#Reader Inserts

[mondaymelon]

— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ! ₊˚ෆ | albedo, xiao, childe x gn!reader

— cw: reader thinks theyre in a one sided love, accidental confessions + d r u g s, ig? do love potions count as that. these potions dont create fake feelings, they just amplify the affections he already has for you !! fluffy :)

[ The very man you've been longing for has finally fallen in love with you !? Ah, no... Instead, does it have to do with this mysterious pink elixir they've drunk? ]

"Oh? This shade..."

ALBEDO's eyes glitter with the glass' reflections, holding the test tube up against the light. The pink fluid within sloshes inside its confinements, shimmering in the sun's rays. "Strange." With his free hand, he whips out his pencil and pad, busy writing down notes in small handwriting, evenly spaced and well lined. "This formula should've been for a health recovery potion, which is red... How come the color is so light?"

"'Bedo, I'm here." Your voice rang into the previously quiet laboratory as you fling the door open, the invading wind carrying flakes of snow along with it. The blonde's eyes narrows at the sight of the inconvenience, dipping his head in silent greeting as he walks over and closes the door behind you. "What are you doing holed up here today too?"

"More work matters." He's about to close his mouth, already moved on from the brief conversation, but instead perks up, eyes rounding the slightest. "Ah, do you think you could offer some assistance?"

"Assistance?" You trail after him, eyeing the various ongoing experiments on the other tables, up until your eyes land on the practically glowing liquid that emanates a honey-like smell. "What, do you want me to drink that?"

Albedo immediately shakes his head. "No, there's no need to endanger your safety like that. I'll do the honors of consuming it, but I'd appreciate it if you could take some observations and write them down. Is that alright with you?"

A part of you was almost surprised at the relationship "progression", if one could even call it that. You had had your eye on Albedo ever since you had managed to get yourself lost in these mountains, only to stumble upon his lab at your wits end, helplessly shivering and lashes decorated with frost. He had nursed you back to health, and then provided directions back to Mondstadt... Since then, you had made it a habit to frequently visit the quiet male, whether providing just some company or bringing a snack or two, you just wanted a way to show your thanks! Somehow, somewhere along the line, you had developed feelings for him, feelings that you were rather sure he'd never be able to reciprocate.

"That... That seems doable enough?" You blink, hesitantly grabbing the pen that lay on the desk. "Just... ah- you should worry for your own health too, y'know?"

Albedo glances at you, taking the tub in his hands. "I'll be fine." And down it goes. Silence, at first, then his legs sway beneath him. You let out a noise of surprise, instantly moving to offer support, but the male manages to steady himself on the table, instead holding his hand out to keep you away. "Aha... oh, so it was that kind of concoction..."

Sensing the exasperation in his tone only alights more concern. "Is it dangerous? H-Hey, let's lie you down somewhere, and then we can-"

Your worries are effectively silenced as his... lips fall upon yours, jewel-like irises that shone with almost unnoticeable hearts, both his hands cupping your face in a touch so delicate you could've sworn it was never there, and the warmth from his pale, burning skin..

And just like that, you heard the usually level-headed and composed alchemist cursed under his breath for the first time. "No, it wasn't supposed to be like this-"

A shy flush left kisses on his features. He had always waited for the right time for his moves, albeit unnatural ones. It was far easy acting with equations and predicted outcomes, but you... you were something so natural, you made him thoughtless so effortlessly. It took him every effort to allow his usual expression to remain on his face, to not voice his feelings. Not now, he'd chide to himself. I'm not ready.

"...A-Albedo, what..." Stupid as you may be, it'd be impossible not to realize it, especially with the way his usually cool skin flamed with heat. "...A fucking love potion?" You touched a finger to your lips, still stunned.

"I'm sorry." He's ashamed, for being unable to control himself under the potion's influence. "The antidote, it's on the table." Dutifully, you hand it to him, your fingers brushing against his in the process.

"Ah-"

"I like you."

It hurts, to hear him say those words that you've been wishing to hear for far longer than you care to admit. "...What? 'Bedo, c'mon, drink the antidote, and then we can hold a proper conversation. You're not in your right mind right now."

"I've already drunken it." Was the moment now? The empty glass falls from his hand and onto the table, rolling to a still. "I like you."

"...What? No, is the cure not working or something, what is-" It couldn't be, but his turquoise-eyed gaze was clear.

"Must I state it once more? I love you." ₊˚ෆ

"Just what is it you have you brought me?"

XIAO's brows furrow with discontentment... or rather, disinterest. You were a peculiar mortal, it was an easy enough fact to gather from his encounters with you. And while he didn't find himself particularly delighted when you appeared, calling it annoyed would be a bit of a stretch. It's a flicker of a thousand emotions at once across the mask of his expression, all but one of them displayed for your viewing - indifference.

His golden, cat-like pupils stare down the small vial you've procured and gifted him, narrowing with suspicion in your growing silence. He prompts once more, "This is?"

"Hmm, think of it as a gift?" You chuckle sheepishly, recalling the rather shady conversation you had days prior, in a small store hidden away in the very edge of the city market.

"Dearest customer, perhaps you'd like this product? It's very popular amongst the young city goers these days, and I have a feeling you've been looking for something similar."

...A scam? "Sorry, I'm not interested-"

"It works. You're in love with someone, right?"

"How did you-"

"There's this distant look in your eyes. I see it all the time. Now, if you'll just purchase this..."

And just like that, you had been probably swindled into buying a likely useless product off of his hands. At the very least, you could use it to hold a brief conversation with the aloof adeptus who often decided to not turn up at all. "It's... a thank you gift for protecting Liyue all these years...?" In the corner of your vision that greatly encompasses a wonderful view of your shoes, you spot the unwavering features of Xiao's face give the slightest waver.

"There's no need to thank me." He says it all apathetically, yet accepts the gift. "You still have yet to answer my question, however. Of what nature is this object?"

"Ah... well, you see, I don't exactly know either? You could call it a local specialty, of sorts..." You weren't exactly lying, were you? You didn't know what it was, although by it's heart-shaped container and pinkish color you could likely wager a guess or two... but it was better to remain ignorant. At least that way, you wouldn't be to blame if anything unfortunate occurred.

Oh, but was such a term the correct word to describe such a happening? Had it all gone "wrong" the moment you bought the suspicious thing, or was it when you handed it to him, watching him drain the container of its fluid? Either way, something found its way inside your heart the moment the adeptus set the glass down with enough force to hear the sound of its surface fracturing into thousands of spiderwebbed lines.

"The glass... Xiao, are you alright?" You stepped forward worryingly upon seeing the adeptus clutch his forehead with his hand, eyes fluttered shut. Don't tell me... holy shit, was it the real deal? I'm so fucked.

"You..." His voice was deep, husky, almost with a raspy note as his eyes opened to reveal his sharp amber eyes. "What did you just give me? What are you doing to... me?" He grew silent as his slight stumbling paused, a hand gripping the balcony railing for tentative support.

When you met his gaze again, his eyes shone. Gold, no longer, but rosy pink, adorned with bright pupils cut in the shape of hearts. His breaths left small clouds of white that escaped his mouth with every quickened exhale against the cold air, yet despite the chill, his cheeks and ears were dusted with an almost feverish red.

