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r1poffmyface · 4 days ago

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The Sixth Redemption

Yandere! Beasts x Gn Reader

Inspired by @brittle-doughie and @yanderecookierunkingdom

"Situation, leading to sweet salvation."

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The story begins when this very Silver Tree was only a small sapling... When the World of Desserts was at its infancy.

The Witches baked six Cookies to help them in their creation of the world.

"... Harness the radiance bestowed upon you for the betterment of this world..."

And the six Cookies imbued with absolute powers walked Earthbread as almighty envoys of the Great Creators. Knowledge, Volition, Happiness, Change, Solidarity and Redemption. The Dessert World bound by these six Virtues was nothing short of paradise.

Alas... The perfect age was short-lived.

Absolute power begets nothing but arrogance. It inevitably corrupts its wielder, bringing them to the most tragic of ends... A fate even the Witches were unable to foresee. One by one, Five of the Six, once regarded as saviours of the Cookie World, gradually turned to Darkness. And thus, the Five Virtues, too, became distorted, twisted. Reduced to:

Deceit.

Apathy.

Sloth.

Destruction.

Silence.

Now known as the Five Beasts, the apostles of evil began their dark crusade, and forth they brought great destruction and suffering.

The sixth Virtue, Redemption. Saw their friends fall from the pedestal of grace and went to their creators, pleading that the witches rescue the fallen heroes from the darkness, that they still had purity in them that needed and deserved to be saved.

But the witches denied their request and told them that there was nothing that could be done and fate was already set in stone.

The Witches punished the Beasts by sealing them away deep within this land. And planted the seed of the Silver Tree to ensure their evil power never sees the light of day again.

From then on, this land where the Beasts were put to sleep, was called Beast-Yeast.

Long since the sealing, the cookies spoke of the Sixth Virtue as a mystery, a myth lost to the drift of eras long gone by. Some said they had inescapably succumbed to their own corruption; others that the grief that weighed down their dough had crumbled the Virtue in a gulf of their own mourning tears.

Past

You stood under the outstretching branches of the Silver Tree.

Your expression an interweave of thoughtfulness and sorrow as you fixated on the glittering bark.

What is Redemption?

Hope? A chance for cookies to see the error of their ways and better themselves, forgive themselves and see that there is more to life than causing strife?

Was it a vain pursuit? Seeing good in cookies where there is none? Handing out second chances over and over again only to lose more than you gained?

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t have an answer when cookies used to call you weak for your constant, unwavering forgiveness, chanting that it was for the spineless who could afford to lose something, striving to guide the wrongful on the right path while bestowing them with leniency regardless of their continued morally depraved actions.

You didn’t have an answer when your dear friends collapsed under the pressure of their powers. When their adored glances your way didn’t vanish along with their righteousness but deformed to something…obsessive.

When they rampaged through the land, dispersing darkness and suffering — unlike anything ever seen before.

When the cookies cursed you for forsaking the world when you desperately tried to help your beloved comrades — when you offered consolation, concern, and sympathy — instead of purging their wickedness.

But how could you?

How could you possibly crumble the very cookies you held so dear to your heart?

Even if their own affection had twisted to something heinous, a death vine that suffocated your ability to take breaths, even if you didn’t reciprocate their love in the same extreme measure they did.

You would still be crumbling an essence of your very heart along with it, bleeding it out till your life force took its final breath of air.

Even if a part of you knew that this was for the greater good, sealing them away. It truly was — a means to an end — even if the end led you to walk in the muck and mire of past memories, vigorously trying to stay afloat in the ocean of grief that threatened to swallow you whole with each merciless wave of reminiscences.

The fluttering of wings landed behind your presence. “I figured you would be here…” You turn your gaze off the tree to meet the eyes of the faerie, his hair a light lavender with periwinkle eyes.

“Elder Fearie Cookie…”

Elder Faerie Cookie stands a few feet away from you. His poise as dignified as one would expect from the guardian of the seal, his silver crown shines in the glittering light.

“I came to see if you’re doing well, given that I am aware you get sad around this time of season.” His calm voice acknowledged. You grant him a glum smile, turning your heels toward the tree once more.

“You need not worry; i’m not sad… just reminiscing.” You explained. Your hand goes to hover over your chest, over your star-shaped souljam that was hidden under the fabric of clothes.

As the years had passed, you had resided in the Faerie Kingdom.

Dulling your appearance to not attract too much attention, camouflaging your former identity as a Primordial Hero named Stellar Powder Cookie, virtue of Redemption, under the guise of Reader cookie, a wingless cookie who has lived in the silver kingdom as long as time, helping the faeries with the prosperity of the kingdom.

The faeries had always been kindhearted to you, treating you as one of their own despite your lack of wings. Some did question the oddity of a wingless cookie living in the kingdom and where exactly your origin laid.

But no one ever demanded an answer, just curiosity that you couldn’t blame them for possessing.

Although there was one faerie who knew who you really were. Elder Faerie.

He knew the struggles you had endured. Sympathised with the loss of your loved ones.

But he also anchored you. Reminding you that if the day ever came that the Beasts were to escape, you needed to stop them for the sake of cookiekind. And you knew that; you understood, and you would. — Despite the pain that ached at the thought.

“Do you miss them?”

You snapped a glance at the question. “Pardon?”

Elder Faerie Cookie moved to stand beside you. His hands clasped behind his tucked-down wings. “Do you miss them? —The Beasts?” He repeated.

A beat of civil silence passed as you considered the question.

You sighed deeply.

“Yes.”

Elder Faerie Cookie cast an attentive expression your way.

“But I miss the cookies they were — not the ones they have become.” You muttered.

Elder Faerie creased his brow slightly, then redirected his attention back upfront. “That is understandable; Grief has no time limit. It’s understandable to miss memories held in good faith.”

You hummed at his reassurance.

Present

After some time you left Beast-Yeast.

You yearned for a new direction. You couldn’t stay glued to a past long bygone. Grief and sadness become comforting if you’ve lived in it too long, and you couldn’t do it anymore; you couldn’t stay chasing the fragments of blissful nostalgia.

So you said goodbye to the faeries, promising Silverbell Cookie you would come visit in the future.

Mercurial Knight Cookie wished you a safe journey, and Elder Faerie Cookie wished you would find what you were yearning for without straying off of the righteous path.

You gave him a knowing and understanding nod before setting off to the land of Crisipia.

And after years, you meet a group of cookies who ventured the land, and you joined their journey.

You meet the ancients. You were opposed to getting close to them at first. But they turned out to be honourable, kind and heroic. And so you became friends.

And it felt good. It felt right.

Now you were preparing for the announced expedition to Beast-Yeast.

You were nervous, terribly so; you did not know what to expect after all this time. Your nerves were pulsating out of your dough at the mere thought.

A sickening anxiety of sorts.

You organised your necessities in your bag to distract your racing mind.

It’ll be fine. You told yourself. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Reader Cookie! Are You ready to go?” The soft voice of Pure Vanilla Cookie came from the doorway.

His gentle smile met your eyes. Your gaze flickered down at his blue souljam for just a second as you reminded yourself of the dangers that were possibly waiting for them, then your gaze went back up with an equally kind smile. You showcased your wrapped-together bag with a prepared lilt in your voice.

“Yes, I am!”

You know this needed to be done. You needed to find White Lily Cookie; Cookiekind depended on it.

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WHOAAA my first tumblr post and crk story! I want to make this into a serie, but I'm new to Tumblr so I don't know how anything works, bear with me!! Anywhoo how was this writing? :>

#crk #cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run #yandere crk #yandere shadow milk cookie #yandere eternal sugar cookie #yandere burning spice #yandere mystic flour cookie #yandere silent salt cookie #beast cookies #beast crk #yandere cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #crk x you #x reader #yandere #The Sixth Redemption

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r-memberme · 2 months ago

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ridiculously in love | k.m

⎯⎯His eyes narrow in playful defiance. “Ridiculous?” he repeats, raising his glass high, “I’ll have you know, I am a poet, darling. Shakespeare would tremble in his grave.”

warnings: drunk klaus

Klaus Mikaelson, with all his centuries of power and pride, sits slumped against the bar, his usually impeccable posture replaced by the sway of too many drinks. His eyes, glazed with the liquor’s slow haze, flicker toward you, an odd mix of longing and amusement dancing behind them. There’s something soft in his gaze—a rarity, like a star breaking through the night sky.

“Ah, there you are,” he says, slurring the words, voice a low purr. “The moonlight in my endless night.” His head tilts, trying to focus, and his lips curl into a lopsided, barely there grin. “You... you’re beautiful. Not that I didn’t know that already. But tonight, oh, tonight—my eyes, they are full of wonder at your radiance.”

You can't help but smile at the sheer absurdity of it all. Klaus, the ever-confident, the immortal hybrid, reduced to this—drunk, poetic, and adorably... vulnerable. You sit beside him on the barstool, your fingers brushing against his, and he lets out a low hum of satisfaction.

His hand finds its way to yours, and he presses it against his chest, his fingers wrapping around yours with an intensity that seems both desperate and endearing. His heart beats beneath his ribcage, a steady thrum of life and longing. He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he says, the words tinged with an unexpected vulnerability. His voice cracks just enough for you to catch it, the hint of a man who, despite the walls he’s built, is so afraid of losing the one person who’s ever seen beyond the monster.

You squeeze his hand softly. “I know you wouldn’t, Klaus. You never would.”

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip. “But that’s what I am, you know? A monster. A beast.” He sways slightly, and his gaze turns playful. “A rather handsome one, if I do say so myself. But a monster, nonetheless.”

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “You’re not a monster.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your words. “Tell that to the hundreds of people I’ve—” he waves a hand vaguely, “—well, you know, what’s the word... dispatched. But then again, you seem quite fond of me, don’t you?” His lips twitch into a grin, though there’s a glint of sincerity in his eyes.

