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asterafroditis · 4 months ago

Note

hi hi! may i please request the housewardens with a reader who is exactly like robin (hsr) or sua (alnst)? if you could make reader have robins little wings too ^_^

𐔌 . ⋮ cosmic celebrity .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Housewardens x Robin/Sua gn! reader

𓏵 2196 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

I'm in both the hsr and alnst fandom so this was a great delight to write!! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

At first, Riddle doesn’t quite know what to make of you. You’re polite, refined, and carry yourself with an air of grace that even the nobility of his world would envy. Yet, there’s something about you that unsettles him—something he can’t place. It isn’t fear, but rather a quiet awe, as if he’s standing before something larger than life.

Your voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard before. When you sing, it isn’t just a melody—it’s a force, a presence that fills the air and lingers long after the last note fades. Even the roses in Heartslabyul’s garden seem to sway in time with your voice, as if nature itself is listening.

You remind him of a fairytale figure: enchanting, mysterious, and somehow just out of reach. He watches how others react to you—how they’re drawn in, how they lean closer, how even the most unruly of students fall silent in your presence. He tells himself that it’s simply your talent, your charisma, that compels them. But deep down, he wonders—do you ever long for something outside of this attention?

He notices the way you slip away when the crowds get too overwhelming, the way you seek quiet corners, away from prying eyes. It’s in those moments that he sees the real you—unburdened, free from expectations. He never tries to keep you from disappearing when you wish to, but if you ever linger a moment longer beside him, he considers it a victory he will never voice aloud.

Despite your cosmic fame, you never make him feel small. If anything, you listen to him, truly listen, in a way few ever do. And when you sing for him—not for a performance, not for an audience, but simply because he is there—he feels something in his heart shift, something he doesn’t yet have the words for.

And when your wings give a small flutter, as if content to be beside him, he dares to think that maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind lingering near him either.

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Leona isn’t easily impressed. He’s seen talented people come and go, each believing themselves to be special. But you? You’re different. Not just because of your voice—though he won’t deny it has an effect even on him—but because you exist in a space all your own, untouchable by the world’s expectations.

You remind him of the savanna winds—unpredictable, fleeting, impossible to catch. One moment you’re right beside him, and the next, you’re gone, leaving only the echo of your presence behind. He finds himself watching, waiting, wondering when you’ll slip away again. It annoys him more than he’ll admit.

He doesn’t understand why you’d waste your time with him, lounging in the shade while the rest of the world clamors for your attention. But you do. And when you sing—not on stage, not for a crowd, but just absentmindedly beside him—he feels something deep in his chest, a resonance that lingers long after the sound has faded.

Your little wings shift slightly when you stretch, ruffling just a bit when you let out a sigh of contentment. He watches them, lazily flicking his ear in response. He calls you a show-off, but he knows better. You don’t sing to impress. You sing because it’s simply a part of you, as natural as breathing. And that is what unnerves him most—how effortlessly you weave yourself into the lives of others, how even he isn’t immune to your presence.

He won’t ask you to stay when you vanish, but if you ever return to his side, slipping into the shade like you never left, he won’t say a word about it either.

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Azul thrives on control, on knowing exactly how to sway people in his favor. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself at a loss. You’re an enigma—someone who should, by all logic, be easy to manipulate. After all, you’re a performer, a star, someone who relies on the admiration of others. But the more he observes you, the more he realizes—attention doesn’t hold power over you.

You accept it, yes, but you are not bound by it. You exist above it, outside of it. And that unsettles him.

Your voice—your ability—fascinates him in a way he can’t quite explain. It isn’t just about business, though he tells himself it is. The way your music resonates, how it lingers even in the water, how it affects even the merfolk… it’s unlike anything he’s ever encountered. He wants to understand it, to study it, to figure out what makes it so powerful.

But then you turn that gaze on him—calm, knowing, like you see through every carefully crafted façade—and he wonders if, for once, he’s the one being studied. His eyes dart briefly to your small wings, which shift slightly, responding to something unseen. He wonders if they’re attuned to more than just the music—if they sense lies, deceptions, things he keeps hidden behind his careful smile.

When you disappear, he pretends not to care. But when you return, slipping into the lounge as if you never left, he finds himself relaxing just a fraction. He doesn’t need to own your song—some things, he realizes, are far more valuable when left free.

─────────────────────────

Kalim adores you. From the moment he meets you, he’s utterly captivated—not just by your talent, but by you. You’re like a shooting star, brilliant and fleeting, and he wants nothing more than to keep up with you, to chase that light no matter where it leads.

He doesn’t question your elusiveness, nor does he try to keep you from disappearing. Instead, he cherishes every moment you choose to stay, celebrating your presence as if it’s a festival all on its own.

He asks you to sing, not because he wants a performance, but because he genuinely enjoys your voice. And when you do, he listens—not just to the melody, but to the emotion beneath it, to the way it resonates even in the stillest of nights. Sometimes, he watches how your wings react to your own music, perking up at certain notes, quivering with feeling, as if they too are carried away by the sound.

You surprise him often—not with grand gestures, but with the little things. The way you remember the smallest details, the way you can disappear into a crowd yet always seem to know exactly where to find him. It’s those moments, more than anything, that make him realize just how special you are.

He never asks where you go when you vanish, nor does he try to hold you back. He only hopes that, wherever you wander, you’ll always find your way back to him.

─────────────────────────

Vil understands fame. He understands the weight of being watched, the expectations, the pressure. And so, in you, he sees a kindred spirit—someone who walks the same stage yet does so with a grace that seems almost effortless.

He admires your composure, your ability to captivate with a single note, a single glance. Yet, what intrigues him most is your unpredictability. You are refined, elegant, the picture of poise—until you choose not to be. Until you surprise him with a boldness that catches even him off guard.

Your little wings fascinate him. They move with you as naturally as your breath, fluttering in response to your emotions, betraying what you don’t say aloud. He finds them exquisite—another layer of your beauty, another piece of your ethereal presence. Sometimes, he watches them out of the corner of his eye, noting how they react to praise, to exhaustion, to excitement. They make you all the more mesmerizing, a performer even when you do not intend to be.

You are not a puppet to your audience, nor do you seek validation in their praise. You are simply you, untouched by the world’s expectations. And that, more than anything, is what makes you truly beautiful.

He won’t stop you when you disappear—he, more than anyone, understands the need to step away from the spotlight. But when you return, when you stand beside him once more, he will welcome you with open arms, knowing that true stars are not bound by any stage.

─────────────────────────

Idia isn’t easily drawn to people. He’s more comfortable behind a screen, away from prying eyes and social expectations. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself unable to look away.

At first, he assumes you’re just another celebrity, another untouchable figure meant to be admired from afar. But you don’t fit into any neat category. You’re famous—cosmically famous—but you carry yourself like someone who doesn’t care for the spotlight. You let people worship your voice, yet remain untouched by their devotion.

It unsettles him. Because he understands idols, performers, people who thrive on attention. But you? You exist outside of it, separate from it, as if the universe itself bends to your whims. And maybe it does.

The first time he hears your song, it’s through his tablet. Someone must have been playing a recording in the dorm, and the sound carried through the halls like an echo from another world. He nearly dismissed it—until he realized that it wasn’t a recording. It was you.

The sound seeped into every shadow, resonated with every circuit and wire. Even Ortho noticed, his sensors picking up strange energy fluctuations. Your voice wasn’t just heard—it was felt, like an unseen force brushing against the very core of his being.

He doesn’t know how to approach you, not at first. You’re unpredictable. Not in the chaotic, overwhelming way that extroverts tend to be, but in the quiet, calculated way that unnerves him. You’re graceful, elusive—but then you do something bold, something completely unexpected, and he has no idea how to react.

Like the time you appeared in front of him, eyes sharp and knowing, before casually inviting him to a game you knew he liked. No expectations, no pressure—just an invitation. And just like that, he was drawn in before he even realized it. Even now, he wonders if you noticed the way his gaze lingered, not just on your expression, but on the way your wings fluttered ever so slightly, as if encouraging him to follow.

He won’t try to keep you from disappearing. But if you ever return, sitting beside him in the dim glow of his monitors, your wings shifting with each quiet movement, he won’t pretend he’s not watching. Because for the first time in a long time, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, some people are worth looking up from the screen for.

─────────────────────────

Malleus has lived for centuries. He has seen the rise and fall of civilizations, watched as stars burned bright before fading into nothingness. And yet, in you, he finds something truly remarkable.

