ‘My God, you are a dripping mess, aren’t you? Did we do this?’ The hybrid questioned just as she was unbuttoning Elijah’s shirt and shoving it off of his shoulders.

‘Answer him Princess.’ Elijah teased, biting her lip between his teeth harshly and making her whine.

‘Obviously you did! Now fix it!’ Her voice demanded and pulled Elijah by the tie that was still around his neck despite his upper body being naked before she suddenly cried out. Elijah pulled back, looking down to see Klaus with his fangs buried into her thigh, tasting her as her thighs sat on his shoulders and his fingers rubbed at her clit slowly and teasingly.

‘How is she?’ He asked his younger brother who just groaned in response, but it was all he needed. Despite their girl having known they were vampires, they had yet to taste her, wanting to save it for just this occasion. Elijah leaned back down to his Princess, baring her neck for him and licking her throat teasingly before biting into her lovely flesh, her blood filling his mouth with what was possibly the best taste he had ever experienced. His hand cupped her breast, squeezing roughly and listening to her heart beat speed up as her hips ground against Klaus’ hand, her overwhelmed senses unable to take the stimulation before she came, crying out as they both pulled back, cleaning her blood from their bite marks.

‘T-too much…’ she whined, nuzzling into Elijah’s neck and holding onto him tightly.

‘Too much? Too Much?’ Klaus asked, teasingly as he crawled back up her body, kissing over her shoulders. ‘Well if that’s too much, you’re about to be in trouble Bunny.’ Suddenly her body was completely turned around, Klaus now pressing his lips to hers as Elijah sat her up and held her back to his chest. Elijah used her slick from her previous orgasm to spread over his cock as Klaus lined his cock up with her pussy and thrust his hips up, bottoming out immediately making her cry out, arms wrapping around his neck tightly as she trembled.

‘Gentle Niklaus, our Princess is giving herself to us, the least we can do is handle her with care.’ He half teased and half scolded.

‘My Bunny is loving every second of my cock in her tight little cunt, aren’t you Bunny?’ Y/n whined before nodding her head into his neck where she held him tightly.

‘Please move?’ She begged but Klaus just shook his head.

‘Not yet love, we need to give Elijah a chance to join in.’ Her eyes flew open as she seemed to suddenly understand what he means and she began pulling back, making Klaus hold her to his chest tightly.

‘Come now Princess, we know you’ve done this before-‘

‘With One Guy! Not This! I don’t-‘ Klaus cut her off with his lips against hers roughly , thrusting up into her and silencing her complaints.

‘If you can tell me you don’t want this, and be convincing, then we will stop right now.’ Elijah promised and she just whined, knowing she had dreamed of exactly this position one too many times, he often enjoyed watching her dreams and they were almost always wet dreams about the both of them.

‘Hurry up brother, I will not wait forever.’ Klaus growled, pulling her as close as he could and pressing his lips to hers again which she tried to focus on as she was so over stimulated already upon feeling Elijah’s cock pressing against her hole. He pushed his hips forward and stretched her out slowly, pausing as she whined before continuing, pressing his lips to the back of her neck to comfort her.

‘Just let me in Princess, you know you want to.’ He teased, rolling his hips as he felt her try and relax her body again, shoving the last 2 inches into her tight hole and hearing her squeal. ‘Are you alright?’ She nodded into Klaus’ chest just before the Hybrid thrust his hips up, causing her to move on Elijah’s cock as well which made her cry out quite loudly.

‘There’s our girl, scream for us Bunny!’ She cried out again into his neck and they both loved her loud reactions. Elijah was pushing into her hard now, already fucking her ass harder than the only other guy that ever did it.

‘Fuck Elijah!’

‘That’s right Princess, squeezing my cock so Goddamn tight! I knew you would love this, your ass is so perfect, how could she not love my cock?’ Elijah was practically needy to know that he makes her feel better than that idiot that fucked her before.

‘Fuck! Please-Ah!’

‘That’s a good girl. Cum for us Bunny, I know you want to. Want us to fill your tight little holes more than they ever have been before. Cum!’ Klaus growled into her throat and just as their girl wailed, they buried their fangs into her flesh once again, the both of them cumming hard into her sore holes. Something about knowing that their girl was more fucked out and full than she had ever been before was almost enough to make them cum again.

As her breathing and heart rate began to slow they both pulled back, Elijah biting into Klaus’ neck roughly to start the blood flow before pressing Y/n’s lips against the bloody bite mark. ‘That’s a good girl, drink for us Princess, drink nice and deep.’

‘Fuck Bunny! Already such sharp teeth!’ Klaus grunted, feeling her bite her dull teeth against the open wound to keep it from closing quickly. ‘Such a good girl.’ He moaned, loving the feeling of her biting into him, desperate for more of his blood.

‘We love you Princess, and when you wake up you’ll be all ours…for the rest of eternity.’ Elijah spoke, Y/n finally pulling away and allowing them to see her, Klaus’ blood dripping down her chin.

‘Going to make such a gorgeous vampire, aren’t you precious?’ She nodded, holding onto Klaus and pressing her lips to his just as Elijah took her neck in his hands and twisted as gently as he could.

They quickly cleaned her and themselves up, Klaus dressing her while Elijah went and fetched a few blood bags, laying beside their girl as they waited for her to wake up into their eternity together.

Elijah Mikaelson Masterlist

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[citrusandrottefruit]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

TW: Chronically ill Steve

In a world where Hanahaki is a rare autoimmune disease that is triggered by long periods of emotional distress. There is no cure, it lasts a lifetime and makes the person very susceptible to infections and can cause cardiopulmonary problems, organ lacerations, pulmonary fibrosis, liver fibrosis, esophageal varices, thrombosis, etc. In short, a disease with several complications.