His fingers squeeze yours tighter. “You make me want to be better. I—”

He pauses for a moment, eyes swimming with emotion, as if he’s on the verge of saying something more, something that would never pass his lips while sober.

Instead, he shakes his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “No, no, it’s the wine talking.” He gestures vaguely, as though trying to push the deep confession out of the air. “I’m afraid I’ve become quite the poet under the influence.” He tips his glass in mockery, “To you, my muse, my torment, my redemption.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

His eyes narrow in playful defiance. “Ridiculous?” he repeats, raising his glass high, “I’ll have you know, I am a poet, darling. Shakespeare would tremble in his grave.”

Klaus takes another drink and then stares at you, his expression turning serious for a split second. “But you should know something, love. I would burn the world for you. I would drown every living soul for you. If it means you stay. If it means you are mine.”

His gaze softens, and the smirk returns. “Not that you could ever escape, of course.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

And then, as if on cue, Klaus attempts to stand up, but the world seems to sway just a bit too much for him. His foot catches on the edge of the barstool, and with an exaggerated grunt, he topples backward. There’s a moment of surprise, and then—flop. Klaus lands flat on his back with a dramatic thud, his arms splayed out like he’s fallen from a great height.

For a second, you can’t help but burst out laughing.

He groans, rubbing his head, and shoots you a look that’s equal parts annoyed and amused. “Well, this wasn’t in the script,” he mutters, his voice slurring with the humor of it. “I meant to make an elegant exit, not… this.”

You step forward, offering your hand to help him up, and he takes it with exaggerated slowness. “You know,” he says, his eyes narrowing mischievously, “I meant to be all charming and debonair, and yet, here I am, looking like an idiot.” He pauses for a beat. “But if you insist, I will accept your help. You know, in the name of graciousness.”

You laugh again as you pull him back onto his feet. “Graciousness, huh? I think you're just using your fall as an excuse to get me to help you.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, steadying himself against you. “I always use my charm to my advantage. It’s my divine right. Now—” he pats his chest with a grand flourish, “—I propose a toast to me, and to you, and to the fact that you still find me attractive, despite the occasional tumble.”

He picks up his glass again, sloshing it dangerously. “To my beauty, to your incomparable taste in men, and to the undeniable truth that no one but me could make falling on my ass look this good!”

You raise your glass, the corners of your lips curling in affection. “Cheers to that, I suppose.”

Klaus smirks, then adds, “Oh, and to my humility, of course.”

He winks, clearly pleased with his own humor, and you can’t help but shake your head, your heart full of warmth for the man whose pride rarely lets him act this ridiculous. You’ve always seen him as a force of nature—a creature whose power and dominance leave no room for doubt. But in these moments? In these drunken moments? He’s a little less of the monster he claims to be, and a little more... human. And that makes everything about him feel just a little bit more real.

The two of you share a quiet, comfortable silence for a moment. Then Klaus, ever dramatic, leans in closer, his expression softening.

“You know,” he says, his voice quieter now, “I think I’m done pretending. I think I’m done pretending I’m not... ridiculously in love with you.”

You stare at him, taken aback for a second. And just when you think he might say more, he tips his glass again, finishing the rest of his drink with an exaggerated flourish.

“See?” he says, clearly proud of himself. “I’m deep.”

You burst out laughing again, the sound full of affection and amusement.

“Ridiculous,” you say again, still laughing.

And this time, Klaus doesn’t disagree.

I love writing for drunk Klaus🤍 he's so stupid I love him so much. I was giggling and kicking my feet writing this.

See this as an apology for the post I will publish on Mother's Day. You'll see what I mean.

anyone wanna be apart of my taglist?

taglist:

@myworldrightnow

@deactiveblogx

@witch-of-letters

@xtwistedchaosx

@liataylorsversion

@pardonmydelayyy

@siredbyklausm

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daydreamingoveracupofcoffee · 2 months ago

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Pro-Heroes as flower

Toshinori Yagi (All Might):

Sunflower

In my view, sunflowers capture Toshinori’s radiant, uplifting spirit. Their towering height and bright yellow petals reflect his commanding, hopeful presence as All Might, standing tall as a beacon for society. In hanakotoba, sunflowers symbolize “adoration” and “radiance,” aligning with how he’s revered and his ability to shine even in dark times. The flower’s sturdy stem mirrors his enduring willpower, persisting through injury and weakness to pass on his legacy.

Shota Aizawa (Eraser Head):

Lavender

I see lavender as Aizawa’s flower for its understated elegance and calming essence. The flower’s soft purple hue and soothing scent reflect his quiet strength and ability to defuse chaotic situations with his Quirk. In hanakotoba, lavender symbolizes “devotion” and “silence,” fitting his unspoken loyalty to his students and subtle heroism. Lavender’s association with rest also nods to his constant exhaustion, tying into his sleeping bag moments, while its resilience in tough conditions mirrors his tenacity.

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic):

Marigold

Marigolds feel right for Present Mic because of their bold, fiery colors and lively presence, matching his energetic, attention-grabbing nature. Their vivid orange and yellow petals echo his bright hair and flashy style. In hanakotoba, marigolds symbolize “passion” and “creativity,” reflecting his dynamic performances as a hero and DJ. To me, the flower’s warmth captures his ability to energize others, while its protective connotations in some traditions align with his heroic duty and steadfast loyalty to friends.

Keigo Takami (Hawks):

Hawkweed

Hawkweed, a vibrant yellow flower with delicate, feather-like petals, feels perfect for Hawks. Its name and appearance echo his bird-themed identity and winged Quirk, while its bright color matches his lively, confident persona and striking eyes. In hanakotoba, hawkweed can symbolize “freedom” and “sharpness,” reflecting his soaring independence and keen perception. The flower’s ability to thrive in varied environments mirrors Hawks’ adaptability, whether he’s charming the public or navigating dangerous undercover missions.

Enji Todoroki (Endeavor):

Red Camellia

Red camellias capture Endeavor’s fiery, complex nature. Their bold, flame-like petals align with his Hellflame Quirk and intense personality, while their elegance reflects his status as a top hero. In hanakotoba, red camellias symbolize “love” and “perseverance,” fitting his relentless drive and his evolving efforts to rebuild familial bonds. The flower’s fleeting bloom also hints at the fragility of his redemption, as he grapples with past mistakes while burning brightly to prove himself.

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fat Gum):

Dandelion

Dandelions feel like the ideal match for Fat Gum’s warm, resilient spirit. Their round, golden heads evoke his bulky, cheerful presence and love for round foods like takoyaki. In hanakotoba, dandelions symbolize “cheerfulness” and “resilience,” reflecting his upbeat attitude and ability to bounce back from attacks using his Quirk. The flower’s ability to spread seeds far and wide mirrors his role in nurturing and inspiring young heroes, while its unassuming strength aligns with his deceptively powerful, protective nature.

Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko):

Red Poppy

Red poppies strike me as Mirko’s flower for their vivid, untamed beauty and fiery spirit. The bright red petals match her intense eyes and fierce energy, while the flower’s wild growth reflects her free-spirited, independent nature. In hanakotoba, poppies symbolize “fun-loving” and “passion,” aligning with her thrill-seeking, battle-hungry personality. Poppies also stand tall yet sway freely, mirroring Mirko’s strength and agility as she leaps into fights without hesitation.

Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca):

Blue Iris

Blue irises feel right for Gang Orca, evoking his aquatic nature and dignified character. The flower’s deep blue petals and sleek, upright form mirror his marine-inspired design and commanding presence. In hanakotoba, irises symbolize “courage” and “trust,” reflecting his heroic resolve and reliability as a mentor. The iris’s association with water and its ability to thrive near it align with his orca traits, while its quiet elegance captures his underlying honor beneath a fearsome exterior.

Tsunagu Hakamada (Best Jeanist):

Cornflower

Cornflowers resonate with Best Jeanist for their subtle elegance and denim-blue hue, which matches his stylish, fabric-focused identity. The flower’s smooth, structured petals reflect his precise control and polished appearance. In hanakotoba, cornflowers symbolize “delicacy” and “refinement,” fitting his sophisticated demeanor and attention to detail. To me, the cornflower’s understated strength—blooming vibrantly yet simply—captures his ability to wield immense power with grace while guiding others to refine their raw potential.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #headcanon #all might #yagi toshinori #eraserhead #shota aizawa #present mic #yamada hizashi #hawks #keigo takami #endeavor #enji todoroki #fatgum #mirko #gang orca #best jeanist

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koiukiy-o · 4 months ago

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flame reaver x gn! reader. angst. 800w.

The first time you laid eyes on him, you thought the stories had been wrong.

The man who had left Aedes Elysiae in ruin was no immortal force, no unrelenting god of war. He was a shadow of what had once been—a crumbling ruin wrapped in frayed black cloth, flickering at the edges like a dying flame.

His armor, once gold and obsidian, had dulled to something lifeless. The jagged protrusions, like broken ribs bursting from his form, now seemed more like the remnants of a carcass picked clean by time. And his sword—

The legendary blade that had carved destruction into your home, that had left knowledge itself in embers—dragged against the ground, its edge dull, its radiance faded.

You had tracked him across wastelands and drowned valleys, through the ruins of empires he had reduced to cinders. You were meant to stop him. You had promised you would.

But standing before him now, as the last scholar of a knowledge he had tried to erase, you did not see a man who needed slaying.

You saw a man already dying.

"Have you come to stop me?" His voice was raw, stripped of the grandeur and menace the rumors had given him. He did not sound like a conqueror. He sounded like something that had burned too long and now had only smoke and ash left in its lungs.

You tightened your grip on your staff. "Should I?"

He laughed, and it was a sound that did not belong in this world—cracked, distant, like wind whistling through a skeleton’s ribs. "If you think it will change anything."