You shake your head, wanting to step closer but growing afraid. Fuck, just how were you supposed to explain yourself? After pursuing your pathetic, so-called "advances" towards the man in hopes of one day achieving a level of intimacy, in longing of hearing those three, beautiful words part from his open lips... Ah, but you've screwed it all up now, haven't you? You might as well have fed him poison. "N-No, I didn't think it would actually-"

"I love you."

It's quiet.

Or perhaps its thunderous. That is, the sound of your heart in your ears, pounding without any heed of the absolute mess of emotions coursing through your veins at the moment. This wasn't right. He didn't love you, not in the way you loved him. An illusion, this was, a painful ploy that would do nothing to sway his heart.

"...No, no." You shake your head, taking a step back, too ashamed to meet his eye. "Xiao, you don't. It's... I'm sorry.""

"No, I do love you."

What? His eyes, his astonishingly gilded eyes, they've rid themselves of their hearts, yet the words still remain in his mouth.

You blink your eyes once, and then once more. "This…?"

"Adepti are naturally immune to such a thing. To fall for such petty tricks would be foolish to the highest degree. Despite this..." Xiao sidled closer, a hand covering the lower half of his face. "Does that mean... you wanted me to love you?"

Would he leave you if he knew?If such a thing could be possible. Unbeknownst to you, the male held some sentiments of the same regard, but how to address them lay far beyond his area of expertise. "And if I did, Xiao? What then?"

"I'm not well versed in the ways of mortals, but surely, I'd do this."

...His lips were soft. ₊˚ෆ

"Ahaha, so it's a gift for me?"

CHILDE grinned with delight, seizing the bottle from your hands into his. "Pink," was his only comment as his eyes swept over the vial. "Is this... valberry juice, or something?"

"Not quite~" You smiled mischievously, aware that no matter how many questions he asked, you'd be partaking in none of them. "Besides, it's more fun if it's a surprise, no?"

"Mmm, but the cute shape of it is making me pretty curious..." Childe's voice trailed off as he ran a single gloved finger across its glass expanse, clearly enjoying himself. "Well, I suppose there's nothing else to do but 'find out', yeah?"

Hmm, would it be a pleasant discovery? You toyed with the idea and he drunk the substance. The sleazy-looking merchant that had sold you such a product had claimed to be a "magician" of some sorts. A bold claim, since you had traveled to the waters of Fontaine in occasions prior and witnessed a true magician in the act - although that was irrelevant. Either way, you had let your curiosity get the better of you, and impulsively bought it just to own the thing. It didn't require a large chunk of your wallet, nor was it completely useless... that is, as long as it was potent. If it wasn't, then you could laugh it off, saying it was something you concocted for the fun of it and he was your test subject, but on the offchance it did...

A guilty expression flitted across your face. You had held feelings for the harbinger since he had been stationed at the harbor, at first only courageous enough to gaze at him from afar, admiring the way his lips curved upwards in a smile and the way the sun's rays reflected across his deep eyes that resembled troubled waters. Somehow, one lucky incident had led to another, and now the two of you were considered friends, yet you longed for something more...

Perhaps this "potion" would help you settle things. It was time you escaped from your daydreams and delusions, time to put your heart to rest. The two of you were friends, and you should be content with just that-

"Damn, this shit is strong." Childe let out a low whistle, and you almost felt inclined to applaud him. "Sweet, too. Not bad."

"...Ha?" You shook yourself out of your stupor. Fuck, who gave him the right to look so pretty doing menial things? "So... You like it?"

"You could say that, but I think I like you more~"

"I'm... sorry?" May the archons remind you to report that man to the Millelith later for witchcraft! "Are you drunk?"

"You're a sly thing, aren't you?" Since when had he gotten so close? "Acting all oblivious now that I've caught you in your act, did you really think I wouldn't notice?" He held the now empty, heart-shaped bottle between his pointer finger and thumb, chuckling. "These things are notorious among the underworld, you know, although I certainly didn't expect this dearest friend of mine to bring such a thing to me... what a riot!"

"Ah..." All the words that you could've said in the moment seemed to fly out of your head, and now you only gaped at him, mouth ajar. "Uhm..."

"You're lucky I've been trained to be immune from 'poisons', if you could call it that. That way, I can say that it wasn't a lie."

"...A lie?"

"I like you."

"Wait, but I- I just did that to you, and you're-"

"What, that? It's funny, if anything... besides, it just shows that you want me as much as I want you, no?" ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) sigh i got burnt out near the end so childe's part is about 300 words short im sorry ginger lovers... </3 happy new year eve (timezones are so weird lmao) !! ill be posting a fic tomorrow for that too most likely sooooo watch out for that ig? it would be ever so cool if you followed me . p le a. se. im like 10 away from a big silly number and id actually give you eternal kisses if you do

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

reblogs appreciated !!

#★ ˎˊ˗ mondaymelon #favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin x you #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo x you #xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x you #reader inserts #genshin fluff #childe x reader #childe #childe x you #tartaglia x reader #ajax #tartaglia #genshin childe #genshin xiao #genshin albedo #genshinimpact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons

[keulixeutin]

Lovelorn & Laughable

a/n: tried something more casual and shorter.

summary: it’s laughable that your friends think that bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you. bakugou x gn!reader.

cw: fluff. established relationship. mentions of drunkenness and alcohol. mentions of friends being afraid that reader is in an abusive relationship (they're not).  gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 986.

You’ve been dating Bakugou for eight months, and your relationship with the infamous explosive hero is a confusing case among your friends.

However, you don’t know how confused they are until Uraraka pulls you aside one day to ask if you’re okay—read: to ask if you’re safe.

You almost laugh in her face, but you’re able to keep it together in front of her honest expression.  It’s surprising how little they know, and it’s hilarious how wrong they are (which is wild to you, because aren’t they close with Midoriya who considers him one of his closest friends?).

It’s laughable that they think Bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you.

Bakugou, who gives you his credit card three months into the relationship.

Bakugou, who changes his phone background weekly because he can’t decide on one favorite picture of you.

Bakugou, who searches for your hand to hold even in his sleep, who jerks awake whenever he feels you shift too far away in bed, whose frantic fingers search the sheets for you in his half-sleep.

That Bakugou.  Right.

Though you have enough self control to not laugh, you do let out a wicked snort.  You tell her to watch carefully next time you’re all together, and even when she tries to tell you that she has been, you shake your head and repeat it—watch carefully.

At the next group outing at a pop-up carnival, you arrive arm-in-arm with Ashido, Bakugou following close behind.  Midoriya’s the only one who eagerly greets your boyfriend, though you wouldn’t say the others give an unkind welcome.  You grin at the ones you know are worried—Asui, Iida, and Uraraka—though they don’t find this as funny as you do.

Watch close, you mouth to them.

And they do.

At first, they think you’ve got some mild form of Stockholm Syndrome; they think that you must be used to trauma and that you can’t tell your relationship is a bomb ready to go off.  All they can see are his scowls and shouts.  All they can see is the angry child who grew bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he was a decade ago, a man who must be utilizing all of his strength and anger to keep you trapped.

Watch, you tell them again when they try to pull at you for a quick intervention.

They’re still doubtful, but for you, they try again. 

This time, they see things—they see Bakugou, maybe not the way you do, but different than how they used to.