You are not of his world. That much, he knows. There is something about you—something otherworldly—that sets you apart. Not just in the way you carry yourself, but in the way the very air shifts when you speak, when you sing.

Your voice is unlike any magic he has ever encountered. It resonates with everything around you, weaving into the fabric of reality itself. Even the gargoyles seem to react, as if they, too, can hear the echoes of something far greater than what mortal ears can comprehend.

And then, there are your wings.

They are small, yet they move with a grace that intrigues him. They twitch when you’re amused, flutter when you laugh, still completely when you are deep in thought. He has never seen wings like yours before. They are not like a fae’s, nor are they like those of any creature he has encountered.

He longs to ask about them, to reach out and trace the delicate feathers with his fingertips. But he does not.

You are elegant, refined, a performer in every sense of the word. But then, just when he believes he understands you, you do something unexpected. Something bold. Something uncharacteristically human. And it fascinates him to no end.

You are like a dream, fleeting and untouchable, appearing and disappearing without warning. But he never feels as if you are truly gone. No, your presence lingers—in the wind that carries your song, in the silence that follows.

He does not ask where you go when you vanish, nor does he demand that you stay. He simply watches, waiting, wondering if you will return. And when you do—when your voice fills the air once more, like the whisper of forgotten legends—he listens, entranced, knowing that some songs are meant to be heard only for a moment, yet remembered for a lifetime.

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koiukiy-o · 4 months ago

Text

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 002. the assignment.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 1.9k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: chapter twooooo oh my god im so excited for this chapter AUGH IT FELT SO GOOD writing this !! this is when things get GOOOODDDD and im ao HUHUHUHUHU to hear yalls thoughts!! hehe. i hope you like it! <3 -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

You don’t expect to see him here.

The planetarium is dimly lit, the soft glow of projected constellations swirling lazily across the domed ceiling. You hadn’t planned on coming—it was a last-minute decision. Yet, the vastness of space, even simulated, has always steadied you.

But then—

"Of course."

The voice, low and wry, edged with dry amusement, is unmistakable.

You turn.

Anaxagoras is standing just a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes reflecting the cosmic sprawl above. He isn’t wearing his usual academic robes—just a simple, well-fitted dark tunic beneath a long coat, the fabric settling neatly against his frame. He looks different like this. Less like a scholar. More like—

Well. More like a man.

"I didn’t take you for a stargazer," he says, voice measured, gaze still fixed on the cosmos above.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "I could say the same about you, professor."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I do prefer the certainties of physics over the whims of celestial bodies."

"Ah," you hum. "So no fate, no destiny. Just equations and probability."

"Precisely." His gaze flickers up, tracking the slow rotation of the star map. "Though I will admit, there’s a certain poetry to the illusion of it all."

You glance up as well. Orion looms overhead, his belt gleaming sharp and clear. "Illusion?"

"These constellations," Anaxagoras murmurs. "They don't exist as we see them. Stars scattered across thousands of light-years, their arrangement nothing but a trick of perspective. We only think they belong together because of our vantage point." He says, after a pause, “The human mind imposes meaning where there is none.”

Your lips curl. "That’s kind of sad."

He tilts his head. "Is it?"

"Yeah," you say, watching the artificial night swirl overhead. "Thinking you're part of something greater, only to realize it's all a trick of perspective."

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, thoughtful. Then—

"Perhaps," he concedes. "But perspective is all we have."

You glance at him again, but his expression is unreadable.

There’s always been a distance to him that he maintains… almost religiously.

The hush of the planetarium stretches between you, the weight of his regard heavy. You’re not sure what it is that makes your skin feel so warm, your breath so shallow.

So you do what you do best. You challenge him.

"If constellations are an illusion," you say, "then what of all the truths we believe to perceive?"

His head turns slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.

You don’t look away.

"We only think things are connected because of our vantage point," you continue, your voice quieter now. "So how do we know if any of it actually means anything?"

Another beat of silence. Then, slow and deliberate, he says—

"We don’t."

Your chest tightens, though you don’t know why.

For a moment, it feels like that’s the end of it. Like you’ll both turn away and let the conversation dissolve into the simulated cosmos above.

But then—

Anaxagoras steps closer.

Not much. Barely enough to notice. But enough that when he speaks again, his voice is lower. Measured.

"We don’t," he repeats, as if the weight of it matters. "But sometimes, it’s worth entertaining the illusion."

You don’t know what to say to that.

You’re early to class.

Not by much, but enough to claim your usual seat and settle in before the lecture hall fills. Enough to shake off the strange tension that’s been humming beneath your skin since the planetarium.

You tell yourself it was nothing. A conversation wrapped in stardust and metaphor, just another verbal sparring match. Anaxagoras challenged you. That’s all.

But it lingers.

It lingers in the way your heartbeat picked up when he stepped closer. In the way his words—so measured, so precise—felt heavier than they should have. In the way his gaze held yours just a fraction too long, as if entertaining the illusion wasn’t just about the stars.

You exhale, flipping open your notebook. Focus.

The room fills, a murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs against stone. Then, just as the hour strikes, he enters.

Anaxagoras walks with the same deliberate grace he always does, his robes sweeping behind him. But today, as his eyes scan the lecture hall, they pause. Just briefly.

On you.

Something flickers across his expression—gone before you can name it. Then he looks away, moving towards the podium.

"Good morning," he says, voice smooth, effortlessly commanding. "Let’s begin."

You should be taking notes. You should be focused on the equations he’s sketching onto the board, the elegant arc of chalk gliding across the surface. Instead, you remember his voice in the dark, low and certain—

"Sometimes, it’s worth entertaining the illusion."

Damn him.

You press your pen to the paper, forcing your attention forward.

"Consider the nature of causality," Anaxagoras continues, turning back to face the class. "An event—any event—can be traced backward through a series of causes. But the perception of these events is often subject to our vantage point."

A pause. Then his gaze flickers to you, deliberate.

"One might argue that meaning is an emergent property. That cause and effect are simply the mind’s way of drawing constellations between unrelated points."

Your fingers tighten around your pen.

Is he—?

No. No, you’re imagining things. He’s lecturing. That’s all.

And yet.

His gaze lingers a beat too long before he looks away, continuing as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just lace the entire moment with subtext so thick it might as well be its own theorem.

Your pulse is ridiculous. You need to get a grip.

The lecture moves on, but now you’re watching him differently. Not just listening, but observing. The way he gestures, the way his mind moves faster than his words, the way his lips quirk slightly when a student offers an answer that surprises him.

You’ve spent weeks admiring Anaxagoras for his intellect. Respecting him as a professor. Arguing with him for the sake of curiosity.

And...

Well, there'a no point dwelling on it, is there?

By the time the lecture is nearing its end, you’ve barely written anything coherent.

Your notes are a scattered mess—half physics, half what the hell is going on? The worst part? Anaxagoras knows. He hasn’t called on you once today, which is unusual. He always prods, always challenges. But today, he’s let you stew in your thoughts, like he’s letting you chase your own tail.

Infuriating man.

"Before we conclude," he says, dusting chalk from his fingertips, "your next individual assignment."

The room collectively stiffens.

Anaxagoras turns from the board, his gaze sweeping over the lecture hall. Ilias straightens immediately, feigning deep intellectual engagement. You suppress a smile.

"As we’ve explored, physics attempts to model reality through observable forces," Anaxagoras continues. "But what of the forces we cannot measure? What of the unseen variables?"

Ilias perks up at that, intrigued. "Is he finally acknowledging my suffering?"

You elbow him. "Shut up, he’s setting up the assignment."

"Your task," he continues, "is to examine a concept often deemed metaphysical—fate, intuition, divine intervention—" He lifts his gaze, letting the weight of his words settle. "And construct a framework to explain its existence. Or—" his voice sharpens— "prove its impossibility."

A murmur ripples through the students. Anaxagoras doesn’t tolerate pseudo-science in his lectures, so the fact that he’s even entertaining this angle is unexpected.

It’s a trap, and everyone knows it. He’s handing you something abstract, intangible, and expecting you to apply cold logic to it. A thought experiment designed to test whether you’ll break under paradox or force the universe to make sense.

You listen, absorbed—until Ilias leans in again, whispering, "If I were to quantify the force that compels me to sleep in class instead of studying, do you think he’d accept it?"

You stifle a laugh. "I think he’d call it laziness and fail you on principle."

"Damn. Guess I’ll have to go with my second option."

"Which is?"

He grins. "Manifesting an equation that proves I am, in fact, always right."

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. "I’d pay to see you argue that with him."

As if on cue, Anaxagoras glances your way, sharp-eyed.