A gust of wind kicked up the dust between you. Even now, embers clung to the folds of his cloak, refusing to die.

"You destroyed Aedes Elysiae." The words felt small, meaningless in the face of all he had done.

He inclined his head slightly, as if considering. "I did."

The rage you had carried for years did not rise as you had expected. Instead, something colder settled in its place.

"Why?"

His fingers flexed at his side. They were no longer whole—veins of fire ran through his skin, cracks in a dying vessel. The corruption was spreading.

He exhaled, and it sounded like the last breath of a fire before it collapsed into embers. "I don’t remember."

You took a step closer. "Liar."

His golden mask tilted toward you. "I remember the fire. I remember the screams. I remember something calling me. But why?"

His hand clenched into a fist. "Why did I burn the city that I once called home?"

The nights were cold in the wasteland. He did not sleep, but you could tell the fire inside him flickered weaker when the sun set. He had stopped moving toward the Coreflame for now, though whether it was because of you or because his body was failing, you did not know.

You should have struck him down while he was still.

Instead, you sat across from him, staring at the broken creature before you.

"Was there nothing left?" you found yourself asking. "No one left worth sparing?"

His fingers traced the hilt of his sword absentmindedly. "There was a time I would have spared them all."

You swallowed. "But you didn’t."

"No." He looked at his own hand, the veins of flame crawling higher. "Something changed."

"Something?"

His mask turned toward you. "Or maybe it was me."

The silence between you stretched. You should not have cared. You should not have felt this pull toward understanding him. And yet, as you watched him sit there, a man crumbling under the weight of what he had become, you realized something.

He did not need redemption. He did not need forgiveness.

The e grove lay in ruin, the last remnants of its wisdom shrouded in shadow. And at the center of it all—

Anaxagoras sat upon the luminary throne, unconscious, one of the three shards of the Coreflame pulsing weakly.

Flame Reaver stood before him, his tattered cloak barely stirring, his gauntleted fingers hovering just above the light that would end his suffering or consume him whole.

You stepped forward. "Don’t."

He did not turn to face you, but you saw his hand clench. "You would stop me?"

"I would remind you." You took another step closer. "This is not yours to take."

His shoulders trembled. The mask upon his face made him unreadable, but something in the way he stood—

Something in the way he hesitated—

"Cerces has chosen him," you continued, your voice steady. "For you to take it now is to reduce everything to ruin."

The fingers of his outstretched hand twitched. He could take it. The hunger within him screamed for it. And yet—

He lingered.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, he lowered his hand. The embers along his body flickered once before dimming.

You turned from the throne.

And you walked away.

—

He was not a god. He was not a legend.

He was only a man who sought redemption.

But in the end, even this flame must die. Sooner or later.

#honkai star rail #hsr flame reaver #flame reaver x reader #phainon #hsr spoilers #a/n down here... hahaha #the last scene was riiight before the tb and everyone else came but i cant rmb the exact timeline...#heres some half baked angst bc i was physically CRASHIGN OUT on my insta when i saw him for the first time<3 #LuL #ENJOY!!!!!!

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sugary-daydreams3 · 6 months ago

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Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.

“That’s not the same.”

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.

“Well?” You ask impatiently.

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”

“Yet?”

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.

6 weeks later

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.

“I appreciate it.”

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.

“Babydoll.”

“Yeah?”

“Turn around for me.”

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”

“Yeah, you should.”

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.”

“How about you taste this then.”

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”

“Better than fine dining?”

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”

“It’s silly?”

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.

“Thank you for sticking with me.”

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

#sukuna x reader #no use of y/n #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #a little spicy #quiet time #reading #jin itadori mentioned #sukuna learns that being quiet and cozy ain't so bad

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pupdoc0916 · 3 months ago

Text

Small

It was quiet.

A rare thing in House Wachowski. But as Knuckles sat in his bed, sheets draped around his waist he couldn’t help but notice the complete lack of noise.

Normally he would revel in it. The constant sounds of Sonic’s chatter, the continuous noise and buzz of the TV, the clinking of dishes as Maddie worked in the kitchen. It was a lot. Sometimes it could feel overwhelming, the never ending need to process the discord of the place he was now urged to call home.

But tonight, in the dark of the attic, it felt suffocating.

He turned his head down to the object he now held in his lap. The soft glow of green highlighted the crescent on his chest.

He had not meant to grab it. After returning from the fight with Robotnik he and his new allies had chosen to keep it out of sight. A spot underneath the floor boards near his bed was the current resting place of this ultimate power. And most night he was content to allow it to stay below.

However, tonight had pulled him out of sleep by a tormenting nightmare. As he had been pulled from the depths of dreams, a terrible sense of loneliness squeezed his heart until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

As he pulled himself from the sweat covered sheets, trying desperately to catch his breath, his eyes had been drawn to the faint glow of power underneath the floor boards. Without a thought he reached down towards the gem, pulling the floor board up and snatching the artifact from the ground like a starving man for food. He pulled it to him, laying the gem in his lap, trying to calm himself under the warmth.

But as he stared at the emerald, the one thing he had desired most in all his life, held loosely before him, he did not feel peace. His eyes took in the glitter and glow with each second that passed under his gaze. The thing dwarfed in his large bare hands seemed so insignificant. So meaningless. This. This small thing. And as his eyes took in the soft glow, the soft pulse of light, he found his chest tightening, teeth clenching.

He was angry.

His breaths began to huff, eyes narrowed as he took in the object in his lap. The small rock that he had quested for his whole life. This thing that drove his tribe to fight and die for redemption. The burden that he had carried through his life, giving up his childhood and innocence and enduring pain and betrayal just to be able to bring it home.

This object.

This pebble.

It was so much different in his dreams before. In the tales and stories spread across the fire in his small village where it was revered. Images of a large radiant gem sitting atop a tall shrine, it’s radiance reaching to the heavens. The heart of the echidna. The thing that, without which, stole all dignity from his people. It was worshiped, it was revered, it was loved.

He had imagined finding it through his travel. Dreamed of the moment that he reclaimed the ultimate power back for the echidna race. He had envisioned holding the large emerald over his head in celebration, surrounded by glowing light, and feeling of overwhelming happiness of finishing his quest, of making his father proud.

But it turned out so much different than that.

Knuckles swallowed back a lump of disappointment as he stared at the small gem in his fingers. The thing that defined his race.

He was supposed to feel relieved. Happy. Complete.

But in this moment, he hated it.

Fresh were the images of death and despair that raided his unconscious mind. His muscles still trembled from the fear, his heart ached with loss.

How could something so small bring so much pain?

His species had been demolished in the name of this thing. His father stolen from him in their continued quest for honor.

Such a small thing.

His hands began to tighten over the emerald surface, almost engulfing it, as his breaths became shorter. His eyes bore into the glowing facets.

‘It’s your fault.’ he thought bitterly.

His chest constricted, causing a wheeze in his breath. He clenched his teeth as his hands tightened on the rock.

“It’s your fault.”

He startled from his own choked voice permeating the calm, the sound his bitter pain filtered through the the soft timber.

The gem almost seemed to react to his scathing words. The glow, previously so soft and mute, seemed to intensify under his scrutiny. His nose scrunched as the pain in his chest continued to escalate.

A warmth began to buzz underneath his hands. Knuckles startled under the feeling in his fingers. The feeling, almost like a rolling cloud, began to drift up his arms. His breath caught as it moved into his core. His muscles tightened as he felt its attempt at calm. It promised peace. It promised happiness. It promised…

He threw it.

The emerald left his hands, careening across the room until it hit a near by wall. It spun on its points and facets until slowly coming to a stop on the cool floor of the attic. Immediately the growing swirl of power was gone from his body, distanced as the gem settled across the floor.

Knuckles stared at it, eyes wide. His hands were shaking, mouth opened in a frozen state of shock. He stared at the gem, the thing that defined him, now laying across the room. Its glow had diminished, leaving just a green rock lying on the wood floor.

He swallowed. His hand came to his neck, shaking fingers clawing over his upper chest. He stared. Breaths panting. Vision blurring. Guilt. Panic. What had he done?

Before he knew what he was doing he was out of his bed, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees. He reached his trembling fingers toward the gem, pulling it quickly to his chest. He fell back into a sit, pulling the emerald into his chest, arms wrapped around so tightly he could feel the sides digging into his arms.

A pained sob slipped from his throat as he held the gem to his body. And another. And another as he curled his body over his own redemption.

Pain erupted from his chest as he desperately clutched his tribe’s honor in his hands. The treasure of his life that he had tossed aside in a moment of weakness. He pushed his face into the hard wide upper surface, feeling the wet of shedding tears as they pooled under his hands. What would his father say?

“I’m sorry.” he whispered. “Please, forgive me…”

He repeated the words like a mantra, flowing from his seizing chest with each tight breath. Images flew through his mind in his pain. His father looking down upon him. His tribe marching forward. The gem, hisgem, laying lifeless on the ground.

This small emerald.

Through the haze of his pain he felt a warmth appear at his side, wrapping around his curled body. A firm squeeze, pressure pulling him in. A hand gently grabbed his head, pulling it down until it landed on a soft surface. A soft beat began to permeate through the rushing in his ears. Rhythmic and soothing.

He pushed his head into the warmth, wetting the fur with his tears. He cried out his pain. He cried out his shame. His regret. His guilt.

“Shhhh.”

The sound whispered through his ears. Calming. He was not alone.

He was unsure how long he lied on the cold floor, wrapped in a protective shield against his own pain and sorrow. But with all things, the feelings began to flow and change. His sobs began to quiet. Tears began to dry. However the soft beat continued in his ear like a prayer.

He tried for a deep breath, stuttered but full, giving his lungs needed oxygen. A hand clenched on his bicep, the pressure a soothing weight.