They see how his shoulders always touch yours when he’s seated, how he accompanies you to the food stall so he can pull his wallet out, how he always glances back to see where you’re at as you linger at each stand.  They see him scowl with cheeks colored pink as you fix his hair in the whipping wind.  They see him lean into your ear and whisper something that makes you laugh as he points to an ugly pig plush prize.  They seem him pull you away from the group and sneak off into the crowd when he thinks no one’s watching.

Still not fully convinced, they finally approach Ashido about your relationship, about whether or not you’re truly safe and loved.  She’s first taken aback because she thinks they’re making a dumb joke.  Then, when she sees that they’re genuinely concerned, she doubles over in laughter, cackling so hard and so loud that there are hot tears in her eyes and painful cramps in her stomach.  She gasps out in between giggling and snorting about how incredible it is that they could believe something so obviously impossible, ignoring their expressions of irritation and shame.

Well, Bakugou doesn’t drink around you guys, so that’d probably help, huh, she says when she’s finally calmed down, wiping at her eyes.  At their confusion, she explains that he’s needy when he’s drunk.  I’ll give you a sneak peek, she smiles conspiratorially.

Pulling out her phone, she opens up the folder created specifically for sentimental Bakugou photos.  Ashido shows them a picture of him passed out on the couch, face resting against your lap with a firm grip on your calf (This was last week when he was plastered after four drinks!), another of him with you up on his shoulders in the pool, fiery smirks on both your faces (They beat me and Denki in Chicken, ugh!), and finally, a picture of him kissing you around a corner, which was immediately followed by a blurry photo of Bakugou swinging at the camera  (I don’t remember this one, actually, but this happens pretty frequently!).

Perhaps they hadn’t been watching closely after all, they think.

Ashido shows them several more photos, each with Bakugou sappier than the last, and she ends it by cooing about how cute the both of you are.  She says she’s surprised that neither you nor Midoriya have shown them anything, and Midoriya stammers out something about privacy, and they mention that they hadn’t expressed their horror in full until recently.

Horror, Ashido repeats, and then it turns into another full-blown cackle in public.

When you and Bakugou make it back to the group, you take one look at your friends and grin, seemingly aware of their newfound understanding.  They look back at you, abashed, but you’re too preoccupied with your bag of souvenirs and the ugly pig plush in your arms to be mad about their misconceptions.  Anyways, the pig was bought, not won, and you’re excited to share the story with the others.  Bakugou is on his phone again, subtly leaning against you; when Uraraka passes by behind him, she sees that he’s not scrolling through his apps but deciding a new background photo, stuck between one of you throwing the camera a kiss or laughing in the sunlight.  She watches him pick one and then favorite the other one.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 gender neutral 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 lovelorn & laughable 」 #╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfics #mha fanfics #reader inserts #dynamight x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hey can i ask Thranduil and (human) f!reader smut? When f!reader can't stare at his eyes because she's very shy and insecure with her expression during *cough cough* Thank you!

I'm sorry about that one with Thranduil x f!reader cant-stare-at-his-face that i didn't addresed my 'smut rating'? Anyway🔥🔥

It's all good. Time for some more Thranduil smut. Because it's Thranduil. And smut. I'll stop now.

"The looking glass"

✵Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Human / Second person POV)

✵Themes: Smut / Soft 

✵Warnings: Insecure / Shy reader | Kissing | Praise | Body worship | Mirror sex | Fingering (fem receiving)

✵Word count: 1.3k words

✵Summary: Thranduil comes up with a unique "solution" when he realises how shy his partner is in bed.

✵Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

If you liked this, please consider reblogging it.

Thranduil gripped your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. "Sweet starlight, why do you turn your face from me?"

You said nothing, your cheeks merely burning with embarrassment. Thranduil’s question should have surprised you, but it did not. Whenever you shared pleasures with the king, he would want to look into your eyes, and you would inevitably close them and turn away. Before this night, he did not ask why you did it, and now? Now he wanted some sort of explanation.

Of course, you had an explanation, just one, but that embarrassed you even more.

"Starlight?" Thranduil was not about to let this go. "Why do you look away?"

You hummed quietly and sat up, flushing when the king sat up with you. "I… umm… that is…" you stumbled over your words, your tongue tied up in knots. Thranduil studied you with barely disguised curiosity while you fidgeted with the hem of your robe. "The thing is… I…" you buried your face in your hands and sighed. "I am not sure you would like how I look when we… when we…"

Understanding dawned, and Thranduil smiled when he heard a muffled scream. "Starlight," he pulled your hands away from your face. "Is that what troubles you? That I might be repulsed by the expressions you make when making love?"

You nodded meekly, still too embarrassed to face him. Thranduil kept smiling and looked around, his gaze skimming over the chamber before it rested on something that caught his eye and piqued his interest—something that gave him an idea. "Stay here," he said, and rose out of bed.

You raise your head, wondering what he was up to. The answer presented itself soon enough with the sound of wood creaking. Thranduil had hefted a large silvered-looking glass, one that was taller than him, and brought it over, placing it at the foot of the bed with a soft thud.

"There," he huffed, dusting his hands before joining you in bed. "That should do nicely."

You studied your reflection in the shimmering glass and gulped. "Do nicely for what, my love?"

Thranduil smiled—a slow, wicked smile—before making himself comfortable next to you. "I want you to see, starlight," he breathed huskily, and he helped you to your knees, his arm around your waist. "I want you to see that there is nothing for you to hide. I want you to see how much I enjoy seeing you while I pleasure you—that there is nothing for you to be shamed by. Now, will you permit me to go further?"

The very idea of it—watching him in the reflection of that looking glass while he pleasured you—was just so shocking, so very sinful, and more than a little daunting. It made you nervous to watch him like this, to have him look up and watch you; you were unsure you could do it. Still, you could not keep averting your gaze every night, so you came to a decision and nodded. "Yes. You can go further."

Thranduil’s eyes blazed in the dim candlelight, his hands reaching over to your robe. You felt it—the heat of his breath against the nape of your neck when he moved slightly behind you, the warmth of his hands that radiated through your silks. And you kept still, so very still, your gaze fixed on the looking glass.

The king took his time, untying the belt of your robe and drawing it away, exposing what lay beneath. "You look like a painting, starlight," he murmured, his hands sliding over to your belly. "Your body is so perfect, like you had stepped out of a vision."

Helpless and stunned, you continued to keep still, unable to tear your eyes away from what you were witnessing in the looking glass. Thranduil’s hand moved up, over to your breasts, running his fingers over your nipples over and over again until they started to throb and ache, and harden beneath his touch.

"Do you see it, starlight, how your body trembles?" Thranduil whispered, his touch persistent and demanding.

Flushed and breathless, you did indeed see it—how the muscles of your belly fluttered, how your entire body quivered. And there was Thranduil, his eyes darkening with lust, the need in his gaze matching the growing desire in yours. You felt it, growing prickles of pleasure all over your body, heat slowly pooling at your core. You blushed and instinctively tried to look away, but Thranduil caught it.

"Look into the looking glass, starlight," he crooned, his hand gliding down to the apex of your thighs. "And focus on me. I want you to see how high I could take you."

You raised your eyes and found his locked on yours. Embarrassment slowly morphed into something else, something dark and primal, when he moved his hand over to your slit and found it already hot and wet. His fingers moved in a slow, delicate rhythm, and his name parted your lips in almost a sob. You still couldn’t look away, not when he possessed you the way he did. Your body started to move against him; your hands moved to rest over his, and his groan, guttural and harsh, felt so sweet to your ears. 