Although these complications can be treated, Hanahaki itself only has palliative care and symptom control.

Steve's mother developed it when he was just 5 years old. Even though he was very young, he remembers seeing his mother coughing up blood, he remembers seeing an x-ray that showed something that looked very much like twisted roots in her chest. He remembers how she spent days in the hospital and how his father became much kinder after that. They took a trip to the coast at the time and his mother got better.

So she got worse and better and worse. She never seemed to get well enough, but they found a good treatment that made the roots dissolve and vomit them out. There was only one time when she got bad enough that the doctors had to open her chest and remove the roots.

His father was out of the country when it happened, and he didn't even have time to get back before Mrs. Harrington gave up on staying in Hawkins and decided to travel with her husband.

Steve stayed. At age 9, he wasn't sure who had triggered this disease in his mother: him or his father. But he knew he had to be a good boy, because once the disease was active, anything could make it worse.

So he never complained. Not when he started getting tired, not when his chest started hurting, not when he got a lump in his throat, not when he started having trouble breathing.

His parents only found out when he ended up in the hospital. So he started the same treatment as his mother, who stayed by his side for almost half a year before traveling again. His father stayed home more, too, and when he was away, he would call three days a week, but eventually he stopped caring, as he always did.

Growing up with Hanahaki was tough, but Steve managed. He took his medications religiously, keeping the disease at bay. When it took hold, Steve would take a cocktail of medications that made him weak and nauseous, but helped control the Hanahaki. When things got really bad, he would spend a night or two in the hospital, having whatever was compressing his chest sucked out.

He'd needed surgery to remove the worst of the tangle a few weeks after he'd found out about the Upside Down. Because he'd lost Tommy and Carol, because he was lonely, because things between him and Nancy were weird, because Jonathan might be better for her than Steve. Because his parents hadn't shown up, even though they knew he'd been in a fight and needed medical attention.

(He shouldn't have been surprised. His parents knew he was always in the hospital, of course they wouldn't notice this incident amidst a pile of medical bills. Steve realized they probably didn't even check what they were paying for. Like they only cared enough to keep him alive, nothing more.)

It was an easy surgery. His organs weren't collapsing, there wasn't much scar tissue, the medication had dissolved some of the roots… It was just the deepest parts that were still there. Steve could have lived with them, but he preferred to be safe than to risk letting them dig deeper into his chest.

They were only in the hospital for four days and Nancy showed up for two of them, even though Steve hadn't even told her the truth. He didn't even bother to make up some silly accident and a lacerated lung after he had already had surgery. Probably if she hadn't been so wrapped up in finding out what happened to Barbara and dealing with her own traumas, she would have realized the truth.

He didn't want her to know, but he was sad when she didn't ask him.

When Nancy told him their relationship was bullshit, he went home and inhaled so much scar-dissolving medicine (which Steve swore he could feel forming on his chest) that he passed out. He didn't regret it, because he woke up the next morning fine, if a little groggy, and convinced that maybe she didn't mean it.

After fighting the demodogs, he felt light, because he barely knew those kids, but he felt more liked than he had in a long time. So, okay, he thought he might die when Nancy left with Jonathan, but he was medicated and the kids… He had to protect them. Maybe his body knew that, maybe one feeling overrode the other, maybe that toxic air from the tunnels had killed the roots better than any treatment could have done. It didn't matter why, it just mattered that he hadn't needed surgery this time.

Lots of medication, frequent trips to the hospital, some aspirations, sure, but he was fine.

“If it weren’t for Hanahaki, you could get a sports scholarship,” the coach had said. That revelation played over and over in Steve’s mind for weeks, like the promise of a future he would never have. So instead of college, he went to Scoops Ahoy.

The first person to learn about the disease was Robin, weeks after the mall fire, when he ended up in the hospital again and needed another surgery. It was torture, he said, that was impossible to forget. And his parents still hadn’t come back. Billy and Hopper’s deaths… There was so much going on and he was so overwhelmed, but it wouldn’t happen again, so she didn’t need to worry. It was an exceptional situation.

After that, Robin was everything he never realized he needed. It was a little suffocating, but it felt so good to feel suffocated by love for the first time in his life.

He would never be completely well, but with Robin and the kids… It was easier. He was happy.

Eddie Munson, who had never interacted with him, caused some attacks when he became such a big part of Dustin, Lucas, and Mike's lives. Especially Dustin, who seemed different at times. Steve resented Eddie.

That all changed when they actually met, after all the Vecna ​​scare.

For a moment during those days, Steve thought he might end up getting involved with Nancy again, and he hated himself for it. Because it always felt like there was something unfinished between them, but he didn't want to get back together, because they were never good together and she just seemed confused. In '83, she had leaned on Jonathan and ended up with Steve for a miserable year, in '84 they only broke up after she and Jonathan were already together. In '85, she had been through the worst with Jonathan again, so it was okay, but in '86, with Steve being the only one around, she seemed torn between them again. Like Steve only mattered because the gates were open and Jonathan wasn't around.

They couldn’t be together again, so he got the closure he wanted, telling her about how he had dreamed of a future with her, but that wasn’t what he needed anymore.

It was like healing a little bit.

In addition to Nancy, he also thought a lot about Eddie Munson, who was great with the kids, funny, a little goofy, and much more human than he seemed when he walked around the cafeteria tables. Who walked beside him through literal hell, showered him with compliments, eased worries Steve hadn’t even told him he had, who encouraged him to pursue love.

Who could blame him for falling in love?