He cracked his eye open, vision overtaken with green as his face remained buried into the soft glow of the emerald. He couldn’t find the strength to lift his head as he drown in shame. He does not cry. Warriors do not cry.

And yet…he had. Weeping to the emerald like a lost child.

He felt another squeeze of his arm. Such a small gesture that lead to overwhelming comfort. He leaned his head further into the figure next to him, taking in the scent of calm and trust. He chanced a look up and through the dark his eyes met a soothing green. The hedgehog smiled at him, never wavering in his support. He swallowed thickly.

A warmth in his palms drew his attention back to the emerald in his lap. He gently ran his hand over the surface. The thing that just moments ago caused him overwhelming pain now felt like a beacon.

The pursuit of this small thing had brought him trials and pain. His species lost, his tribe dead due to the hunt for this gem.

But this small emerald had also brought him good. Pride for his people by restoring their honor. And without this gem, this small little rock, he would have never met his new friends. He never would have been drawn into their lives.

His new tribe.

The warmth under his palms grew and this time he didn’t fight it. He allowed it to travel through him, filling his head, soothing his thoughts. A sense of calm began to take him and he let a long breath escape him.

“Whoa…”

He looked up and met the wide eyes of his blue companion. When their eyes met he grinned, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Can you feel that?”

A soft smile crossed Knuckles’ lips as the warmth continued to spread. He softly nodded into his companion’s chest, his free hand pulling the emerald closer.

Yes, he could feel that.

Support.

Love.

Acceptance.

And they sat together, made one within the emerald’s embrace, until the sun began to peak through the window and the new day began

@year-of-the-echidna

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #sonic wachowski #year of the echidna #scu #master emerald

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virgil-in-excelsis · 4 months ago

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Something great is coming

The world waits With bated breath And my bones wait along with it

Redemption arc? Training arc? No; Anticipation arc.

Something great is coming; The Lord Himself has warned us; "You will see greater things than this." "Unimaginable"

Imagine; the unimaginable! How majestic! How awesome! Fearfully and wonderfully made for this, exact, moment.

It is coming quickly. Behold; it is already here!

Praise the Lord! Praise His holy name! The labor pangs are nearing their peak; The film is nearing its climax; The orchestra swells, all in great, unimaginable anticipation

I can hardly control myself, Let alone contain myself! My spirit presses against my very skin, Eagerly awaiting the moment As though at any second, it may burst forth from my very flesh!

Everyone is fucking in broad daylight, they can barely contain themselves BUT their ecstasy does not even come close To the majesty that lies just around the corner! See how quickly it approaches! Feel the excitement, the anticipation, The entire world bursting at the seams, Barely able to contain it! Do not keep us waiting long, Lord! Our very souls long for you, pang for you, cry out for you! The anticipation is palpable, nearly unimaginable, for the truly unimaginable things that are about to come!

Gamblers, leave your dice at the table! Adulturers and lustful men, leave your appetite where it lies! Drunkards and addicts, turn and face the impending radiance! The Lord approaches swiftly! He is nearly here!

Feel the electricity in the air! Feel the butterflies in the pit of your stomach! Feel the anticipation!

Something great is coming quickly! He is nearly here!

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sigh-ra · 5 months ago

Text

TRY ME ᝰ T. FUSHIGURO

nsfw! ꒱ w.c 590 ꒱ fem! reader

ᯓ★ toji was certainly clingy, to put it lightly.

Beams of incandesce managed to infiltrate beyond the horizontal and long slats of polyester intended to disrupt the benevolent sphere’s generosity during the peak period of its rouse, alternating sheer strips traitorous as warm shards were smacked across the couple’s expansive quilt.

She typically rebuked Toji’s disgruntlement (which he continuously vocalised even till this day) regarding what she deemed an essential to their fluffed palace for both laze and compulsive lechery, a brisk whistle successfully masking his unimpressed scoff when initially informed of the price tag for the “ornamental rag” - earning him both a mouthful and afterwards a history lesson behind the exorbitant rates (which he gathered from her passionate rant was ultimately boiled down to triple-layered fabric embossed with precise stitching, decorative conveying understated patterns)

However, having assessed her current dilemma - which was at first the gleaming radiance thwacked across their entangled frames befriending extra sleep - the issue instantaneously shifted into one of overheating due to additional coverage and the burly figure whose muscular limbs caged her t-shirt-adorned spine against his broad chest.

She internally cursed herself for omitting Toji’s sleeping etiquette at the time of purchase and being negligent in considering a thinner blanket instead because, at least then, she would not have been in this imbecilic predicament.

She nudged the snoozing male with a deliberate jab to loosen the hinges of his Herculean physique.

She struggled to swivel her groggy expression over her shoulder to reason with the clingy bear, debilitated of all toughness when dozed and melded to her beneath the indigo canopy with lunar embroidery consisting of a silvery sphere draped over their homey abode.

“Babe, let me- ”.

“I don’t think so, ma.” He grumbled, his encircled grasp tightening a smidgeon around her waist, chin planting itself further within the crown of her messy locks.

She groaned, attempting another shove as she drawled out, “C’mon Toj, the sun is hitting my face.”

A bewildered gasp parted her puffy lips, dried drool creasing at the softened corners after his crude gesture of roughly cupping her thinly clad cunt; his insensitive palm, engrained with microscopic routes of redemption, salvaged his apathetic speech as the calloused surface pressed against her clit, the flimsy panties a useless barricade as the bud’s prominence pressed against his ruthless grab.

His hefty fingers voluntarily imprisoned themselves between her plush thighs, the middle digit slightly compressing the gossamer garment into her moistened entrance, her body a betrayal for indulging the notion that his dictations were gospel, all of authoritative definitive.

His seemingly settled skull then migrated between the junction of her strained neck and shoulder blade.

An infinitesimal pause befell the assured man, glaucous sight begrudgingly widened from a bleary squint not only due to her unnecessary antics - but the intense oblongs (now brassy as midday’s hours alleviated the brightness) adjuring his vision to be roused.

“Lay still, girl,” He assertively warned, warm breath a blistering strike fanning the crook of her neck, ridged scar faintly grazing the skin split with cockiness upon her underwear’s damp gravitation coercing him to apply further pressure.

“But- ” She groaned, her stable breath slightly unsteady.

“Argue again, and the fingers go in.”.

A shallow exhale of relinquishment to her entitlement to defence pecked his ears.

The concupiscent man still nestled into her side, whose cunning portrait remained shadowed by the limp strands of stygian tickling her flustered flesh, lifted his head with a brazen simper, her unassuming sigh perceived as a vehement plead urging more.

“That sounded like arguing to me, doll.”.

#stqrlverr #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #drabble #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fushigro x reader

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 1 year ago

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The library is dim except for the oil lamp casting its snug ochre radiance, illuminating the page you’re reading. The window here is forever shuttered and draped to keep the sun off the assorted books and tomes, making you feel safe. Well, as safe as you can feel while sharing quarters with Astarion. Your fingers rub the harsh, bumpy surface of the book's old cover as your eyes feast on page after page.

“What are you reading?”

You close the book momentarily to let Astarion get a look at the cover.

“Ah,” he smiles, “I lent you that some time ago. Did I not?”

You nod, “I never got to finish it.”

Astarion lays on the lounge beside you, “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

You cock your brow at him, and your nose crinkles, “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of book you would read.”

He laughs, “Why’s that?”

“It’s well written, and there are gory bits, but it seems to boil down to a love story, and I can’t imagine you reading romance.”

“Do you think me incapable of romance, my dear? I was romancing people before you were alive.”

You smirk at him, “I’m positive you can feign romance exuberantly. I can’t imagine you being truly romantic, though.”

He waves dismissively, “What’s the difference? It’s all a show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but one has true feelings behind it, which makes it romantic. It’s not the “show,” as you say.”

He chuckles, “This is starting to sound an awful lot like a challenge, and I do love a good challenge.”

You frown, “I’m sure Elowyn would love a demonstration.”

He scoffs, “You said there must be true feelings behind it.”

What does that mean?

Does he even feel anything anymore?

Questions you want to ask him but choose not to because you don’t want to know the answers.

Astarion looks around the room, “Why do you read in here all the time? I thought you would be out in the courtyard, or at least in a room with a window. You used to love the sun,” he muses with a dreamy, faraway guise.

“I liked the sun. No one loves the sun more than you do."

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” his mouth twitches, “You and I used to watch the sunrise together often.”

“That was before,” you sigh at the memories, “This is now.”

He looks around anxiously while rubbing his hands together, “We could again if you wanted to.”

“I’m frightened that you will get angry with me, and in that rage, you’ll cease protecting me,” you retort bluntly.

His brows furrow with a resigned sigh, “Do you think you will ever trust me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

He sits upright and looks at you intensely, “Indeed, I do.”

Why? Why does it matter to him if I trust him or not?

Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

“You have your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckles, “It’s a good thing we have an eternity ahead of us.”

Unless you kill me.

Biting your tongue, you swallow that retort. Astarion has been remarkably pleasant for several days and seems more himself than you can recall since he became the Vampire Ascendant. You’re not keen on upsetting him for something so silly and becoming reacquainted with the version of him that lurks in his ire.

“Why did you recommend the book to me?”

He glowers at you playfully, “I have no doubt you will figure it out sooner or later.”

So, there is a reason.

“You could just tell me,” you purr.

“Darling, where is the fun in that?”

Astarion stands and kisses the top of your head. Running his finger along the books, he picks one, “I will be reading in the courtyard, in the sun I love so much according to you, if you would like to join.”

You give him a curt nod, but once he’s left the room, a small smile meanders its way across your lips. Astarion having the ability to walk in the sun safely for the rest of his days after living centuries in the dark was one of the reasons you had helped him with the ritual. You didn’t want to be the one to damn him to an eternity of darkness as a spawn. As far as reasons go, you know it wasn’t a good one compared to the cost, but what’s done is done, and the reasons, good or bad, don’t matter now.