"Would either of you care to share your insights with the class?"

Ilias, ever the survivalist, doesn’t miss a beat. "We are discussing emergent properties of intelligence, professor."

Anaxagoras arches a brow, unimpressed. "A phenomenon you’ve yet to personally demonstrate."

The class chuckles. You shoot Ilias a look.

"Walked right into that one," you murmur.

Ilias sighs. "Yeah. That’s on me."

His gaze sweeps the class. "You may choose any concept, but your reasoning must be sound. Sentimentality will not be rewarded."

A collective groan. Someone mutters something about dropping the course.

You, however, are too focused on the way he’s looking at you.

He knows you’ll take this further than anyone else. He wants you to.

Then—

"Stay after class," he says smoothly, as if it’s nothing. "I need a word."

You feel the shift immediately. A few students glance between you and him, intrigued. You school your expression, pretending it doesn’t affect you.

"Yes, professor." you say.

He nods, then dismisses the class.

Chairs scrape against the floor. Students file out, some grumbling about the assignment, others already debating what concept they’ll choose. Someone lingers near the door for a second too long, clearly hoping to eavesdrop, before sighing and leaving.

Then it’s just you and him.

Anaxagoras exhales softly, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders before turning to face you fully.

"I’m altering your assignment," he says.

You blink. "What? Why?"

His lips quirk slightly, but there’s something intent in his eyes. "Because the standard prompt is beneath your abilities."

You swallow. He says it like it’s obvious. Like he’s been paying attention.

"Your mind doesn’t just follow logic," he continues. "It challenges it. So I’m giving you something worthy of that."

You exhale, half-exasperated. "Fine. What’s the twist?"

Instead of answering right away, he steps past you, picks up a book from his desk, and flips it open. When he finds the page he’s looking for, he turns it toward you.

It’s a diagram. A branching structure of choices, converging and diverging like neural pathways.

"Your peers will be arguing for or against metaphysical forces." His voice is measured. "You, however, will go one step further."

He closes the book, meeting your gaze.

"Instead of proving or disproving their existence, I want you to model one."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

His smirk is subtle, but there. "You heard me."

"You want me to… what, exactly? Build a mathematical model for something physics doesn’t even acknowledge?"

"Why not?" he challenges. "If intuition exists, quantify its mechanism. If destiny is real, define its parameters. If the soul endures, find the equation that governs it."

Your fingers twitch at that.

That’s—

That’s significantly more difficult than the original prompt. You’d have to rethink everything from the ground up.

The soul?

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "You really don’t like making my life easy, do you?"

His smirk deepens. "Where’s the fun in easy?"

You hate that he’s right.

And worse—you hate that you like that he knows you well enough to give you something harder. Something that will actually make you think.

Your pulse is an uneven rhythm as you meet his gaze. "Alright," you say.

He nods once, satisfied. "Good."

For a moment, neither of you move.

"You’re dismissed," he says, voice softer.

You hesitate. Then turn, heading toward the door.

Just as you step through the threshold, his voice reaches you, quiet but deliberate.

"Don’t disappoint me."

You don’t look back.

But you do smile.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom (send an ask or comment to be added!)

#❅ — works !#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa #hsr anaxagoras #anaxagoras x reader

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 months ago

Text

Meltdown

Steven Grant x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Steven's had a bad day.

A/N: For @cosmic-kid-in-motion & @romanarose's Disability Visibility Event.

Warnings: Steven having a meltdown, sensory overload, (I know a lot of people experience this differently, I'm just heavily going off what I experience), reader is not in the fic very much, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 686

The door bangs against the wall as it opens, the sound is jarring. Too loud as it rings out and rattles up Steven’s spine. He flinches, his hands automatically covering his ears as he presses his palms against his head.

He pushes too hard, much harder than he needs to, but he can’t stop. Can’t lessen his strength. If it tries hard enough, he’ll be able to shove them into his brain and squeeze it dry.

Tears sting his eyes, pressure building along his shoulders and bending his back under its weight. He needs to curl up and shut everything out.

He manages to close the front door, lock it, before he throws his back and jacket to the floor, stripping quickly. His jeans rub. Painful and heavy and itchy and it just wants to shred the fabric into tiny fucking pieces. The seams are made of glass, cutting into his skin and irritating him the whole journey home.

His shirt is the wrong material. Too stiff and cold, it made his skin shiver and sweat, and now it just stuck to him in the wrong places. He tears it off too, leaving him in his boxers and socks as he rushes to the bed.

The tears are starting to fall. He hates that. Hates that it’s happening. Hates that he can’t stop them. Hates how babish it is and why can’t he just get a fucking grip? Why can’t he just get over things? Why does the smallest, most insignificant stuff upset him so badly that he can’t even fucking function for the journey home?

He’s shivering, the action replaying on repeat and annoying him even more. He rubs his fingers together, pressing as hard as he can over and over. This action is soothing. Or at least it would be, if everything wasn’t already so much.

Quickly, he climbs into bed, wrapping himself up in the blanket as tightly as he can like a cocoon. He covers his head and then presses his face into the pillow, laying on his stomach awkwardly with his arms pinned to his sides. Like he was in a tomb.

He’s uncomfortable, it aches. But the sensation is different, controlled. He is in control. His heart thuds in his chest, racing way too fast and making nausea build in his throat.

Laying like this makes him lightheaded, like he can’t take a full breath of air. But it’s preferable. He can pretend that he’s doing it. That it’s the position that’s squeezing his lungs and robbing him of oxygen. Nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing fucking else.

If he can just get to sleep. Just for a little while. Ten minutes. Then he’ll be okay. This will be over. Tears won’t be soaking into the pillow. His skin won’t be burning and everything won’t be so fucking loud that he wants to rip his flesh off.

Your keys are too loud in the lock. They jingle, piercing his ears and making him want to scream.

Your footsteps echo. Like thunder, rain pouring down and soaking the earth and if he can’t just have fucking five minutes to himself to fucking be quiet and deal and just fucking-

“Steven?” Your voice is worried. Sweet. And normally it would be so welcome, it wouldn’t put his teeth on edge like he had an exposed root.

He says nothing. Nothing.

But somehow… you seem to know.

He drifts off at some point, unsure of the exact point when. But when he wakes you must have put your weighted blanket on top of him, the heaviness of it is comforting, encompassing.

There’s a cup of tea on the side table, in the cute thermo cup with hieroglyphics that you bought him last month to keep it warm. There are biscuits on a side plate, too.

As he sits up, he can see that his clothes have been put in the laundry basket, his bag on the hook by the door.

He smiles slightly, his limbs heavy like he’d just run a few marathons. Lightly, he rubs his fingers against his thumbs. The action soothing.

Thank you for reading!

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@pigeonmama @marcsb1tch @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan

@faretheeoscar @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#steven grant #moon knight #moon knight mcu #steven grant x reader #x reader #steven grant x you #x you #steven grant x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #steven grant x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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luvrhyune · 2 years ago

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-; ✧˖*°࿐ GOODNIGHT, PRINCESS . BANG CHAN .

★༉ SUMMARY ; chan falling asleep with his baby.

★༉ PAIRING ; bang chan x gn! reader.

★༉ GENRE ; fluff, slice of life.

— word count ; 374.

— warnings ; dad! chan, tooth rotting fluff, there is a baby.

— notes ; he’s been plaguing my mind. he won’t leave.

masterlist.

waking up in the middle of the night had become a regular routine after you had your baby. more often then not she would spend half of the night in tears, all because she wanted either yours or chans attention — and majority of the time chan would get up and give her what she wanted.

this specific night however, you woke up because of an empty bed. your hands patted out on the left side of the bed, frowning when you didn’t feel your partner’s warmth next to you. sitting up, you rubbed your eyes of sleep, deciding to go look for your partner.

you walked down the corridor, feet softly padding against the hardwood floor. you gently knocked on the door closest to your bedroom, before slowly opening it and poking your head inside.

the image before you made your heart melt. in the corner of the room, chan sat on the rocking chair, baby cradled to his chest as the both slept peacefully, low snores escaping their mouths.

you snapped a picture of the two before placing a hand on chan’s shoulder, “are you coming back to bed, baby, or would you prefer to stay here?” you whispered, thumb rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

chan blinked, waking up further as he took in his surroundings. he cleared his throat, looking down at the bundle of joy in his arms. she was a few weeks old now, and he still held her like it was her first day experiencing the world. he loved his little girl, that was evident, he always found some way to be around her, he couldn’t help it. “i’ll, uh, i’ll come back to bed.” he smiled at you, though he looked hesitant to leave — he didn’t want to put her down.

your smile widened knowingly, and your hand moved towards his cheek, “she’s not going anywhere, channie.” your free hand moved to her head, stroking the baby hairs, “she’ll be here when you wake up, she might even wake us up later if you’re lucky.” he laughed lightly, standing from the rocking chair, moving to put the infant in her crib.