"That is it, starlight," he rasped, his voice already roughened, when your first moan spilled free. "Show me how much you desire this."

Thranduil watched, utterly spellbound, as you came undone in front of him, how you sagged into him, your moans and mewls slowly turning to pleas. Pleas for more, pleas for him to go faster, to take you higher. He wanted to incite and inflame, to break down your walls, and he was amply rewarded when your hands pressed over his, to guide him. He slid a finger inside the warmth of your sex, then another, moving them inside you, slowly growing drunk on your needy moans.

"Th-thranduil," you whimpered shakily, all sense of shame now long forgotten. The sight of the woman in that looking glass, her body yielding to pleasure of the acutest kind, her eyes darkening with each deft stroke, was too beautifully erotic, and you took great pleasure in seeing it—how he pleasured you, how he took you higher and higher, like he promised.

"Do you see, sweet starlight?" Thranduil cooed sweetly, "Do you see you have nothing to hide? How much I delight in seeing you this way?"

How true he was, and how foolish you felt. And how Thranduil looked on, with lust-filled eyes, as if he were feasting on what he was seeing. "I do see," you breathed, harsh and ragged, the muscles in your belly coiling as your release neared. 

"Keep looking, starlight," Thranduil ran his tongue over your neck even as you trembled and he felt a tightening around his fingers. You were close, so very close. "See how beautiful you are even now."

And you looked on with heavy-lidded eyes as a wave of bliss rose higher and higher, as a sweet, delightful pressure grew stronger and stronger, unceasing, until it felt like your body splintered, and Thranduil’s name came out like a desperate, wanton cry. Your entire body shook against his as you slumped into him, your breath coming out in shallow pants. Thranduil held onto you, moaning softly as your walls contracted around his fingers, pulling them deeper. His gaze cut to the looking glass and found you, looking right back at him, your lips curling into a deep and satisfied smile.

"You were right," you murmured, your hands still over his. You turned to the side and found his lips just over yours. "There was nothing for me to be shamed by."

Thranduil leaned in and kissed you, his body humming with unsated need. "Absolutely nothing," he said, before helping you lay back in bed. "And now, starlight, I hope you will indulge me, by letting me make incredibly thorough love to you this night."

No longer plagued by your fears, you smiled and welcomed him into his arms.

Tags: @shrasdust | @asianbutnotjapanese | @nupppuff | @ryantryan6969 | @lemonivall

#thranduil imagine #thranduil smut #Thranduil #thranduil x reader #x reader #x reader insert #reader inserts #reader insert request #the hobbit imagine #The hobbit #the hobbit x reader #writeblr #💫a world of whimsy writes

[missblissy]

So I saw that your inbox is open for hazbin requests

Could you do a Vox x Hellborn!Reader, like a succubus or something, so they can travel to the other rings but since hes a sinner he can't and say the reader is planning to attend a party in a different ring and just overall some fluffy clingy vox trying to convince reader to stay home and stay with him instead

If not that's okay !! Have a good day <3

((Ofc nonny! I had a lot of fun with this one! I've never seen any Hellborn!readers or even hellborn!OCs X Canon which honestly this was really refreshing!! Anyways, enjoy!!))

It didn’t look right. It didn’t feel nice… nothing felt nice. You pulled the bracelets off your wrist with a sigh and plucked the matching earring out as well. Another deep sigh, a huff, just hot air puffing from your chest in defeat. In the mirror you looked yourself over again, you couldn’t find anything to wear to the party your friends were having in the lust ring. As a hellborn you could move freely between all of hell, but you willingly choose to live in the pride ring.

Turning slightly you looked at your side profile, then your backside… “Ugh,” You groaned. Normally you’d be thrilled at the chance to travel to the Lust Ring. You kind of where… But you weren’t exactly keen on running into the recent drama your friends have been having.

While taking in your reflection you could see a spark in the corner of the mirror. Then a few more as they zigzagged to the floor. If lightning could produce people, Vox would always be at the source. He appeared behind you, a smile on his face and a clever yet sneaky twinkling shimmering in his eyes. 

Hands slithered and snaked along your hips, stopping to rest on your waist. A soft buzz and hum of electricity crawled along your skin and into your ears as he spoke, “What’s with the long face, little star?” The pet name never ceased to fluster a blush on your cheeks, “Another fight with the friends?” That amused look on his face said he already knew the answers to his question. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see one of many spy cams peeking out from the dark. He was always watching, and Vox was waiting until he saw that little smidge of doubt or frustration for him to come and make his move, “You know you can always stay the night here~” He cooed while swaying you just that little bit closer to him. 

You had to fight back a giggle or riggle from his grasp. His needy tendencies were honestly rather cute. Vox was confined to the Pride Ring, so he could never follow you lower into hell, and nor could he protect you, or even spy on you. His powers stopped with pride. 

Which explained why he’d always glow and bicker and pull at the idea of you staying home, here. Safe. Where he can keep an eye on you. Where you wouldn’t be harmed. 

Being a Hellborn, sure, you could hold your own. But you were far more at risk of permanently dying than Vox was. And that scared the living shit out of him. You could easily perish by a bullet from a regular old gun or a stab of a knife. Meanwhile, if such conventional means happened to Vox he’d just suffer through the pain until he healed or repaired the damage to his body. 

Vox tugged at your side a little more, a hum in his voice as he continued to lay on the affectionation. One, two, maybe three minutes passed before you let out such a heavy sigh you fell back into Vox’s chest for support, “I really wanted to go to this party, though,” You turned your gaze just enough to meet his, “Verosika Mayday is supposed to be making an appearance, I really love her concerts,” You whined. 

At the same time did you really want to spend all the time and money getting down a few rings just for a petty fight between your friends to ruin it all? You could take it or leave it at this point. And Vox with whatever sixth sense he had smelled the doubt and your unsureness. 

Normally, that being 9 times out of 10, there was no way Vox was going to talk you out of anything. Perhaps that’s something he really loved about you, that you were just as stubborn and headstrong as him. And you wouldn’t let anyone, including Vox, stop you from doing or getting what you wanted. 

But here he could already tell you were second guessing on even going to some stupid party you’d probably go to again next week. To be fair, he was getting a little sick and tired of you leaving every weekend and going places he couldn’t reach. 

The charm was ramped up to the max. You were suddenly spun around, a gasp of surprise jumping from your chest. You came face to face with Vox, a low blue glow from off his screen. Then a sweet, nostalgic song started playing, the source simply being Vox himself. 

“Who needs to see some singing bitch when you have one right here?” His tune was out of it and his hum was giggling but still, he began dancing you around, you in his arms and his hands holding tight, “I’ll take you to the moon~” The smile on his face only got bigger, and he drew you in close and tried to steal a kiss, “Get you higher than a balloon~” 

Twisted little notes, electric melodies, Spanish guitars, and suave singing were this man's go-to. He controlled everything in this tower, and the lights dimmed and changed colors. Vox made his own little world for the two of you, hidden behind all the showmanship and effects, you could easily mistake yourself suddenly on a sandy pink beach. 

“I can take you anywhere, my star, and we don’t even need to leave the penthouse,” Your heart started doing those silly flips and flops, battering around in your chest. You ate every bit of attention up. When Vox spoiled you like this, when he wanted something, good gods you could watch him all night. 