Letting your eyes roam the page of text, you try to distract yourself with the story, but your mind keeps drifting to Astarion, the courtyard, and the sun. Astarion asking if you could ever trust him again confuses you, and admitting he wants you to only mystifies you further.

Why does he want or care about my trust?

Could I ever trust him again?

You’re surprised by how much you long to trust him again. There had been significant trust between you at one point, but that utter conviction got you to this spot. When Astarion had Cazador kneeling before him, he said he knew what he was doing and asked you to trust him, and you did so blindly. Thus, assisting in turning him into whatever it is he is now.

I should have known better.

Closing your book, you descend the staircase on shaky legs. The mere thought of going and sitting in the sun still strikes terror into you. You’re still adjusting to having windows again. More than once, Astarion has caught you attempting to slink past the window, staying out of the sun as much as possible, or just standing there staring at it apprehensively.

He would giggle at you and make his silly, taunting quips, but he would also comfort you and tell you that you were safe with him, at least when it came to the sun.

As long as he’s not angry.

The door to the courtyard is open, and the bright mid-morning sun washes over the dark wooden flooring. Astarion sits on a bench bathed in the golden light, eyes down, skimming the page of the tome. He looks at ease and happy, and you can’t help but smile to yourself and cherish that view. Glancing at the rays warming the floor, you swallow your growing doubt.

Trust has to start somewhere. He will have no chance if I never give him one.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he coos without looking up from the page.

“Promise?”

Astarion stands, puts the book down and comes to the doorway with a tender smile, holding his hand out to you, “I promise. Come.”

Biting your lower lip, you slide your hand into his. Astarion coercers your body to move forward out into the courtyard with gentle force. Paving stones warm your bare feet as they pad along the ground, and the sun’s heat permeates your cold skin.

This is the first time you’ve seen this place in daylight, and it looks substantially less foreboding. At night, the courtyard’s high stone walls cause it to appear small and closed off. In this light, it seems open and pleasant.

A well-groomed tree towers off in one corner, providing some shade. The green leaves flutter in the slight breeze. Another bench sits under the willowy branches.

Astarion gently twists your arm, forcing you to pirouette as if you were dancing an elegant courtly dance, and you giggle at his playfulness.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gods, he’s so close.

As it often does around him, your ability to be rational and keep yourself grounded slips at his proximity. You can hear his heart beating and smell the bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy you’ve come to love.

You’ve felt frozen inside, numb, for so long, but his touch reawakens your purpose and thaws the ice that has solidified your fiery spirit and kept it subdued in the void his absence left.

“I missed you, you know. When you left,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes at the authentic vulnerability, and your hands grasp Astarion’s arms. Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, you attempt to regain the plummeting authority over your body.

Astarion holds your waist tenderly with the same firm protectiveness you remember. You keep trying to convince yourself the man you loved died that night, that Astarion is gone, but here he is, standing before you.

Is this him, though? I still don’t know.

Astarion uses his index finger to bring your eyes to the vivid scarlet of his, which are staring at you with a searing ardour. You’re paralyzed by that gaze, carried away by the deluge of instinct and longing coalescing.

“Can I kiss you, Astarion?”

He smirks, “Little love, I thought you would never ask.”

His lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut. Your body wilts into his as if drawn in by his gravitational pull. You let yourself drown in him. Your senses scatter, and you’re swept up in his undertow.

His tongue persuades your lips to part, and he skillfully traverses your mouth. You purposefully find one of his fangs, and you run it delicately over your tongue, causing a shallow wound that weeps blood. He growls as the taste of you detonates his hungering desire.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I love it when you do that."

You smile against his lips. You know it drives him crazy, and that’s precisely the point. You want to fill him with you; claim him as he has claimed you. You want him to be addicted to you so he can think of no one else.

Astarion bucks his hips into you, and you grind yourself against his hard length greedily. You clench at the delicious friction against your swelling flesh and whimper demandingly. A deep growl in his chest vibrates against you as his hand ravenously roams over the contours of your body.

You let your splayed hand coast from the taut muscles of his abdomen to his chest lazily, savouring his silky, soft skin on your fingertips. His chest heaves under your hand, and you can feel the rapid, excited thumping of his heart.

Astarion grabs your thighs and hauls you up. Reflexively, you wrap your legs around his hips, securing yourself to him.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors, yes?”

You giggle, “Astarion, are you shy? I thought you enjoyed being the centre of attention.”

He kisses your neck, “I plan to make you scream my name until your throat is hoarse. Would you like everyone to hear your wanton incoherent cries?”

Even though you’re more than accustomed to his alluring taunts, you still feel the heat rising to your face. Thankfully, you’re dead, and your skin can’t redden.

“And if I did? Perhaps they would learn something,” you tease flirtatiously.

He chuckles while putting you down once you’re safely hidden in the manor, “Darling, the prudes of the upper city would surely perish on the spot if they saw what I’m about to do to you.”

Gods, yes.

Your walls spasm and clench at the carnal depravity that courses through your thoughts in vivid splendour. You tug his shirt out of his breeches, and he pulls it off, anticipating your request. His fingers undo the ties of your shirt, and he slips it off. Those hooded red eyes brimming with lust consume the sight of you gluttonously.

“You’re perfect,” he purrs deeply.

Your chest swells and falls as you pant purposeless air. For so long, you’ve felt fear, loneliness, hunger or nothing at all, but right now, you’re high on the love and desire overflowing in you, and you refuse to give it up.

You throw yourself at him in desperation to keep this moment alive. His lips meet yours with the same dire need. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck while your other hand undoes the ties that keep his pants secured to his waist.

His thumb traces the lower curve of your breast, and you groan, feeling your nipple already harden in anticipation of his touch. His fingers graze the sensitive peak. Your body quivers, nerves humming as liquid lightning rolls down your spine, and your clit pulses in tempo with his teasing fingers.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been touched, tasted?"

You were the last one to touch me.

This isn’t something you would like to admit to him. You don’t want him to know how hopelessly in love and devoted you are to him. Astarion knows love, and he knows how to play with it, and you don’t want to give him more ammunition to play with you like a toy.

Reaching into his pants, your fingers find them wet with pre-cum, and your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him again. You grasp his cock, and his hips jerk with a panting grunt.

“Needy thing, aren’t you,” you taunt mockingly.

His eyes narrow, hypnotizing and brimming with lust, “I know you’re skirting around the question, darling.”

Astarion’s fingers glide past your waistband and trail down in an anguishing slow progression that makes a whine slip from your lips. He parts your wet folds, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that is howling for his touch.

“Hells,” he kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “I bet they didn’t make you this wet.”

You sag into him and sigh, “Astarion…”

He teases your swollen flesh, circling the aching border, “Did they make your body shake with need?”

The first direct touch sends a shockwave rocketing through you, and you whimper, knees buckling. You are forced to let go of your grasp on his cock and secure yourself by holding onto his arms. Astarion smirks proudly. The pads of his fingers stoke and massage, and you moan loudly. The coiling tension builds and intensifies as his tempo does.

A knock on the door startles you, and you try to jump away from him, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you in a steadfast grip.

“Ignore it,” he barks, “we’re busy.”

Another hammering rap on the door makes Astarion growl in frustration. His brow pinches in a dark scowl.

A pleading voice muffled by the door arises, “Master Ancunin! Master Ancunin!”

Pulling away from him, your body mewls in dejected objection at the discontinuation of sensation, “I think it’s for you.”

He groans and grins seductively at you as he sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you choke in a quick breath.

“As sweet as ever, my dear. My memories did not do you justice.”

The banging on the door resounds through the manor again with the same pleading shrieks from outside. Astarion rolls his eyes while he does up the ties of his pants. Not bothering to put his shirt back on, he moves to answer the door. You take quick steps backward to remain out of sight of the visitor.

“What is it?” Astarion sneers.

“Master Ancunin. Please forgive my intrusion, but your presence is urgently required.”

“We are not set to convene until tomorrow night,” Astarion snarls with an intensely domineering inflection.

“I know, saer. I am dreadfully sorry about this violation. I throw myself at your mercy.”

Astarion sighs, “And what exactly is so urgent?”

The man’s voice hushes significantly, and you can only catch small snippets here and there, but not enough to put together what’s happening that seems to require Astarion’s attention immediately.

“WHAT?” Astarion thunders.

Despite the booming shout, the intonation in his voice is dispassionate and unexpressive. You slink further back, knowing that whatever he was told has provoked his rage.

“Go. I will be there momentarily,” he slams the door harshly, cursing under his breath, “Fuck!”

Glancing around the room, you try to find a place to hide from him. You could go back into the courtyard, but if he’s angry and he decides you’re an easy target to take it out on, he might just let you burn. The stairs to your room lay too far away and would mean crossing paths with him.

Astarion turns the corner and jumps as if surprised to see you there. His eyes meet your face, and you’re relieved the crimson pools remain warm with liquid affection.

He must see the terror illustrated on your face because he frowns sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re angry.”

He nods curtly, “Yes, but I am me, for now - you have nothing to fear.”

You gulp, “For now.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever that man told him, it agitated him significantly.

He clears his throat, “I must go deal with this.”

He bounds up the stairs quickly to his room and must dress at a breakneck pace because he returns rapidly, fully dressed in his overelaborate coat, looking mouth-wateringly dashing.

Astarion heads for the door and tugs it open but hesitates, pivots and takes long strides toward you. Reflexively, you step back, frightened that the anger won.

Astarion kisses your forehead and the back of your hand, “I will try to be back for your lesson tonight.”

You nod, “It’s okay if you aren’t. Be careful, Astarion.”