“goodnight, princess,” he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before walking back to bed with you.

-; ✧˖*°࿐ PERMANENT TAG LIST !!

@hyunverse , @chansburgah , @notastraykid , @seungbinbin , @seraphicsolitude , @starlostseungmin , @sunboki , @yongbokkari , @choiwonder , @luvyngi , @l3visbby , @nebulousbookshelf , @liknws ++ honourable dad! skz enthusiast : @cosmic-railwayxo

#[ — luvrhyune ?! ]#k-labels #kflixnet #straykidsland #dad! bang chan #dad! straykids #dad! chan #dad! skz #dilf! bang chan #dilf! straykids #bang chan #skz #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x gender neutral reader #stray kids

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discomxcabre · 18 days ago

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star boy, oh mine 2.5

[PRAGUE 1993] [WARSAW 1994 pt.1][WARSAW 1994 pt.2] [COMING SOON] | [masterlist]

viktor x gn!rockstar reader

cw: they/them pronouns for reader, czech viktor, vik has a last name, jayce, vi and jinx are here too, 90s au, caitvi in the subtext, power dynamics (fan x idol), unplanned angst, i wrote songs for this , reader picks up vik, [smut: bottom!vik, fucking on a desk, penetration (can be interpreted as pegging), nipple play, pretty vanilla overral, no orgasm description]

summary: : viktor thought his favorite rockstar has forgotten him and the day they met. but in reality, you didn’t. now you two are meeting again in a brand new city, where he’s faced with a life altering decision.

note: the jayce/kirramans situation is unrealistic as hell but idc.

„They’re still in that bar?” You said, opening the door to your hotel room, holding it for Viktor. He examined the room – same as any other, different than the one in Prague.

He stepped in, and the carpeting muffled the noise of his cane. His eyes landed on Jinx’s mess, then at your mess, made of curled balls of paper with drafts of your song. Then, he sat on the chair, exhaling air, and leaning on his cane.

“It’s quiet here, isn’t it?” You asked, stroking the button on the cassette player. All of its surface was filled with doodles made by Jinx. You turned it on, and recognized the song – Waiting For The Night by Depeche Mode. The song’s quiet rhythm matched the night city full of lights.

Then, the song ended, and Enjoy The Silence started to play.

“Oh, my god, I always dreamed of dancing to this song.” You laughed, pulling Viktor up as soon as you heard the first note. You laid your hand on the small area of his lower back. The other one was on the hand that he held on his cane.

“Are we about to dance?” His golden eyes shined, disrupted. Despite his face being in surprise, he grabbed your shoulder and went along to the rhythm. “I would not consider myself a good dancer, but go along.”

His feet followed yours, but his body was stiff, afraid to make a wrong move. He didn’t know that for you there was no wrong moves, but only him, only he that counted. Viktor’s eyes converged with yours, now so close. Finally, not a cosmic distance. His irises, the color of the sun, weren’t so near in an unfathomable time. Gazing at you, looking for reassurance.

You made a move back, and he followed, with his cane under your hand. Shyly, he put his hand on your waist.

“You’re doing so well, Vik.”

“Eh—, for a cripple.”

You arched forward, holding Viktor tightly. He loosened, floating in your grip. His hair fell like strings. Then, you pulled him back to yourself and spinned him by one hundred and eighty degrees. Now, he was resting his back on your chest and free hand on your hip, as your hands traveled from his shoulders, to his chest, waist and hips, ending on his hands. You grabbed his free hand, stretching it alongside yours to the side, then to your neck.

“It would be much nicer for you to dance with someone of better health, would it?” Viktor mumbled, as his legs clumsily followed your moves towards the big window, resting the back of his head on your shoulder.

“No, my love. With someone else, it wouldn’t.” You said, spinning him around. Viktor put up his braced leg in caution. He opened his eyes wide. Night reflected in his irises. “I wouldn’t replace you with anyone.” You spined him again, and now he flew like wind, closing his eyes with trust.

“Won’t you, really?” He murmured, leaning on his cane, spinning you around under his arm.

“Why would I?” You stopped spinning, now swaying your hips. Then, you grabbed his lower back again. “Now trust me. I won’t let you fall.” You guided him to hang his cane on your shoulder, then you set your hands on his tiny waist. Viktor stared at you with a mix of fear and trust.

Then you picked him up into the air. Viktor held onto your shoulders, looking into your eyes, trusting you won’t drop him. His cheekbones were pink.

And you spined around, your wind pulling on his chestnut hair. He parted his legs as wide as his condition allowed. He was making circles on your shoulder, until he grabbed his cane.

“I made an observation today…”

“Yeah?” You asked. Slowly, you were laying him down on the ground, while he was hugging you tightly, sliding down your chest.

“I noticed that… you did not call me star boy yet.”

Your faces were so close.

“I want this petname to stay in Prague and last year, since we two couldn’t.” You kissed him on his forehead.

You pulled him closer by his waist. Viktor laid on you like on a pillow.

You caressed the curve of his waist over his clothes. Viktor put his hand on your chest. You started humming the song lyrics under your breath. You circled slowly with him, one foot after the other.

“My love.” You whispered, taking his hand from your chest and kissing it. His skin was so cold. Your forehead touched his. “All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms…” You hummed the lyrics under your breath.

Your fingers gripped his waist tighter, as you laid your head on his shoulder. All you ever wanted, all you ever needed was here. In your arms, there was Viktor Dvořák. Your boy, your star, your whole universe.

And above all, the man that saved you as an artist.

You rotated him under your arm again. He tittered. Viktor’s smile was not the sun, but a shooting star. And wrinkles on his thin face resembled these.

The minute you did it, the minute he rotated completely, you felt his cane on your back. Viktor pulled you to the front of the desk. You leaned your arms on the desktop, closing him between your arms. With no words, but only a head gesture, he prompted you to help him sit on top. His eyes studied your lower body the whole time you were placing his light frame on the counter.

“I see you have your cock ready for me?” Viktor grinned, sliding his fingers through the straps on your hips.

„You grew confident in that year, didn’t you?” You chuckled, putting up his chin. You tried to ignore the thought that whispered to you, that it would be the last time you would touch him like this. “You want me to fuck you on the desk I wrote a song about you on?”

“Of course I do.”

You grabbed lube and the rest of the equipment you needed to turn the astronomer into a pretty nebula. You visualized his blissed-out face, trying to ignore the thought in the back of your mind. The song slowly faded. The glow changed into a quiet twilight, as you turned off the big lamp, leaving only the one on the nightstand burning.

Viktor admired the hand that two hours ago were playing guitar riffs about him, and now was coating lube on a length that will be releasing music out of his lips.

He threw his pants and underwear off his legs, then pulled you closer, wrapping his legs around your waist and arms around your neck. And you picked up his light silhouette, holding his hips and butt.

Viktor touched your forehead with his. “So, are you going to fuck me on the desk you wrote a song about me on?” His warm breath contrasted with his snowy skin. It tasted of atrament.

“Of course I will.” You smirked.

“That’s so poetic.” He commented, as you kissed the side of his neck. “And so obscene at the same time, don’t you think?” He moved his neck away from your lips, and moved his mouth closer, not letting you answer.

Viktor’s lips, tasting of coffee, locked with yours, as he held onto your collar and his finger waited to take off your shirt.

You let him. Your bare skin was then met with the cosmos of his lips that sat you down on the chair. Cold and slick like snow. You laid your hands under his sweater, on his skin. Slowly, you slid it up, exposing the back brace on his porcelain frame.

The sweater got thrown on the desk.

Right now, your whole universe weighted down on top of your body and you embraced him your hands. The way you could feel his bones under his skin, you experienced it again.

Viktor loosened his back brace and guided your hands to it. You understood and took it off, as he put his arms up, exposing his bushy armpits then gradually, his glass ribs and rosy nipples.

Last time, last time, last time with him. It was hard to ignore these whisperings when the focus of them sat with you between his legs.

You gripped him tightly and lifted both of you up, then sat him back on the desk. You landed your hands on his ribs, asking his cold skin to clear your mind. Your mouth approached his nipples.

“You’re mine.” Said your lips, between nibbling on his pink teats. “I will never let you go.”

“I wouldn’t like to go too.”