That didn’t mean you didn’t try your best to put up a fight, teasingly you whined out and dipped yourself backward only for Vox to catch you, one hand in the small of your back while the other caught your leg, “But how else am I going to get my fix of fun?” You dramatically called out, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“I’m the definition of fun, sweet cheeks,” He pulled you back to him, chest to chest, locked in a tango. Every step you took backwards he took a stronger one forward, legs getting tangled but never once did either of you trip. This playful dance was nothing new to you, so each step was gracefully placed. 

You faked a yawn, fanning your hand, and tried to look bored despite the growing grin and flare of passion and fire in your eyes. You tease Vox a little more, falsely attempting to flee from him. 

Only for Vox to snatch you closer with a grip twice as tight as before. A second of pleading flashed across his face only to be replaced by a sharp smirk. Where his hands made contact with you, sparks of snapping bolts shocked you lightly. Vox laughed out as you jumped in his arms, poured, and gave a mini glare, “You know you like it when I bite,” Vox’s face got closer to yours, the cheeky grin of his eating you away from the inside out. 

“Hmph!” Another shock traveled from him to you, causing a gasp of air while his voice drew closer to your ear. It was barely above a whisper… a beg…. A plea. His face was hidden in the crook of your neck while the vibrations of his vocals greeted you. 

“Please,” His voice was low. The two of you had stopped moving. And he clung onto you in a more desperate attempt… his walls fell and his true nature came out, “Please stay home tonight,” The cling of a desperate man who didn’t want to let you out of his sight, was enough to melt your heart, “I don’t want to be unable to see you,” Vox said, you understood what he meant even though he still added, “Or to protect you,” 

With little effort and carefully, you pulled away just enough to get a good look at those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Your smile was half there, and half in a bantering smirk. You gave him that kiss he tried so hard to get earlier, a soft one. But long enough to hold you there stuck on his lips. When the two you broke, your smile was full there though your voice still was laced with teases, “Fine,” You said, “But I want to watch a movie,” 

There were a few seconds of buffering while Vox took in your answer. A large grin took up his whole face as he let out a laugh and spun you around on the spot, “Thank you!” You didn’t normally hear those words coming from Vox, so it had a nice ring to hear him say it. 

He set you down, planting kisses all over your face but not letting you out of his grasp just yet, “Go down stairs and pick something to watch,” He hummed with joy, “I’ll order us something to eat,” He added, still giving a plethora of kisses between words. You giggled and laughed and bubbled out chirps of joy as he spoiled you with affection. He was utterly perfect, and too lovely for you by every degree. You nodded your head and made sure to run off as fast as you could because now you didn’t want to spend another second away from him.

#hazbin hotel #x reader #asks #inbox #anon #nonny #vox #vox x reader #reader x vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #reader inserts #vox hazbin #hellborn!reader

[pinkykats-place]

GoT DILF(s) x reader insert fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

Stories are NOT mine.

Some contain mature content.

Readers are mostly female.

Note: if you read any of these stories and enjoy them pls let the author know by rebloggung, liking or commenting on original post

Alliance

Ned Stark x second wife! Reader

Four Part Series

Surviving || Series Masterlist 

{Ned Stark x Reader}

Summary: It was a classic romance. You were barren, his wife had passed, and you’d met through your father. It was a wonder the minstrels weren’t already singing songs about you.

The Secret Wife

Ned Stark x Fem!Reader Imagine

A Quiet Morning

Tywin Lannister x Female Reader

Summary: You enjoy a quiet morning with your Lord Husband

Under his mane 

Tywin Lannister x Baratheon!Fem!Reader 

Series Masterlist

Imagine Tywin Lannister visiting your chambers to fulfill his son’s duty at his place (smut)

Baby Lion

Tywin Lannister x pregnant!wife!Reader

Tywin Lannister being possessive and having jealous sex would include:

Longing

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x reader 

Request: good fluffy smut with Tywin Lannister… maybe him realizing that his feelings for the reader is more than just a political marriage

Warnings: political marriage/arranged marriage, older man x younger woman, soft smut, unprotected sex 

Repeat of History

Tywin Lannister x wife!Reader

Summary: when you go into labour, Tywin worries for your safety, remembering the death of his first wife

Trouble

Tywin x Wife!Reader

Summary: Tywin takes a second wife for a purely political alliance, and ends up with far more than he expected.

Series: Tywin x Reader

Summary: Imagine finding out you are marry Tywin Lannister after the deaths of your brother and Mother, Robb and Catelyn Stark.

The Lady Lion

Tywin x Wife!Reader

Fluffy Fic

In Time, the Lion Loves

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

Blessed with youth 

Tywin Lannister x Tyrell!Reader

https://www.tumblr.com/gotpineapple/186244280214/blessed-with-youth-tywin-lannister-x-tyrellreader?source=share

 

Betrothed to the Wrong Brother

Stannis Baratheon x Reader

Based on this request: reader is supposed to be set up with Robert, but while at Storms End falls for Stannis instead? 

Confession

Stannis Baratheon x fem!Reader

Summary: Stannis finally confesses his love for his wife

Belonging

Stannis Baratheon x Wife!Reader

Summary: Takes place around the time Robert was crowned, when Stannis and the Reader are married for less than a year. Robert’s drunkenness results in some jealousy and misunderstandings (and making up).

Steady

Stannis x Wife!Reader

Setting: just a year or two after Robert was crowned

An Injustice

Stannis Baratheon x reader

Summary: A lil one shot from a visiting Davos’s pov after Robert’s Rebellion. There’s more but I like the characterisation in this the best. 

Stannis x Arryn!Reader

Jealous kiss for our one true king, stannis

Stannis Baratheon x fem!Reader

headcanons on the relationship between Shireen Baratheon and stepmother!reader & on how the Baratheon household would change if the Reader was to marry Stannis

Headcanons for Stannis x Reader’s children

Playground (modern au)

Stannis Baratheon x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is sister to Sandor, and meets Stannis at a playground. The reader has a toddler daughter, but the father has passed away. Shireen and the daughter start playing together, so Stannis and the reader start talking too. Soon they plan a play date and the things escalate. 

Imagine threatening to leave Roose and him letting it slip that he loves you (smut)

Roose being touch starved would include

A Northern Arrangement || Series

Roose Bolton x Reader

Imagine making a deal with Roose Bolton so he wont betray Robb and will actually warn Robb and everyone of the Frey’s impending betrayal.

Roose Bolton x Reader || Series 

Roose being gentle with you:

Losing your virginity to Roose Bolton would include:

Imagine being in a pitch-black castle with Roose Bolton.

NSFW Alphabet with Roose Bolton

My Innocent Snowdrop

Oberyn Martell x Stark!Reader

Summary: The eldest Stark girl is forced to marry Oberyn Martell as a political alliance made by Cersei, but what she does not know is that the Prince of Dorne is a very loving man who easily falls in love with her and cherishes her deeply.

#reader insert recommendation #game of thrones x reader #stannis x reader #stannis baratheon x reader #ned stark x reader #ned stark x second wife reader #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x second wife reader #roose bolton x reader #tumblr recommendation #tumblr fic recs #got x reader #female reader insert #GoT dilfs #roose bolton x fem reader #Roose Bolton imagine #tywin lannister #male characters x reader #reader inserts #fanfic recommendation #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones reader insert

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hello! I love your writing, especially that mad dog Drabble! Could you maybe do something similar for Oikawa? Noncon if you’re comfortable with that too. Thank you so much!