He smiles, “As you wish, my love.”

Once Astarion is gone, you quickly run around and close all the heavy curtains, plummeting the manor into darkness. Sitting on the floor with your back against your bed, you close your eyes and reprimand yourself for letting things go so far.

Your role here is to try and figure out what’s ailing him and see if you can help him remedy it, not to continue getting closer to him, falling more in love with him.

If that’s even possible.

You wonder, though, if, by some miracle, you can find a way to conserve whatever remains of the old Astarion. Would you want to be with him then, or has the damage been done, and your relationship is doomed and wrecked beyond repair? Could you ever trust him again?

Gale is out looking for the Wish spell for you, but you ponder if you could use it to save Astarion from whatever evil plagues him. Could it be used to restore him to his previous self completely? Could it be used to turn back Ascension entirely? Would you do that to him even if it could?

Would I give up my one chance to be alive again if it meant restoring him?

You need to gather more information on what’s ailing Astarion. As well as the capabilities and limitations of the Wish spell, but you can’t tell Gale or Shadowheart that your motivations may have changed.

Where is Withers when I need him? He knew everything there was to know about souls.

You have a theory about what happens to Astarion, but it needs to be confirmed. You wonder if the Rite may have stripped away some of his soul, whether unintended or on purpose, and now the soulless part of him wars with the version that still retains the remaining bit of his soul, each contending against the other, vying for control.

You imagine the only way to figure this out is by talking to someone who deals in souls, but who? You’re still trying to work it all out.

With Astarion gone, you can finally let yourself get some much-needed rest. Laying down on your bed, you succumb quickly to your meditative state and slip into the tributary of your trance.

The walls of the Crimson Palace moan as they settle, cooling off after the hot sun beating down on them. You’ve been locked in your room all day, and those solemn whines are the only indicator you have of time.

The door to your bedroom snaps open, but you don’t even bother to look. You’re lying in bed motionless, staring at the ceiling of your pitch-black room as you have been doing since he locked you in here in the first place. Astarion keeps you corralled in here like an animal. You are not to leave without his approval, and if you do, the consequences are dire.

“My consort,” he drawls as he lights a candle.

“What do you want,” you say monotone.

“Get dressed, darling. I have need of you tonight.”

“No, thank you.”

“This is not a request,” he sneers, “You will come.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there?”

“Oh, pet, I will do so much worse.”

“I’m not going,” you mutter scornfully.

Astarion grabs you harshly by the arm and drags you down the hall to the kennels, “You do remember this room, yes? Do not make me put you in here, strap you to that device, and teach you why you will obey me.”

He drags you back to your room as you pull and fight him with everything you have, but he merely laughs at your pathetic attempts. He throws you onto your bed.

“Get dressed,” he commands, “Wear the blue one I have laid out for you. We are going to a party, my treasure.”

Your fingers linger over the silky blue material he laid out for you. The dress is glamorous, you suppose, but nothing you would ordinarily adorn. The gown is far too low in the front and back and leaves very little to the imagination.

Whatever he has planned for you tonight, you don’t want to know, but if you disobey, he will put you in the kennels, and you don’t want to visit that place again.

You pull the dress on. The neckline hangs down below your belly button, and the back is just as low. A long slit up one side allows a view of your leg. You cringe at the idea of wearing something like this in public.

Astarion returns promptly, dressed lavishly and looking far too handsome, “You look exquisite. This will do perfectly.”

Astarion escorts you to some overly sumptuous estate in the upper city. The ballroom is packed full of the city’s nobles and high-ranking officials.

“Remember to smile, pet. They need to believe we’re a happy couple."

You scoff at him, “I don’t care what they think.”

Astarion grabs your face harshly, “You WILL smile, or you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?”

You rip your face out of his hand and glower at him, “Fuck you.”

"Maybe if you’re a very good girl tonight, I will permit it.”

He introduces himself around the room, using his practiced manipulations to make connections, but he never introduces you unless someone pays you any attention, which they generally don’t. The only attention they pay is practically undressing you with their ogling eyes, and it makes your skin crawl.

Astarion directs you to a quiet side of the room, “Do you see that man in the maroon jacket?”

“What about him?”

Astarion grins sadistically, “I need you to go over there and distract him by any means necessary.”

You gasp, “Excuse me. What?”

He snickers, “You will distract him by any means necessary. Take him to a bed for all I care, as long as you get him out of the way.”

He wants me to do what?

“I will not!”

You yell it loud enough to gain the attention of some of the partygoers nearby, who give you awkward glances.

Astarion scowls at you, “That was very naughty, pet. Go now, do as I ask, and I will consider letting that little display slide.”

If I refuse, it’s the kennels.

You lean close to him and whisper, “If you try and make me do that, I’m going to make a big scene and embarrass you in front of all your new, very important friends.”

He leers at you threateningly, “Last chance.”

I choose the kennels over my body offered in exchange for whatever he’s planning.

You scream, loud and resounding, “No!”

The high pitch of your voice echoes through the entire room, thanks in part to the absurdly high ceilings. The once loud laughter and voices cut off into an awkward, hushed silence as all eyes in the room snap to you and Astarion.

Astarion plays it off perfectly with a warm smile, “Of course, my love. If you do not wish to go, we won’t.”

He’s going to have to do damage control later.

Astarion grabs your hand and squeezes it so hard you whimper while he walks you out of that damn party with the excuse that you are not feeling well. He trembles with anger, and you know you’re in for it when he gets you back to the kennels.

Back in the safety of the Crimson Palace, you burn him slightly and try to run to your room, though you know it’s little use. He disperses into gas and appears in front of you before you can make it even halfway there.

He grabs you, screaming in your face, “You dreadful little wretch! Now, I am forced to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Astarion, stop. You don’t have to do anything!”

He laughs like someone deranged, “How else will you learn to obey?”

“I will never obey,” you spit hatefully.

“We will see about that, my unruly, little spawn.”

He drags you through the halls while you scream, cry and beg him to stop. Your sandals skid across the wooden floor, shrieking as your feet try to find purchase.

The kennels smell like fetid blood, and you cringe as the scent assaults your nostrils. Astarion chains you to the wall, so you have no choice but to stand while he strips you bare.

He laughs menacingly, “You will learn to obey me, my consort.”

Astarion’s crazed laughing resonates through the room as he blows out all the candles, submerging you in pure, inky darkness. The door closes, locks and you’re left in silence.

You know you could get yourself out of these chains, out of this room, but the consequences if you do would be far more dire than being left in this miserable place naked and alone.

If you spend days, weeks or months isolated, starving, and stripped in the dark, you have no idea.

The sound of a beating heart starts to pulse on the outskirts of your trance, and the side of your bed depresses, rousing you from the memory. Your pillow is damp from tears shed as you were forced to relive that barbarity.

“It’s just a dream,” Astarion soothes, rubbing your arm.

No, a memory.

Does he even remember doing that or the many other similar atrocities he committed against you? If he does, he’s made no indication of it. One day, you will have to ask him, but you don’t feel like exploring that particular abyss of suffering with him right now.

You nod, “Yeah, just a dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Astarion glances at the wet spot on your pillow, “It seems to have upset you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. Did you deal with whatever you were summoned for, Master Ancunin?"

He smirks at your teasing, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “Perhaps multiple people. I cannot be sure."

“You don’t remember?”

He stares at his hands, “No. More often than not, I recall nothing.”

Does that mean he doesn’t recollect the kennels or the other horrid things he did to me?

“You lost yourself again?”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “I think so.”

Glancing at his clothes, you register that he’s not wearing the same thing he left in, “You changed?”

“I did.”

He must have been drenched in blood if he bathed and changed before coming home.

“Are you okay right now, or should I be throwing myself at you?”

He giggles, but it has a crestfallen ring, “You can always throw yourself at me, love. But I’m fine. I’m not angry anymore.”

You wrap him in an embrace anyway. His demeanour is melancholic and subdued, and you wonder just what in the nine Hells happened when he was out to have him coming home so miserable.

Astarion leans into you, the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile and sighs, “Thank you. Should we go out and continue your lessons?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, “I am rather hungry.”

He pats your leg, “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

The forest is tranquil, with nothing but a light wind rustling the canopy of the lanky trees. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, but not much of its light makes it to the ground, making the colours of the forest appear more subdued than usual.

“Gods,” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “your footwork is truly an atrocity.”

You roll your eyes at him, groaning, “I’m trying!”

“If this is you trying, darling, the realm will end before I can even teach you this.”

“Well, maybe if I had a better teacher!”

He inspects his nails absently, “You’re more than welcome to try and find a more adequate educator.”

Ugh.

“Can you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“It would be shorter to list the things you’re doing right,” he quips.

“Astarion!”

He strolls a slow circle around you with his fingers on his chin. His studious gaze is so intense you can virtually feel his eyes stroking your skin. Shadows skirt handsomely, if a little forebodingly, across the angular planes of his face.

You watch him heedfully, eyes tracking his course as he stalks around you. You’re always on alert with him. It’s hard to know what will set him off and what won’t, and you can’t afford to be caught off guard. Even so, a part of you luxuriates in these moments with him, and you admonish yourself for it.

“Where did I say you should keep most of your weight?”

“In my heels.”

“Ah, so you have learned something,” he tuts, “and where is your weight now?”

Your eyes cast heavenward, and you sigh, “I’m guessing not in my heels.”

“Correct. You’re tottering on your toes. Again,” he scolds, “Shift your weight. You’ll have far superior balance.”

You focus on your body and how it’s positioned. Your centre of gravity is displaced, and you’re rocking slightly from your toes to the balls of your feet and back like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. With effort, you manage to transfer your weight into your heels. The stance feels unnatural to you, and you struggle to keep yourself in it.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now, lower your hips. You’re still standing too tall. Everything will see you coming a mile away.”