You tried to ignore that you actually should. Someday (tomorrow). But not now. Now he was sitting on the altar of your desk like an icon you adored, with his soft nipples under your tongue.

You held his ribs and your thumbs played with his swollen nipples, making him let out saccharine sounds. His delicate skin was the same color as the milky way, with moles like black holes. You sucked onto the one on his neck. He squealed, grabbing your shoulders.

Viktor Dvořák tasted of sugar and stardust.

You got wet from your own spit marking the man you were channeling your adoration to for the second time in your life. He took you out of the trance, grabbing your face and asked, sneering:

“Are you going to put it inside me, finally?”

“Ask nicely, then.” You smiled, moving your hands to his hips. Just having fun like always, ignoring the whisper. “Hm?”

“What if I don’t?” He smirked.

“I’ll put it in you anyway.” You patted his hip. “I want to treat myself.”

The grin left his face the moment his ankles got clasped by your fingers and put up. He laid his back on the counter. You looked at him to check if his leg is alright, then put the sweater under his back. Viktor whimpered, as your length entered his hole. He was biting his lip, and his cock, covered by dark, curly bush, leaked shiny liquors. You slid it deeper and he exhaled. You slid out a bit, setting your eyes on his face. You smacked into him again.

„Ó můj Bože...”

His lips turned into a thin line, and he squeezed his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered, alongside his lids. Viktor squealed, with his head on the side. You hushed at him, stroking his hollow cheek. After some strokes, he opened his glassy eyes again.

He breathed into your wrist.

„Youre amazing, mé sluníčko…” His head laid in your palm, with his cheekbone fitting precisely into its curve. Like he was meant for you.

“Oh, so now’s your turn for a petname?” You stroked his hair. “What does it mean?”

“It means…” He paused, whimpering quietly. “My sun.” His shoulders turned red. He wrapped his legs around you. His thighs, that enveloped you, were pulsating.

“And why did you choose it?”

He aligned to meet your eyes. “Because you’re like the sun. The day I met you, specifically.”

Your answer was a gasp. You embraced his hips and moved them to hit the sensitive spot inside him. Viktor shivered, and when he finally could grab your eyes between your bounces, his were clouded.

You held him tightly, your fingers traveling into the skin of his tiny waist. Your fingertips dig onto the thin layer of softness on him.

Viktor had his eyes closed, while his divided lips, shining from saliva, were searching yours. At the same, his hands researched you like his stars, icing your skin. His cold felt soft like flower petals, or like that one March you wished had never had passed, and now was repeating itself. He pulled you down to himself by your neck. His bush scratched your abdomen, and his length made itself felt. It was pulsating and dripping. His mouth mistook your chin for lips, so he moved up, leaving a cold hint down here.

He tasted like copper. Getting drunk on your saliva, whining. He wanted to feel all of you.

So you let him. Let him explore your mouth and please himself with your length. Your hands left his waist and hanged up on his shoulders. Viktor’s noises heightened.

Suddenly, Viktor squealed, but not of pleasure. His weak leg curled, shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Can we stop?”

***

Viktor’s chest, now covered with his sweater, was slowly pulsating. Your hand was his pillow, on which his soft, brown hair laid, as their messy strands melded across. You guarded him like a dog. His eyes were closed – he should be sleeping. That meant his pain was fading away.

He was fading away too. The clock shown 11 PM. You should be going to sleep – next day you will have to wake up and get to the tour bus. Getting to Lviv and leaving Viktor here. Oh, if only you could see him for one, just one more time. But the coincidence you got, the coincidence of meeting two times was enough. For this universe, at least.

This cruel universe.

In these last hours, you wanted to imprint the memory of him. So you grabbed his hand. His skin was pale and smooth like muslin. His long, lithe fingers wrapped around yours gently. You could feel his bones underneath, shaping their silhouette. You kissed his hand to mark him in your mind.

Oh, and his exoplanets. One named Hexcore, one will have a name in Czech, the other related to Czechia. If only the light pollution will not stop him.

Light pollution. How sweet this word sounded in his Czech voice.

Mé sluníčko. My sun. His sun will be the title you will bear with pride.

You adjusted yourself on the pillow, adoring Viktor’s napping face. He looked so peaceful, with his nose nuzzled in the sheets and dark lashes laying on his cheekbones. He whined in his sleep.

Then, he shifted to his back and arched it like a cat, as much as his spine permitted him. His noises sounded like cats too. He parted his lips, exposing the adorable tooth gap between them. That you’ll never see again. He fluttered his golden eyes.

“How do you feel, Vik?” You stroked his fingers.

He moved closer to you. His forehead touched yours.

“Do you mind that my leg ruined a moment you wanted to be special?”

“No, my love, it was perfect. Because I did it with you.”

“You just say that because…”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and put your leg between his thighs. “Because I love you?” His leg brace scratched you through your pants, but you ignored the discomfort.

“I’m not sure if it’s what you should say to someone you know for two days.”

“I don’t care.”

“I wonder what Jayce is doing. And if he’s even ali-”

He got interrupted by banging into the door.

“Jinx, you’ll damage the door!” You sat up.

The beating didn’t stop.

“Viktor! Vik!”

Viktor also sat up, then grabbed his cane. He scrunched his nose. “Speak of the wolf.” He stood up. “I’m opening, Jayce.”

“You’re half naked.” You noted.

“Eh, he saw me worse.”

He walked towards the door and stepped back as soon as he saw Jayce, all frantic. A paper, maybe a letter, was shaking in his hands.

“Vik!” Jayce grabbed his shoulder. “Vik, the Kirammans…”

His voice was tense, so much you stopped moving, and were hardly even breathing. The air was suffocating.

Viktor’s knuckles got even paler on the handles of his cane, one finger rubbing the synthetic surface.

“…they said they want me to move again! They will only sponsor me if I move to Oxford!”

Viktor grumbled, cursing in Czech under his nose. “Do these rich pricks even know how to use their braincells or do they only know how to use porte-monnaie?” His voice cracked at the last word.

“I mean like… I'm sorry Vik.” Jayce mumbled.

You heard Viktor trying to muffle his high-pitched gasp and ran towards him. His eyes were shining from tears, but he wiped them off with his sweater. You extended your hand to him. He curled his fingers between yours.

“Vik, can you explain it all to me?” You were confused, trying to hold yourself in one piece by stroking his palm. “What Oxford? What moving? Hell, what Kirammans? These Kirammans?”

Viktor shook his head. You were looking at him like a puppy. Jayce froze and stood in the entrance like a lost kid. No wonder, his friend’s idol and one-night-stand-turned-something-lover-adjacent was standing in front of him in casual wear, in such a personal moment.

“Let’s sit down.” Viktor muttered.

***

You sat on your bed, with Viktor seeking comfort in the embrace of your hand. You stroked his palm, as he was stopping himself from seeping tears. Jayce, telling you about the situation, slowly turned from a mortal speaking to a deity, to a guy talking to a colleague. He told you the whole situation.

What a way to spend your last hours.

“So you guys are telling me that the Kiramman family, this Kiramman family, can decide on everything Jayce does with his science stuff, and they wanted him to move to Warsaw for two weeks to study his moons, but now they’re changing their minds on a whim and want to move him to Oxford?”

“Exactly.” Viktor got out of your hand’s embrace. “Jayce, do you mind staying here for five minutes? I need to take a walk.”

“I think I also need a walk.” You stroked your head. Just now, you realized how much your brain hurt.

“And I think I need company.” He extended his hand to you and helped you stand up.

So you went out. Leaving Jayce in the hotel room wasn’t the best decision, you didn’t know what to do. In fact, you and Viktor were too absorbed to think about that.

The air was cold. Sky had the color of an atrament stain, and the lights in the windows were on. Viktor gazed up on the socialist realist building of the hotel, following your steps. His cane knocked against the pavement made of concrete.

You were passed by a few cars and a group of drunk teenagers before any of you spoke a word. Viktor took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, then lighted up one of them and put it between his lips. He was the one to break the silence.

“Jayce, he…” His voice cracked in heartache. “I don’t truly have anyone like that besides him.”

You just nodded, unsure how to react to his words.

“He’s quite eccentric, I would say, so I'm scared for his social life at Oxford. He told me I was his first friend ever.”

“You guys must feel so lonely in the next weeks… or however long these rich Brits are going to keep him there.”

“Years, I fear. Jayce once told me that polish people eat pigeons.” He changed the subject to let air in this suffocating aura.

“I’m sure he was talking about cabbage rolls.” You sighed and it was the last word you said in the next minutes.