I wrote this awhile ago and then I never got around to publishing it and now I refuse to reread it because i cringe at my old writing but i remember spending a shit ton of time on this so here's my three year old trash fic. enjoy.

(Warnings: dark content, non-con touching, rape, non-con/sexual harassment, verbal degradation, forced orgasms, public-sex, overstimulation) 

18+ content 

 Tutoring Sessions 

You knew Spanish. 

Not an expert by any means, but you could probably get by if you were stranded in a Spanish-speaking country. You were good at it. Decent. 

You just weren’t the teaching type. You could barely learn, let alone, pass your skills on to someone else. Teaching required patience and diligence. That wasn’t you. 

But, really, what could you say when the Captain of the volleyball team himself asked you to tutor him? He looked so desperate too, looking down at you with pleading eyes. He asked for an hour-no-just thirty minutes. All you had to do was correct his grammar, jot a few vocabulary words for him, and maybe teach him extra conjugations. 

Looking back, you should have declined. You should have made any bullshit excuse you could think of. You should have laughed nervously, apologized- have done anything to get out of his attention. 

You shouldn’t have let him coax you into the fourth floor of the library, trapping you with his tall body in an isolated booth. 

At least then his hand wouldn’t be currently rubbing your thigh.

His movements were slow, casual, as his fingers made lazy circles up and down your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional if he was touching you on purpose or mindlessly moving his hands. His face betrayed nothing, solely staring forward at the sheets of paper. 

“So, I just replace the ‘ar’ with ‘aron’?” He asked, his hand slowly moving higher and higher, “Why can’t I use ‘aban’?” 

You bit your lip, “Because it has a definite ending. The-the sentence is ‘they spoke with me yesterday’. The action ended yesterday, that’s-that’s why we use the preterit form.” 

Your breath hitched when his hand trailed underneath your skirt, skimming across your panties. Your hand balled into a shaking fist. 

You wanted to tell him to move, you wanted to shove his hand off you, but you weren’t confrontational. Instead, you elected to push down the feeling of unease in your chest, trying your best to ignore his ministrations, praying that he’d drop his hand by himself.

He didn’t.

“Right, you use preterit form for a definite ending,” He’s murmuring now, a sultry rumble that sends shivers down your spine, “I keep forgetting that." His laugh twinkles through the air. It's a jarring contrast to his warm hands.

“So ‘Hablaron me ayer’?” 

He took that moment to slide past your panties, lightly rocking on your heat. You sucked in a short breath, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, not when his fingers were sinking deeper and deeper-

A finger tapped on your inner thigh. Play along.

“It’s-it’s ‘me habl-ah-hablaron ayer’. The object comes first-” You flinched when his pointer finger stroked over your hot skin, “And-and then the subject.” 

You wished he’d stop making you talk. You wished you could just push him off you. You wished so many things, things Oikawa wouldn’t grant you. 

“Okay,” He’s grinning now, a little less put together. His breathing is a little ragged, hitching whenever you uncomfortably shift. Though he’s still resolutely staring at the pages before him, his eyes are shining. Eager, “-makes sense,” 

You just realized how empty the library is. 

You can feel his calloused fingers crawling under you, searching for something. His middle finger curls a little, softly brushing over your sensitive clit. 

You stumble forward. He says something, but you’re not listening. Not when his fingers are hovering over your hot button, delving down to push and prod. 

Your reached up to cover your mouth, instantly silencing any noises you knew would come spilling out. He laughs at that, finally finally breaking the act of playing innocent. 

Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. He’s looking at you now, a knowing smirk on his pretty face. 

Repulsion burns through you. It’s quickly replaced by humiliation as a wet squelch erupts from the place he’s touching you, making you lurch. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” He hums in satisfaction, “You already dripping? You must really want this, huh?” 

He stares at you, daring you to reply, knowing fully well you won’t. No, you wouldn’t say anything, you wouldn’t do anything either. You would just sit there and take it. 

Exactly what he wants. 

He’s moving at a rhythm now, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers inch down your folds. Your nails are digging into your trembling palm, but you don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say a word. No, that would be acknowledging what he’s doing. It would make it real-

your thoughts vanish as a slender finger sinks into your pussy. Your sigh is muffled by your clammy hand, digging further into your mouth as he starts fucking you in earnest. He’s going too fast; your mind is spinning. You can’t keep up with the waves of pleasure coming in and out and in and out and in again. 

Your hand slips and the moan that escapes your mouth surprise you. It was loud and so dirty, you couldn’t believe it was your voice-it was you who made that noise. 

His finger curls, bending in your tight walls and you feel like wailing. Oikawa strokes against a spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

You unconsciously lean against him. Oikawa draws you in closer, forcing you to rest against his shoulder as a second finger sinks into your heat. You whine as it pushes through your sopping walls, completely stretching you out. 

You think you hear him snarl a quiet fuck but you’re not paying attention. Your head is pounding, matching the brutal thrusts of his fingers. It’s devouring you it’s too much and you want to stop, you want to breathe. Oikawa isn’t keen on helping, not when he’s rubbing fast circles on your clit, stretching his fingers inside you when he feels you’re not making enough noise. He wants something from you. 

And you’re forced to give it to him. 

There’s a hitch in your breath, the tiniest pause, before you clench around his fingers with a muffled scream. He hushes you, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder as he keeps fucking your pussy until you collapse in his chest. 

You’re panting when he finally removes his fingers, wiping the slick haphazardly on your inner thigh. You shift uncomfortably when he pulls away, feeling your hole clench again. The orgasm fades away and all you’re left with is the shock of what you’ve done and utter humiliation. 

He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, coated in lust. He’s sneering at you. 

The kiss surprises you. You weren’t expecting his lips to be soft as he gently melts into yours. It’s so tender, a stark contrast to what he was like before. Maybe it was because you didn’t really put up a fight, your lips falling open when he stroked his thumb on your sensitive skin. 

It’s still intense and when he pulls away, you take your first real breath. 

“See?” He hums, a hand settling on yours, “That wasn’t so bad, right?” 

“Oikawa-” 

He’s pulling you out of your seat before you can finish your sentence, dragging you away from the abandoned table filled with unused highlighters. Your legs are still weak, you stumble around a little. Oikawa doesn’t mind, towing you like he’s carrying nothing but air. 

He slips into an empty storage closet, with you reluctantly trailing behind him. The door closes behind you with a dull thud, and you’re forced to stand with him in the darkness. 

When the light comes back on, he’s towering above you. His chest presses against yours, pinning you against the wall. His smile is manic, filled with a hunger that you know won’t be satisfied with just one taste. 

No, he wants to devour you whole. 

It’s the realization, that he will ruin you, that make your eyes sting. Hot tears creep down your cheeks as your lips waver. 

He coos at that, “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll be okay. I took care of you, right? I made you feel so good?” He shuffles closer and you can feel something hard and stiff press against your thigh. 

“Now you gotta’ do the same for me. It’s a fair trade, right?” 

He’s kissing you again. It’s rough, this time, as he bites on your bottom lip, hard enough to tear skin. Your yelp is muffled as he shoves his tongue into your drooling mouth. You taste the smallest hint of something metallic. 