The muscles of your thighs groan as you try to descend further into the crouch. You’ve been at this for hours, and your body is starting to drone fatigue.

“Lower.”

“Hells, Astarion! How much lower?”

Astarion crouches behind you and places his hands on your hips. Applying a gentle force, he pushes you further into the crouch. The muscles in your legs begin to twitch and tremble, and your balance starts to wobble.

He rises and walks around you again before crouching down in front of you with a cocked brow, “You’re very unsteady.”

Astarion reaches out and pushes your shoulder, causing you to overcorrect and fall forward onto him, knocking him over in the process. Something tells you he allowed you to push him flat to his back on the ground. He could have easily moved out of the way and watched your face grind into the earth.

Regardless, you find yourself sprawled out on top of him while you laugh loudly.

“Are all Sorcerers this unlawfully graceless?”

You smirk, “Do all Rogues possess such a smart mouth?”

He lays his head on the grassy ground and rolls his eyes at you with a grin, “Sassy girl.”

You move to push yourself up, but his arm comes around your waist, bracing you to him, and Astarion pushes the hair out of your eyes, “I really did miss you when you were gone, you know.”

Can I believe him? Can I afford to let myself believe him?

You swallow your rising sorrow, “Do you still feel emotions, Astarion?”

His vivid scarlet eyes impale you and imbue you with a profound solace that spreads through your body like a cascading wave of warmth, prickling your skin.

“You make me feel,” Astarion’s sombre, earnest intonation causes a breath to hitch in your throat.

Feel what - Obsession? Possession? Dominance? You want to ask him, but you don’t, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and that familiar rush of electricity jolts through your body and twists into your stomach. You trace his jaw with your index finger, leaning in and ghosting the velvety smoothness of his lips with your own.

Gods. I’m losing it.

Astarion presses into your invitation, and your lips mould together, charged with impassioned longing. His hand meanders into the back of your shirt, and you bask in the lazy, comforting strokes of his fingers against your skin. Using your tongue, you coax his mouth open, and he groans, giving you the access you crave.

You can feel your walls spasm and flutter eagerly, silently imploring him to fill you. Gyrating your hips into his bulging erection, he hisses as your swollen, aching clit, gorges on the mouthwatering friction. You whimper against him as your body cries for the release you were denied earlier.

Your eyes pop open momentarily and take in the forest that surrounds you. Memories of the forest the first time rush forward, and you push yourself back abruptly.

Astarion sits upright quickly and scans the surroundings, confused with your retreat, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” you pant.

His brows furrow for a second, and he looks around. Comprehension eases his features, “Oh, come now, was I that bad in the forest last time?” he pouts dramatically, “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Bad?” You shake your head, “No, Astarion. Those memories are sad.”

His brow cocks, “Sad?”

You run your fingers through your hair, “I should have known what you were up to.”

Once it rolls off your tongue, you wonder if you will regret telling him this. You’ve carried this guilt around since he confessed in the first place. He manipulated you because he felt he had to secure your devotion, thus establishing his safety.

If only you had been less infatuated with him, you might have seen through that guise and been able to stop him from putting himself through that again.

Astarion stands, concern creasing his face, “Love-”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

You cut him off, “Not here, Astarion.”

He nods curtly, and you begin the walk back to the estate. Once you get to the Lower City, Astarion offers you his hand to hold. It comforts you that he will stop you if you try to hurt someone. You’re not sure if he does it for your benefit or his. After all, if you did lose it and kill someone, you could end up exposing him, a risk he is unlikely to take.

The city streets are mostly quiet at this hour. The only sound you hear is your footsteps thwacking on the rigid ground until a random heartbeat starts repeating in your ears. You don’t give it much thought until her voice drifts out of the darkness. You recognize that repulsively sweet, harmonic tone.

“Astarion, darling! It’s been ages!”

Elowyn.

The woman saunters from the outdoor sitting area of a nearby inn. Her mulberry hair is pulled back, revealing her dainty face and ever-so-increasingly tempting neck. She wears a green dress that makes the sapphire of her eyes stand out.

What is she even doing out here at this time?

You clench your jaw. Something is off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. She has an air about her that makes your skin crawl, but it could be the utter loathing you feel for her playing tricks on you.

Astarion smiles pleasantly, “Elowyn. How lovely to see you.”

Elowyn’s eyes fall to your hand clasping his, and her eyebrows pull down into a slight, barely noticeable scowl. She leans in close, puts her hand on his chest and kisses his cheek, lingering there for far too long.

Your palms warm, and your muscles tense as your jealousy ignites the raging inferno of your temper. Elowyn smiles at you sweetly, but a hint of hostility in her eyes makes you want to relieve her of sight.

“How nice it is to see you again,” she grins brightly, “You appear to be in better shape than when I saw you last.”

Astarion’s brows pull down, “Better shape? My dear, whatever are you talking about?

Elowyn’s cordial laugh fills the air and makes you want to rip her vocal cords out, “Yes, last I saw her, she was quite drunk and heading to see you.”

Astarion thinks for a second and then chuckles, “Yes, she was quite drunk.”

He shoots you a glance and squeezes your hand, telling you to play along. You roll your eyes and scoff contemptuously as if you were going to inform this weasel anything about you or your life.

“She was quite rude to me that night, Astarion dear,” Elowyn sighs dramatically.

Is this bitch seriously trying to get Astarion to hurt me?

Will he?

He smirks dubiously, “Was she? How utterly awful.”

Elowyn pouts, “I do hope you will teach her a lesson. She threatened to kill me after all. She must learn respect.”

Respect? Her? HA! Never.

The notion is so entirely ridiculous that a snide snicker escapes your lips as your face contorts into a threatening grimace.

Astarion stares at her, scowling, “Watch yourself, Elowyn. Do not make me remind you of your place.”

Elowyn’s carefree demeanour falters to concern at the warning intonation of Astarion’s voice. She swallows hard and forces her dainty face to dress in an overjoyed smile, and she’s back to her usual flirtatious facade.

I wonder if she’s gotten him angry yet. If she has, how did she live through it?

Her hand is splayed on his chest, and she presses herself further into him, “I have missed you so. I came by the palace the other night to see if you wouldn’t like some company .”

Company? Ugh. As bad as entertainment.

You scoff at her loudly and try to pull out of Astarion’s grip, but he only holds on tighter.

You frown at him, “Let me go, Astarion. I wish to leave."

“No, you stay.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you growl threateningly.

This is not a request. It’s a command. You may pay dearly for taking this tone with him later, but right now, you don’t care; you would rather endure his wrath a thousand times over than spend another minute in the company of Elowyn.

Watching her put her hands all over him stokes the fire burning in your blood to unfathomable temperatures. As your fury increases, so does the likelihood that you reduce her to a pile of ash.

Why do I care so much?

I left him.

“It seems your pet spawn would like to give us some privacy. Let her go, my sweet Astarion.”

Pet spawn?

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

PS: I hate Elowyn - excuse me while I go break something to get over writing her.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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redbatchedcumbermayned · 10 months ago

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Dopamine Week fic recs - all Rogue Trader gift exchange fics!!!

Because I'm short on time this week, here's a link list to all the fics that have been written in the two Rogue Trader gift exchanges so far to celebrate the awesome people in this fandom and the great work they create!

First RT gift exchange May 25th*:

A smuggler and a thief by nikozaur - Jae x m!Rogue Trader

Some masks are borne of convenience, some of of necessity. Sometimes, it is difficult to distinguish which of them is the real face.

The last dance and the first by @theevilscribbler - Xavier Calcazar x f!Rogue Trader

After a successful meeting with the Lord Inquisitor during her Magnae Accessio, Cesselie von Valancius is surprised to find that Xavier Calcazar has lingered to enjoy the party a little longer. Will a less formal encounter pave the way to something more?

Part of the trial by Hackinslash - Marazhai x Sister Argenta

Enjoy two characters at their lowest ebb, fighting against the odds to get a taste of redemption and freedom.

Radiance on the bridge by @captastra Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

Heinrix van Calox gets lost in thought as he watches Isidora von Valancius on the bridge of her ship.

A leap into the void by myself XD - Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

Heinrix van Calox and Lethyan von Valancius spend a quiet evening in the observatorium. Things turn spicy fast and Lethyan finds out that even a Biomancer's willpower has its limits.

Second RT gift exchange August 17th:

Systematical; Sacrificial by @vossprime - Pasqal x f!Rogue Trader

The Rogue Trader and Pasqal discuss their blossoming entanglement, life after Commorragh, and Pasqal's mechadendrites. A strange ritual ensues.

Storytime by @holylustration Heinrix x m!Rogue Trader x Jae

Cassia's heard a tale from some midshipmen - and as everything one hears from the crew must be true - she's invited the Lord Captain and some friends to share the story. Not everyone is impressed.

We're tender mammals mostly by @gravelorded Pasqal x f!Rogue Trader

Mercy. Von Valancius knows it, even if she refuses to speak its name. A tech-priest knows to excise it to better understand the Omnissiah’s directive, but for her- for this moment only, he assures- he will try.

Closed Impetus by @vossprime - Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

Rogue Trader Elena von Valancius and Inquisitor Heinrix van Calox find themselves at a spontaneous ball. Between investigating noble intrigues and fast dances, they have to ponder the status of their relationship since the Magnae Accessio.

A sound strategy by @theevilscribbler - Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

As the siege on Eufrates II draws close and their future hangs in the balance, Inquisition Agent Heinrix van Calox is determined to ensure that all their plans are flawless, even at the cost of his own well-being. Fortunately, his beloved Rogue Trader is on hand to assist with his preparations… and even has a few interesting suggestions of her own!

Tender by @vitanithepure - Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

Sometimes Heinrix van Calox needs a reminder that those that play with fire often get burned.