You grabbed his cigarette, putting it in your mouth, and letting out smoke. The white haze slowly merged with the air.

An idea ran past your brain. Viktor hugging you close after you finish your performance in Lviv. Then you would meet your fans with him, and if he was alright with it, giving him a kiss in front of them. And he would sleep on your chest in the tour bus and in your arms in the hotels. You would explore cities, kiss on bridges, dance together in bars, live your days just like today. And after the tour ends, you would part with him in Ostrava just to meet again, and again, until the two of you start meeting regularly like the sun meets the moon at sunset and sunrise each day till they die.

But he had work to do. The exoplanets won’t research themselves. And how selfish it was of you to propose it.

“What are you thinking about, mé sluníčko?” Viktor’s soft voice woke you up.

And what were you even thinking about? Your brain was still in the parallel universe and its future.

„That this is the last time I see you.” You responded. You weren’t sure about the proposition, but otherwise, you would still not see him again. „You know, you can join me on tour if you want to.”

Viktor opened his eyes, confused. Yes, it was the last time you speak to him and you spoke something that will always stain the picture of you in his mind.

“I have to think about it. I don’t know where I would sleep.” He said, which made you feel relieved.

“Right, Vi hasn’t booked not enough beds. But there’s always my embrace for you to sleep in.” You smiled and put up his chin with your finger.

“And my research…”

Suddenly, a raindrop fell on your nose.

“Let’s go, I don’t want to get wet.”

Viktor massaged his weaker leg. “And I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

Ah yes, tomorrow. That day was stitched with gray dread.

Another raindrop dripped down your cheek.

***

Despite taking the elevator, Viktor’s pain, as he took faint steps to the hotel room was hard not to notice. When you went back, Jayce was already gone, with the only sign of his presence being a letter in Czech. And the sisters weren’t back too. After changing to just his sweatshirt and boxers, Viktor sat down on your bed with it. His voice muttered and stumbled over words in his mother tongue.

“What did he write?” You sat beside him, caressing his shoulder. His eyes got covered in glass tears.

“I… I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled, then gritted his teeth in pain. “Can you maybe… massage my leg?”

“Alright… Lay down.” You said and Viktor laid on his back, putting his leg over your lap. “But it wasn’t anything dangerous?”

“No, he’s alright for the most part.”

“Most part? And the rest?”

“He regrets not having a proper goodbye.”

What would have happened to him, to leave like that, to not say his goodbyes to a friend he’s seeing for the last time in so long?

You sighed out all these scenarios. You ran your hand through his leg, then dipped your fingers in his soft muscles and skin red form his brace. Viktor whined in pleasure, closing his eyes with a smile. He was quiet for the whole time you squeezed his small thighs and ankles.

His body relaxed and his chest was rising and falling, as he snored. He was sleeping.

Carefully, you laid his leg on the matress, then laid down beside him. You wrapped your hands around his torso. Viktor was as cold as usual.

“Thank you for everything, Vik.” You whispered into his sleeping shoulder. You sighed and subconsciously started singing, as you twirled a strand of his brown hair:

Oh, mine

Waiting’s the devil of man’s live

So let me suspend us in time

Stuck me in time loop till we die

Viktor shifted closer to you, as if he heard everything.

Wetness stained your cheek alongside a deep hollow of grief. Someone’s feet knocked outside the room. You realised you, somehow, forgot to breathe and took in air. The door opened.

“We’re back!” Vi shouted, as you heard her opening the door.

“Oh, hi guys.” You said. “Can you be quiet, maybe?” You whispered, pointing your head at Viktor.

„Is that your Viktor? I knew he was going to be sleeping with us.” The bassist commented. “You know, we’ve met a bunch of fans there.”

“Yeah, their English sucked.” Jinx sneered.

“And they asked about you and that song.” Vi continued.

“And what did you tell them?”

“That you wrote it a day before. One guy didn’t believe me and the other said that now it’s clear why the song was so bad.”

A minute after, you fell asleep.

***

Next day, you woke up aching inside and out. You checked; Viktor was still beside you.

In the bathroom, he was sitting on the toilet seat, as you held the hairbrush. He was wearing his pants from the day before and only a brace on his back, and he held a piece of paper in his fingers. You put the brush in his soft, brown hair, even messier than always after the night. Between the trials to neaten his unruly curls, you put your nose between them. Viktor’s hair smelled of black coffee, a smell you pledged yourself to never erase from your mind.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…” You stuttered. “I just…”

“I get it.” He took your hand off his shoulder, to his lips, and left a kiss on your knuckles. Now they shined from his cold saliva. “I understand these words are not what you’re supposed to tell a person you met twice in life, but…”

“But?”

He landed his golden eyes on you. His hand laid on your cheek.

“I think I love you.”

You leaned to the touch of his delicate hand. His thumb stroked your cheekbone.

“Y/N! Dvořák!” Vi called you. “Did you guys fell in the toilet?”

“No.”

“Then hurry up, we need to be in Lviv by the evening.”

***

Stepping outside the hotel, a raindrop fell down your forehead. Your bus has arrived.

You saw these movies, the ones where lovers part with a long, sappy goodbyes, these torturous goodbyes. But wasn’t that evening enough of a goodbye?

Let’s make it quick, you told yourself.

Rain stained your face and clothes, made Viktor’s chestnut hair black, and left drops on the metal of his cane. The gray sky wept instead of you.

„We need to part now.” You whispered, wiping rainwater off his forehead.

Viktor Dvořák, the eclipse he was. Both of you scattered across opposite sides of Europe. Like the moon meeting the sun of you every part of an eon to kiss and say its farewells.

You put your hands in the curves of his waist and pulled him closer. If it only could stayed like that. Viktor hanged his arm on your neck, pulling your face closer to himself. His chapped lips locked with yours, and the sweetness of his saliva marked your tongue. He was so cold, like the rain that touched your face.

No, it was not the rain, but tears. Viktor’s eyes were red and glassy. A tear fell down his cheekbone.

You wiped it with your thumb. “Goodbye, my moon and stars. Stay safe.”

“Goodbye, mé sluníčko”

You have accepted your role as the sun.

Leaving, he gave you a paper with a note.

***

The uneven road rocked you, as you slept in the passenger seat. You woke up from a weird dream – you were a movie director, and Vi and Jinx were actresses playing criminals robbing a military store. Opening your eyes, you kissed Viktor, sleeping in your arms. No, it was not him, but your hoodie.

Ah yes, your hoodie. That’s where you put that note you still didn’t look at.

You reached the pocket, feeling the paper, then straightened it. Reading the words, you gasped.

Viktor Dvořák

56-210 Ostrava

Ul. Kafkova 976/12

Česká republika

#viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x gn reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor x f!reader #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #🪐star boy oh mine ๋࣭ ⭑

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robilover · 1 year ago

Text

🪽 RULES

even if I mostly do SFW fics/headcanons/thirsts/blurbs, you must be 18+.

what I write can either be platonic or romantic.

I can do nsfw/suggestive posts, please read at your own risk.

I do fem!reader by default, but if you want gn!reader or afab!gn!reader, I can still do them! I do not do male!reader, though.

this is an LGBTQ+ safe space and is mostly a wlw/sapphic blog. therefore, strictly NO homophobia, transphobia, or anything that relates to hate to the LGBTQ+.

strictly NO incest, extreme kinks, pedophilia, etc etc.

please be respectful and kind in the asks and comments. I do not tolerate mean behavior.

if you request, please specify the gender or else I might just leave it in my inbox for a while.

I can do poly; character x reader x character. just specify if you want it separately or a poly hc or something.

additional rules are here. + here.

masterlist is under the cut together with the character list!

🪽 For NSFW:

I mostly do dom!character/top!character x sub!reader/bottom!reader.

I don’t mind doing top!reader but I actually just prefer being bottom (sorry guys💔)

again, NO extreme kinks (such as p!ss kink) and weird fetishes.

🪽 DNI IF:

you are homophobic, transphobic, or anything related to that.

you are a hater of genshin, hsr, or wuwa.

you are racist.

you fetishize wlw/women or have weird fetishes in general.

🪽 Character List (female characters):

colored ones are favorites/who I can (mostly) write for!

I will be updating this either way, so..