His lips move down, covering your jaw with soft butterfly kisses that made your head spin. When they find your neck, he clamps down on your soft flesh, licking at biting at everything he could taste. Your breath hitches, a sound that’s in between a gasp and a moan. The sensation of his teeth against your neck causes you to lean your head against the wall, reluctantly giving him room. He purrs at that.

“Good girl.”

His hands are fiddling with your buttons. You barely have time to speak before he impatiently rips your shirt, sending the round objects scattering.

A half-hearted apology is mumbled into your skin. His fingers skitter over your bra, you cry out when his cold hands push the material up to feel your tits.

It’s still not enough. His body is feverish, you feel so hot against him, so pliant, so beautiful. You’re crying, whimpering, softly whispering for him to stop but do you even know how desperate you sound? Your voice sounds so needy, it’s hard to be sated from just touching.

Oikawa yanks down your skirt, letting them pool at your ankles. Your thighs are still glistening from his previous ministrations and your panties are wet, still soaked.

He feels pure euphoria watching them slide down your legs, landing on the ground next to the other piles of clothing.

You’re standing before him, barely clothed, shivering. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, mumbling a soft ‘be good for me, okay’, before he reaches down to his pants.

He doesn’t pull it down all the way, just enough to reach inside and pull out his throbbing cock. It’s already an angry red, a single drop of precum leaking at the tip.

He gives it a few cursory pumps, before he stills.

“I really wanted to see you cum, bet you looked so pretty. Do you mind doing that again, just for me pretty please?”

He grinned when you didn’t reply. You can’t understand how someone so beautiful could hide so much cruelty. 

“No? That’s okay, I’ll just make you. Again.”

In one single movement, he hikes your leg against his hip and thrusts his cock inside you.

You wail as he pushes himself inside, already starting to set a rough pace. It hurts, much bigger than two fingers. Whatever he did before clearly didn’t help make it feel any less painful. You give a choked scream, hot tears clouding your vision.

He’s not quiet either, leaning his forehead against the wall behind you, moaning shamelessly. He’s saying your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it sounds like that’s the only thing he can say.

“You have to relax, baby-fuck you’re so tight.” Oikawa hisses, hiking your leg higher to fuck you deeper.

The pain fades. You wish it stayed, keeping you sober while he pushes you against the wall, greedily palming your tits, sucking on your neck.

But it disappears and a loud moan leaves your lips, too breathy to be made from anything but pleasure.

You instinctively cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds your traitorous body is making.

“Nope, not this time,” He cheerily says, ripping your hand away, “I wanna hear you scream.” 

He angles his hips, his cock sinking into that spot and you do scream.

The pleasure that waves up and down your body blinds you. Your body isn’t listening to you, anymore. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in with each thrust. You can feel beads of precum roll down your thigh. Oikawa’s head is resting on your shoulder now. His weight makes your shaky legs buckle, digging your back further into the hard concrete.

He kisses your hand, encouraging you to drape it on his shoulder. It limply falls beside his neck, barely brushing against his hair.

You shift your hips and his cock stutters almost stopping his rhythm before Oikawa’s cooing something dirty into your ear, reaching down to rub your clit until you’re crying out again.

It’s addicting, he realizes, having your cunt flutter around him like this, leaking out his precum. It’s a feeling that makes him piston himself into you over and over again, relishing in the way your pussy tries to suck him in, like you were begging for more.

“O-oikawa,” You finally gasp when you finally regain the ability to speak, “Slow down please please slow-slow down.”

His laugh is breathy, “You want me to slow down, angel? What, are you close again?”

You don’t respond, but it’s enough to make him go faster, ignoring your pleas in search of your gradually rising voice.

He hisses when his knee hits the wall, grimacing.

“-Wanted to do this at a bed, you know,” He grunted, “Somewhere soft. But-but I didn’t wanna-hah-scare you, you’re so anxious it was so-fuck- hard choosing a place-place you’d actually show up in.” 

He rubs your clit, feeling your walls grow tighter and tighter. He pulls back to look at you, eyes shut, your lip caught between your teeth, your face filled with lustful pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how perfect you are.”

You follow his orders, your orgasm making you cry in ecstasy. It makes you go limp and you almost sink to the floor before Oikawa catches you, keeping you upright as he chases his own end.

He doesn’t stop, not even when you beg him to slow down that it’s too much. No, he just hushes you again, stumbling over a tensed ‘Just a little more’, before he’s going faster and faster until you feel something warm, wet, and sobering fill your cunt. 

He’s slows down then, his eyes shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward, milking as much as he could. When he finally pulls out, he does it with a hiss, making you flinch as his skin hits your sensitive clit. 

He doesn’t catch you this time, letting you drop to the floor. You tumble to the ground, your hands barely catching your fall. The tile is so cool against your sensitive skin, it almost makes you forget the milky liquid spread on your legs, the finger-print shaped bruises on your thigh. 

You don’t think you have anymore tears left, but they still fall, running down your cheeks. 

He’s instantly over you, brushing a hand down your face. 

“Oh, don’t cry, baby, you did such a good job,” Oikawa cooed, wiping your tears away. 

He’s not comforting you. His smile is too satisfied to make you think he had any semblance of pity. You briefly wonder what he’s seeing. You, exhaustedly crumpled against the wall, your legs curled, cum seeping out, your neck and chest littered with teeth marks. No wonder he looks so pleased.  

He pets your hair, shifting it back in place and it’s so domestic-so loving that it makes you sick. 

Oikawa grins, showing teeth. “How about next time we study at my place.”

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #dark oikawa tooru #dark content #oikawa isn't a good person #x reader #tw:noncon #reader inserts #afab reader

[larkspyrr]

chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from &lt;;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

[will0waesthetic]

Don’t Tag it as X Reader if it’s an OC , especially on AO3

And if it’s for white / fair skin people put it in the tw or AN idk like “ white coded reader in mind”

#reader inserts #also don’t describe the outfit the reader wear #fanfic #ao3 #jjk x reader #vash x reader #trigun x reader #aot x reader #especially when they post a fan art of the « reader » like please #gojo x reader #eren x reader #one piece x reader

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A/n: I have been meaning to do this, put it off for way too long.