A Tech-Priest's heart by @captastra Pasqal x f!Rogue Trader

Pasqal slowly starts to learn that the heart, machine or not, still has a way of falling.

Down the line by Hackinslash - Marazhai x m!Rogue Trader

Marazhai Aezyrraesh wishes to taste some of Seth von Valancius's psyker powers, and his little pet doesn't dare refuse.

A rare flower amidst Chaos by myself - Heinrix x f!Rogue Trader

Lord Inquisitor Heinrix van Calox had always loved Lienna von Valancius. Yet duty had kept the lovers apart until now. Heinrix has been summond to Lyxus to attend a picnic, and he has a confession to make.

*if I missed a fic please send me a message and I'll add it promptly.

Now go and spread the love and discover some hidden gems!

#dopamine week #fic recommendation #rogue trader gift exchange #heinrix van calox #marazhai aezyrraesh #pasqal haneumann #sister argenta #jae heydari #xavier calcazar #rogue trader

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redvexillum · 6 months ago

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Third Kiss: Fiery

A/N: What better way to kick off the new year by writing not only Niffty for the first time but also a male reader!

SUMMARY: On New Year's Eve, you decide it’s time to leave the shy, cowering version of yourself behind and take a bold leap—straight toward Niffty, the fiery, unpredictable whirlwind who doesn’t even know you exist.

You were a young man who moved through life like a shadow cast by your own fears. Your back perpetually curved inward, as though bracing against an unseen weight, your timid nature written into the very way you walked. The slightest sound could send a jolt through you—your own footsteps in the dimly lit hallway of the hotel made your heart race. Cowardice wasn’t just a part of you; it felt like the essence of who you were.

When you first heard of Hazbin Hotel—a place promising redemption for sinners—you felt a spark of something unfamiliar: hope. The thought of becoming brave enough to stand tall, of shedding the fear that clung to your every movement, was enough to draw you in. Perhaps redemption could mean no longer shrinking beneath the gaze of Hell’s more fearsome denizens.

Charlie, the princess of Hell herself, greeted you warmly, her radiance unyielding even in this grim place. Her optimism was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease. Angel Dust, the infamous spider demon, was harder to be around. His self-assured smirk and larger-than-life personality only seemed to magnify your inadequacies. You found yourself folding inward even further.

But it wasn’t Angel Dust who truly unsettled you. That honour belonged to Niffty.

She was barely a third of your height, a whirlwind of energy wrapped in flaming red hair, with a single, large, mesmerizing eye. Her gaze shimmered like a sunrise—beautiful, warm, and utterly dangerous. As part of the hotel’s sanitation crew—though the "crew" consisted solely of her—she moved with a speed and precision that left you breathless. You’d often see her dart past you, a sharp needle in hand, plunging it clean through the bodies of Hell’s scuttling roaches. Every time, you’d flinch and yelp, your heart pounding in your chest.

At first, you told yourself it was fear—pure and simple. But the way your pulse quickened when she was near, the strange flutter in your stomach when she flashed a sharp-toothed smile, left you questioning yourself. Fascination danced uneasily with terror. You weren’t her “type,” of course—she seemed drawn to a bolder, darker sort of soul, and you were anything but that.

Yet, over time, you found yourself smiling in her presence. Her fearless energy, her unabashed confidence...it was absolutely...

Breathtaking.

She lived in a way you couldn’t fathom: unrestrained, unapologetic. You admired her. Perhaps more than you were willing to admit.

Weeks turned to months, and the hotel—chaotic and brimming with Hell’s quirks—began to feel like home. Warmth was rare in this place, but here, amidst these odd souls, you found a spark of it. You stayed quiet, but the quiet no longer felt isolating.

Eight months, two weeks, and three days after you first arrived, you finally gathered the courage to speak to her.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, your hands wringing together as if they might squeeze the anxiety out of you. Heat flushed your cheeks, and your voice was barely louder than a whisper.

She turned toward you, her large eye blinking once, then twice. Her head tilted, curiosity flickering across her face. Then, squinting slightly, she asked in a voice so light, so innocent, it was almost cruel:

“Who are you?”

The words struck like a blow. Embarrassment and shame surged through you, your face burning as though flames had torched your skin. You stammered, trying to form a reply, but the tears pooling in your eyes threatened to spill.

Before you could muster a word, she turned away abruptly, her attention snapping to something else. A wicked grin spread across her face as she screamed, “KILL!”

Like a storm unleashed, Niffty darted across the room, her needle flashing like a lightning strike as it slammed into the floor again and again. Her focus was singular, wild, a whirlwind of energy bent on eradicating the tiny pest skittering away from her. She didn’t spare a glance back at you, didn’t even seem to register your presence. You stood frozen, watching her wild energy with awe and a twinge of melancholy, her fiery determination cutting through the air like her weapon.

Perhaps it was that day—watching her so alive, so utterly untethered—that something inside you shifted. People say that heartbreak reshapes a person, that the shattered pieces of a broken heart never fit together quite the same. The cracks are sharp, some fragments too small to recover, leaving behind something jagged, something changed. A heart reforged isn’t whole, but it is resilient.

In the wake of that moment, you began to reflect. You were tired of fading into the background, of being invisible to the one person who had unknowingly captured your admiration. Slowly, painstakingly, you began to change. Each day, you forced yourself to stand just a little straighter, to meet the eyes of those who spoke to you. It wasn’t easy—especially when the Radio Demon appeared, his presence undoing your progress with a single, menacing grin. But you persevered, even in the face of your fears.

Your efforts didn’t go unnoticed.

One day, as Charlie hung decorations to celebrate the New Year, she paused mid-task and looked at you thoughtfully. Her crimson eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“You seem different,” she remarked, tilting her head.

“Oh?” you replied, your voice steady, though the faintest flicker of pride warmed your chest. You held her gaze, no longer shrinking beneath it.

She tapped a finger against her lips in thought before her face lit up with realization. “You have a… a more lively presence. Yeah, that’s it!” She nodded, satisfied.

You didn’t fully understand what she meant, but you chose to take it as a compliment.

That night, as the hotel filled with laughter and music, and as fireworks lined the horizon in preparation for the New Year, you stood among the throng of celebrating souls. Couples huddled close, their faces glowing with joy, and for a moment, you felt a pang of longing.

The old you would have shrunk back, too paralyzed by self-doubt to entertain the thought. But tonight was different. Tonight, you felt something stronger—courage, bolstered by months of effort and change.

The countdown began, and you found yourself moving toward her: Niffty, the vibrant soul who had captivated you from the start.

“Hi!” she chirped, her bright, toothy grin lighting up her face as she acknowledged you.

“Hey,” you said, your own smile coming easily this time.

The crowd roared as the countdown hit Ten.

Nine.

You noticed her large, expressive eye darting around, searching.

“Looking for someone?” you asked, keeping your voice light, casual, though your heart pounded in your chest.

Eight.

“A bad boy to kiss for the New Year,” she replied with a dreamy sigh, her lashes fluttering. Her eye glimmered like the first rays of sunlight breaking over an endless horizon, and you felt your breath hitch.

“I know a bad boy,” you said, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Confidence, or maybe it was just the alcohol buzzing through your veins, emboldened you in a way that felt foreign and thrilling. You could almost hear the shy boy you used to be whispering caution, buried somewhere in the fragments of your heart, but tonight you ignored him.

Seven.

“Oh?” Niffty’s eye sparkled with curiosity, her flaming red hair catching the glow of the nearby lights. “Where?”

Six.

Chortling, you tilted your head, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’re looking at him.”

Five.

She blinked up at you, her expression unreadable at first, and then her lips curled into an amused smile.

Four.

“Really?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. It was almost comical how sweet she sounded, considering she’d spent most of the evening lunging at cockroaches with her dangerously sharp weapon.

Three.

“Wanna find out?” You raised a brow, your smirk widening as you met her gaze head-on.

Two.

The countdown roared in the background, and the crowd surged with anticipation. For a split second, you wondered if this was a terrible idea. But then, screw it, you thought.

One.

As the first fireworks exploded overhead, painting the night sky with bursts of colour, you bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss. Her single, wide eye froze, reflecting the kaleidoscope of red and yellow above. The world around you erupted into cheers, laughter, and the sounds of celebratory kisses, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart.

When you pulled back, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Her expression was priceless—shock, awe, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“My name,” you murmured, leaning closer to whisper it into her ear, your voice low and teasing. “Don’t forget it.” You straightened, cocking your head to the side, a crooked grin plastered on your face.

For a moment, she simply stared at you, her cheeks glowing as pink as her dress. And then, suddenly, she pressed her small hands against her face, a dreamy look overtaking her features.

“You’re just like my fanfiction crush,” she said, her voice high-pitched and breathless, as if you’d stepped right out of her wildest imaginings.

You blinked. Fanfiction?

Before you could process what she’d said, Niffty lunged at you, grabbing the front of your shirt with surprising strength. She yanked you down to her level and kissed you again—this time with unrestrained enthusiasm. Her lips were warm and insistent, her tiny frame vibrating with energy as fireworks continued to explode above.

Her kisses were as wild and unpredictable as she was, and you found yourself laughing into them, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

When she finally pulled back, her big eye shimmered with excitement. “You’re perfect!” she declared, her voice a mix of awe and glee.

You, dazed and slightly out of breath, could only grin. “Well, that’s one way to start the New Year.”

And as she dragged you toward the crowd, chattering about how you were her official bad boy now, you realized something: your heart wasn’t broken after all. It had simply been waiting for someone as explosive as her to set it on fire.

❀˖° Like my story? Toss a coffee to the gremlin—probably safe, but no promises! ❀˖° Join Voxtek Server and Follow Me for live updates!

#DRP New Years Kiss 2025 #niffty hazbin hotel #niffty x reader #Niffty x you #Niffty x y/n #niffty #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x oc #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel niffty

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