Genshin Impact

Lumine

Mondstadt:

Jean, Lisa, Fischl, Mona, Rosaria, Eula, Noelle, Sucrose

Liyue:

Beidou, Ningguang, Keqing, Ganyu, Hu Tao, Yanfei, Shenhe, Xinyan, Yun Jin, Yelan, Xianyun

Inazuma:

Kamisato Ayaka, Naganohara Yoimiya, Raiden Shogun/Ei, Kujou Sara, Sangonomiya Kokomi, Yae Miko, Kuki Shinobu, Kirara

Sumeru:

Candace, Nilou, Nahida (platonic), Layla, Faruzan, Dehya

Fontaine:

Lynette, Charlotte, Furina, Navia, Chevreuse, Chiori, Arlecchino, Clorinde

Snezhnaya:

Columbina, La Signora

Honkai Star Rail (HSR)

Astral Express:

Stelle, Himeko, March 7th

Stellaron Hunters:

Kafka, Silver Wolf, Firefly

Herta Space Station:

Herta, Asta, Ruan Mei

Belobog:

Bronya, Seele, Serval, Natasha

Xianzhou Alliance:

Tingyun, Sushang, Qingque, Yukong, Fu Xuan, Jingliu, Guinaifen, Hanya, Xueyi

Interastral Peace Corporation (IPC):

Topaz, Jade

Penacony:

Robin, Sparkle, Black Swan

Cosmic:

Acheron

Wuthering Waves (WUWA)

Female Rover, Yangyang, Baizhi, Chixia, Danjin, Jianxin, Sanhua, Jinhsi, Yinlin, Changli

Zenless Zone Zero (ZZZ)

Belle

Victoria Housekeeping:

Alexandrina Sebastiane (Rina), Ellen Joe

Cunning Hares:

Nicole Demara, Anby Demara, Nekomiya Mana (Nekomata)

Belobog Heavy Industries:

Grace Howard

Sons of Calydon:

Burnice White, Caesar King,

Criminal Investigation Special Response Team (PubSec):

Zhu Yuan, Jane Doe

Obol Squad:

Soldier 11

Section 6:

Hoshimi Miyabi

these are subjected to change. I will add the masterlist as soon as I get motivated to do so.

🪽 Masterlist:

Genshin Impact

Honkai Star Rail

Wuthering Waves

Zenless Zone Zero

My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia

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mi-i-zori · 1 year ago

Text

CoD AUs -Masterlist

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Main Masterlist

Fae!AU

Drabbles

Fae!141 Scents

On-Going Series

The Hunter and The Prey - Fae!Ghost x The Hunter (Fem!Reader)

Of Dried Herbs and Sunlight - Fae!Soap x The Apothecary (Fem!Reader)

From In-Between the Lines - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader)

Greek Mythology!AU

Other People's AUs Fan-Work

Until The End - Hades!Soap x Persephone!Reader (@charliemwrites)

Hybrid - Shifter!AU

Drabbles

With Love and Purrs - Cat Shifter!Nikto x GN!Reader

Squirrel Hybrid!Reader - 141 x GN!Reader

Monster!AU

Other People's AUs Fan-Work

Water and Wraiths - Ghost x Soap (@bluegiragi)

Random AUs

When Silence is No More - 2 - Astronauts!141 x Cosmic Horror!Reader

SCP!AU

On-Going Series

SCP-8077 - The Doll - Ft. MTF Alpha-141

Viking!AU

Other People's AUs Fan-Work

Among the Ice of Her Thoughts - Viking!Soap x Reader (@ghouljams)

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binniesbabe · 2 years ago

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Livy's Rec Fic Masterlist

♡key - fluff [f] | angst [a] | mature [m] |suggestive [s]

Stray Kids

"Run, little lamb. Run." [m] pairing: lee minho x fem!reader @seo--changbin

if i leave, which i must do [f,a,s] pairing: han jisung x female!reader @skzhua

style, 1989— musician from next door [f,m] ✰pairing — musician!jisung x f. reader @starlostseungmin

off limits (h.h) [f,s] pairing: hyunjin x reader @yxngbxkkie

user [a] pairing: kim seungmin x reader @writing-my-life-away

steamy [m,f] pairing: felix x trader @sky-yuna

in which u beg chris for round 2 [m]╰┈➤ bang chan x f. reader @faeryacha

forgive me for what i haven’t done [a,f] pairing: felix x fem!reader @rachalixie

Hide and Seek ~SCB [m] PAIRING: Changbin x Fem!Reader @dreamescapeswriting

Bottling up [a] pairing: idolminho x gn reader @bonobonoyaatheart

Into The Chaos- Bang Chan [f] pairing: idolbang chan x reader @kpopimaginings

The Fan Meeting [f,m,a] Pairing: Idol!Han Jisung x afab reader @dontaskmemybias

Photobooth [f] pairing: kim seungmin x reader @astraystayyh

Anger Management [f,a,m] Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Han Jisung/Han x Fem Reader @2chopsticks2eyes

Dance For Us [m] pairings: Lee Minho x Fem Reader|Lee Felix x Fem Reader| Hwang Hyunjin x Fem Reader|Lee Felix x Hwang Hyunjin @2chopsticks2eyes

“Hyung Will Teach You” [m] PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader x I.N @seo--changbin

Series

Doll House and Melting Point (m,f,a) a reposted series

TO HOT TO HANDLE MASTERLIST [m,f] synopsis: You and skz members become contestants in a reality dating show, Too Hot To Handle @seospicybin

instead of you (masterlist) [a,m] ongoing pairing: best friend’s brother!lee minho x f!reader ft. han jisung @sluttywonwoo

it’s a bad idea right? -hjs [a,f,s] ongoing pairing: jisung x fem!reader. @cosmic-railwayxo

「𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕'𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗」 · masterlist [a,m] ongoing ※ Bang Chan x afab reader @exxxtraoddinary

Make Love, Not Porn|Masterlist [m] ongoing barista!hyunjin x cam girl!reader @charmercharm3r

Hello Stranger|Masterlist [f,a,m] PAIRING: minho ft. hyunjin x fem!reader @tasteleeknow

Blue Side of The Sky Masterlist [f,a,m] —pairing: lee know x f. reader @hyunfilms

Ephemeral Love | Masterlist [f,a] pairing: Seungmin x reader @feelbokkie

Love on The Court | l.mh [m] jock leeknow x nerd female reader @etherealinowrites

Too Hot To Handle [s,m] pairing: lee felix x reader @seospicybin

Hot Bitch Summer [s,m,f] fratboy!stray kids x reader @hyunsvngs

Devils Advocate [s,m] pairing. ot8 x fem!demon!reader @kkami-writes

Never Have I Ever [s,m] pairing(s); everyone x everyone (stray kids x reader) @hyungszn

Oddinary House [horror] pairing: stray kids x reader (separate) A girl gets an invitation to come and visit the Oddinary House, located at the other end of town. Despite her hesitation, one night she heads there, only to be trapped in the abandoned mansion with a bunch of monsters. @jinnie-ret

Texts

Wanting to go to the Barbie movie with Stray Kids [f] pairing: ot8 x reader @channie-143

When you’re both competing at ISAC [f] pairing: idolskz x idolreader @feelbokkie

texts with stray kids- when you send their pictures as reactions (hyung line) [f] pairing: ot8 x reader @hyunribbon

Tomorrow x Together

i can't swim, idiot ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ choi beomgyu [f,m] pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader @beom-pyu

Hey Emo Boy! [f,m] bassist!Beomgyu x fem! reader @koqabear

Take it! [a,m,f] chaebol!Beomgyu,chaebol!Taehyun! x fem!reader @koqabear

Enhypen

-always [a,m,f] — starring. childhood bestfriend!jake x fem!reader @wonlovie

Other Groups

the best man. (m.l) [m,f] pairing: mark lee x reader @mrkis

Series

Dive Into You (Masterlist) [m] completed pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader @neopuppy

#masterlist #stray kids #txt #tomorrow x together #recmasterlist

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macravishedbymactavish · 2 years ago

Text

Sunrise (Alex Keller x GN! Reader)

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2019 / 2022 Masterlist |

| No use of Y/N | Taglist Open |

Submission #1 for the “Alex Keller Challenge” hosted by our one and only @glitterypirateduck

Quick note - no real TW, but mentions of OC Keller siblings and Neko (Alex is a cat dude on this blog). Some minor angst but it's generally fluff

Prompts used:

What were you thinking

Please don’t make me answer that

Keep talking

“How was work?” Your husband called from the kitchen, peeking his head around the corner when you didn’t respond. Blue eyes filled with worry as you bit your lip. From the moment you woke up (late, you might add) to now it felt as though the cosmic laws were your enemy. That Murphy’s Law chose you as it’s lucky contestant.

Mouth opening and closing, silent pleas escaping as you pitifully shrugged. Closing your mouth into a soft pout. Pulling your eyes up, you fought back the tears that were forming. The day weighing heavily on your soul.

"Hey, hey." His tone soft, as he crossed the room to stand in front of you. His touch gentle as he placed his palms over your shoulders. The warmth comforting as he quietly asked "what's going on inside that beautiful brain of yours, hm?"

Breath hitching, you lowered your gaze to meet his. The details blurring through the unshed tears as you slowly lifted your arms, finger tips grazing his sides. A soft huff as he pulled you in tight, both of you ignoring how sensitive his stomach was.

Eyes closing firmly, you let your cheek fall against his chest. A sob finally escaping your lips as he protectively cupped the back of your head. Humming softly as you felt every emotion from the day.

Resting his chin atop your head, he stayed silent. Softly rubbing one hand along your back as the other continued holding you close. His heart silently breaking at the sound of your pain.

After some time, your sobs dissipated into soft sniffles. The steady beating of his heart beneath your cheek grounding you; silencing the emotions and noise within your head. The feeling of his hand rubbing lazy circles across your back calming the nerves that were once screaming beneath your skin.

“Once you’re ready, I am here if you want to talk about what you were thinking about when you got home.” He offered, pressing a loving kiss to your hair as he continued to hold you. Mindlessly rocking your bodies back and forth.

Opening and closing your mouth, words escaping you as you merely shook your head. Pressing your face back into the soft fabric of his shirt as you grabbed fistfuls of the fabric from his back. Holding him tight, as though he would disappear if you let go.

“I’m thinking of trying out a new soup recipe later on. It has those drop dumplings in it, the flour ones that never get enough credit.” Alex hummed. “My sister sent it to me, jokes on her though. I’m not a catering service and the soup will be all mine.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept across your face at the mention of the Keller siblings disputes. Shuffling your feet forward, you silently asked to curl up on the couch. Keeping a firm grip on his shirt, not letting him get too far away.

“You’re more than welcome to the soup if you want some. Unless it tastes terrible, then I’m not exposing you to my failed science experiment.” He continued, head leaning against the cushions as he pulled your legs to lay across his lap. “What happened today?”

You knew he was testing the waters, gauging your reaction and continuing to offer an ear for any venting you may find beneficial. Never once would he push you to talk about anything you weren’t ready to discuss.

“Please don’t make me answer that.” You sighed, head resting against his chest as you pulled his arm close. Tracing your fingers mindlessly over the lines that covered his skin. “Just keep talking; about anything. How’s Neko been?”

If there was anything Alex Keller couldn’t shut up about, it was you and his cat.

“She’s good, has a spotty haircut that she’s less than impressed about. Didn’t clean her back well enough and got some mats that were easier to trim out than try to brush.” He started, setting the scene of him and his sister wrestling the small animal to groom her. Giving you a much needed distraction. A small, sad smile crossed your face as you snuggled deeper into his chest.

If this lasts forever, you’ll be just fine.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @bowtruckleninja @v1naco

Alex Keller Taglist: @gcing-back-to-505 @deadbranch @glitterypirateduck

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #alex keller #call of duty #alex keller x reader #alex keller fluff #alex keller is a cat dude #ALEXKELLERCHALLENGE

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zileans-big-cl0ck · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! How u doing?

Can i ask for some DarkCosmic! Jhin x gn! reader headcanons! Im crying fr there is barely Jhin content. Im so happy i found your blog, its so damn great <33 ilysm!! Take care :D

✦–Dark Cosmic Jhin x reader short story.✦ (SFW)

✦Demos on their way to provide Jhin content for you, because Jhin enjoyers deserve everything that’s the best.

✧ prompt: ✧ just some headcanons that are placed in the Cosmic/Dark Star alternative universe.

✧ champions: ✧ Jhin, the Virtuoso (Dark Cosmic).

✧ reader: ✧ gender neutral (no Y/N used).

✧ author’s note: ✧ I’m afraid it turned out more like a short story than headcanons, but you must forgive me, the whole Cosmic universe is just so emphemeral and majestic, it called me by itself to write something like this, frfr. Like, I literally have Dark Star Kha’zix as my main theme, just because it’s the most aesthetic skin in the entire game. ANYWAYS, guys, hit me up with any ideas for Jhin content, because I’m gonna take care of it, I PROMISE. And don’t worry about your asks, I’m really writting them, I’m just a bit lazy and slow. As always, please ignore any mistakes.

masterlist

The Cosmic Court has lost Jhin’s light. He has fallen into the Dark Star’s trap, embraced the inky space. Now, bestowed with new starfire powers, he conscientiously begun to claim the Universe as a canvas for his artwork.

Jhin’s corruption quickly escalated, cosmic frame mirrored the cells of his mad and abstract concept of reality. It all belonged to him now. He could create anything or make nothing from the absolute; proclaim the universe with a new virtuoso as a cradle of twisted nebulas, incandescent galaxies, blurred across the black reality.

His hunger grew alongside claiming more and more stars, his four emphemeral hands - two filled with the energy of relinquished Cosmic celestial, the other two greeting the omnipotent might of the Dark Star - working, reaching, grabbing, painting, spreading.

These hands, he reached them once for a brand new Galaxy, fresh and pure, uncertain of the destination it should met. It could be turned into something truly gorgeous, breathtaking, beyond anything a simple mortal could ever comprehend. He wanted to ensnare this light, capture it at its most enduring state, and then squize it in his claws, paint the infinite darkness of expanse by its entrails.

But Jhin hesitated. It wasn’t just another impotent Galaxy drifting in space, awaiting its dull end, that would come in eons. It was another Celestial being, alive and in their youth, unaware of the ongoing war between the Dark Star and its corruptants and the Cosmic Court.

He approached, though there was a concerning aspect in their apperance. Like a whirling black hole that he employed to create artworks greater than himself, the artist behind.

Discovered when he found himself closer, he realized that he misses the feeling of gliding freely between plantes, with stardust sweeping through his ephemeral cape. Emptiness surrounded this poor Celestial, ubiquitous darkness and black background only in the sight. It was almost pitful, to look at something so lonely, with no items to craft and work and paint. But Jhin was an artist, which entailed that he felt and saw more, curiosity rised achingly in his cosmic body.

And he obtained them, because Jhin, empowered by the power of the Dark Star, always got what he desired, what his longing soul cried for. Firstly, it was a move made from pity; soon he became covetous, as he saw other corruptants becoming jealous of his new pet. The old, disdainful wraith, Mordekaiser, jeered, demanding his own cohort of enslaved Celestials. ”If Jhin can have one, why won’t we create a whole army of it? Why should we meet constelations with cataclysms, instead of claiming them as our own?” he asked, encouraged by the coward, Xerath. But Jhin decided to mercifully ignore his acquaintances, as the Herald, Thresh, didn’t stop him - his own twisted mind hided his soft spot for some kind of pets.

Jhin admired his new companion’s loyality. They decided to stood by his side, and he was positive they would be loyal even in the end of the Cosmic Court, end of the Dark Star and the whole Universe, just because he had freed them from the nothingless of their corner of space.

He uncovered that he had no desire of consuming nor devastating the Celestial into a new piece of art, just becausae of their purity and mellowness. When born in a dark emptiness, their being couldn’t soak with the benightedness that kept buisy the minds of others. He could bathe them in his own ideas and beliefs.

Neither Mordekaiser nor Xerath could order him to leave his new partner - they became his inspiration, his only appreciated audience. Their word was valued by Jhin more than the ardous asks from the other corruped cosmic titans.

They weren’t ordinal. They were found in a repugnant darkness, embraced by no stars, no nebulas, only ceaseless nothingless. It was almost calming, like the dim insides of the Dark Star, which were consummate, persistent, always hungry for more. Jhin admired it and wanted to show his pet the whole Universe, the beauty he could rip from constellations, melt them to his will.

He often became pensive, milling the thoughts that consumed his mind, pushing him into the greatness of his immense conciousness. They could listen to him for eons about the convoluted twists and strings behind his art. But he would never talk about his past and the Cosmic Court. And they were never malicious enough to force him to confess that.

The whole Galaxy was yours. Jhin was the reason the sanctimonious herold of the Dark Star, Thresh, has brought the rightful owner, the true heir of the devouring force of this Universe, Lux, so she could claim the throne. And by this way, the Virtuoso obtained favourability of his master - the one that gave him the powers. It let him spread the superficial chaos, proudly pace through space with his new companion, his beautiful galaxy, his devotion and destination.

Because Jhin was never reserved; if he wanted the whole Universe to belong to him, he would accomplish this task even without help of the Dark Star.