PT 1

|| Superhero Related ||

Dc / Marvel / Gen V

bodyworshipping the DC Boys- @angelltheninth

Imagine Jordan switching from their delicate fem form fingers to their thick long masculine fingers- @poppy-metal

Jordan Li Hc / Blurb- @lavend3r-stardust

Sex with Jordan- @inklore

Jordan Li smut- @poppy-metal

Bucky Barnes Smut- @angelltheninth

Surprise || Jordan Li Smut || - @ebonyenvy

Imagine giving Jordan Li a lap dance - @poppy-metal

Venom Smut- @val-made-a-mistake

Gorgeous || Older Damian Wayne || - @youwerenevermeanttofeelalone

Auburn Traditions || Older Damian Wayne ||- @glorified-red

Help me! help you || Dick Grayson Smut ||- @tetzoro

Dick Grayson smut- @lustingbones

Batboys as things that go bump in the night- @chikaras-garden

Public sex / sex pollen || Dick Grayson ||- @uc1wa

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 || Damian Wayne ||- @thesuperiorrobin

Nights like these || Jordan Li ||- @inklore

Jordan Li smut blurb- @poppy-metal

Take the reins || Venom smut ||- @val-made-a-mistake

Venom fucking the reader- @randomoutsiders

let me help you || tasm!peter parker x reader ||- @the-plum-soldier

Spell Gone Wrong || John Constantine || - @c-nstantine

imagine bunny!reader with wolverine- @inkdrinkerworld

|| Anime / Animated show's and movies ||

|| Gaming ||

Astarion Getting Aroused by Your Blood- @angelltheninth

Duskwood boys: their favorite way to pick up/carry you around- @hacked-by-jake

Duskwood boys:Reaction to you calling them babe. - @hacked-by-jake

How they’d be with pregnant reader: Headcanons with Lin Kuei brothers- @seraphmeraph

Web of faith || Kar'niss ||- @hrefna-the-raven

mk1 men breaking the bed/headboard while fucking you- @visionsofmagic

mk1 men when they get hard in public because of you- @visionsofmagic

car sex - johnny silverhand- @buryustogether

|| Live Action show's and Movie's ||

Pyramid Head Chases You Down and Fills You Up- @angelltheninth

Michael Afton when You're Pregnant- @angelltheninth

Infertile elder yautja- @mintymarabell

corio x reader but he has an insane breeding and lactation kink- @slvthrs

Corio with a breeding kink- @slvthrs

Corio blurbs- @lucilleslore

cockwarming Corio- @lucilleslore

Possessive Bernard the elf with a pregnant human!Reader - @herbalsingularitea

Sleepless Nights { spencer reid smut }- @strawbeerossi

Distance (David Rossi x Ex!Reader)- @villain-apolog1st

Lunch Break (David Rossi x Reader)- @villain-apolog1st

Beefy Bucky- @buckyalpine

James Wilson x reader- @pomegranateshrimp

Every Single Day ( Spencer Reid fluff ) - @astrophileous

All I Need ( Spencer Reid )- @incognit0slut

how dilf!jake gives his girl head- @pearlsinmyhair

house boys + how they kiss you- @cyberstrm

Peeta with a breeding kink- @peetaslefttoe

Mike Schmidt smut- @redskull199987

#fics #fic rec #masterlist #dc #marvel #gen v #reader inserts #duskwood #astarion #balur's gate 3

[running-with-kn1ves]

The Happy Bunny Tavern, a small joint nestled in the middle of nowhere, trees seemingly sprouting from its log walls and golden lanterns. Bunnies of all kinds are employed to carry drinks, take orders, and be anything short of a table to house a customers tankard of ale.

Even then, it was common for the weakest of bunny barmaids to be yanked by their ears and placed under a bounty hunter's boots as a footstool. The pub hosted mostly a series of regulars or dangerous drifters, patrons finding suspicion in any newcomers who were too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to fit in. 

Whether they be half-human hybrids or full pure-bloods under a black hood to keep their disguise, creatures of all kinds came to relish in the bars established cinnamon whiskey and cute bar staff who weren’t unfamiliar to being used and abused. Even the tavern’s owner, a vicious grim burgundy stoat who was no stranger to a few scars, was quite verbally profound when it came to ordering around her staff. She had amped up their marketability over the years, changing regular tan uniforms to hiked up shorts that showed off the staffs bunny tails, and bows clipped to each pointy ear, often which the right of a bunny waiter’s is cut in order to show their domestication to the tavern. 

You were new, looking for any job you’d be hired for, a poor preyed creature who was turned away for being too lithe,” not enough muscle on your bones”, as each potential employer put it. But maybe no job was better than this job, a slave to your boss and any lowlife who walked in the door wanting a bunny playtoy. Whether it was sitting on a silvertailed wolf’s lap to nurse their drunken kisses and laps at your cute neck, or strung up on the dart board for sly weasels to throw pins and needles at, you were the equivalent of a stressball for any assassin, bounty hunter, or prey seller looking for a harmless treat to sink their teeth and claws into. 

And you, a new sight for sore eyes, easily became a house favorite amongst those most sadistic. You were lucky when they only wanted company, or perhaps to see your cheeks puff out from tugging at the base of your ears, but the worst of the worst came when your least favorite customer, a thinly sharp coyote entered the tavern to request your presence to drink with him. You’d be down a cup of ale, room spinning and hazy-eyed whilst forced to put on a shameful strip show for him, his claws raking at your apron and thumbing your hiccupping mouth. The laughs and warm hands that smelled of dirt and dried blood became familiar, thin eyes of every canine, feline and aviary creature that wanted you for themselves digging into you.

At least the pay was nice, even if you had to pick yourself up in pieces after every shift.

#ripped the tavern name straight off of kung fu panda 4 and I have NO regrets #ik the reader bunny trope is overused but ill be honest I am IN LOVE with it and it always makes me giddy #kn1ves rants #knives rants #writing #x reader #reader inserts #yandere #self insert #reader insert #yandere imagines #fem reader #male yandere #yandere x reader #male reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x you #monsters #monster fucker #monster lover #terato #monster romance #monster fucking #teratophillia #x reader imagine #bunny reader #rambles #x reader smut

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Bruce Wayne taking care of Oddduck?

"Bruce?"

"Hope you don't mind," he said softly, "I was in town. And I miss you."

"I-no- I just-" you step back to let him into your hotel room and swallow hard. "I- you usually call."

"I would have if I thought you would answer the phone," he hummed, waiting to see where you were at. If you could handle this conversation right now.

He'd been hurt for a couple days. And then angry. But now, standing in front of you and seeing that it's eating you up- it's getting to you and it's just... sad. That one off comment put you so far in your head that you were afraid to even reach out to him.

"I'm sorry I-"

"I know," he said softly. "Clark told me."

You wince, taking another step back and wrapping your arms around yourself. "I'm sorry I know it's stupid I just-"

"It's not stupid," he said, taking that as an invitation to step further into the room, carefully keeping his distance. "I just wish you would have talked to me."

"I'm sorry. I just- I didn't want to bother you you're busy."

"Sweetheart," he murmured, "Come here? Please?" He held his arms out and exhaled slowly when you walked into them. Clinging to him as tightly as you were able. "I'm here, okay?"

"I'm sorry I just I want to kinda but I don't know how to do all this and I can't- I mean I'm not- I'm just me and-" You break off and thud your head against his chest, taking a shaking breath. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he said squeezing you a little tighter and kissing the top of your head. "Look at me?" He gives you a second, waiting for you to meet his eyes and when you look up, tears welling up, he smiled tenderly. "First of all, you're incredible. "Just you" is everything I never knew I needed-"

"Bruce-"

"Second of all," he continued, "I don't know how to do this either, remember? We're just going to have to figure this out together.

"I should have called."

Bruce wiped tears off your cheeks gently and kissed your forehead, "Absolutely. But- we're here now."

"We?"

"Alfred and Dick are killing time in a museum right now," Bruce explained. "I thought we could all get dinner."

"I'd like that."

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #reader inserts #odd duck!reader

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

That dress

Pairing : Aemond x Fem. Reader

Summary: Aemond gets a little hot and bothered when he sees you in a daring dornish dress, then finds out it was just a little scheme of yours, to get him all hot and bothered. In public. He decides a little punishment is in order. 

Themes : Soft | Smut | Aftercare

Word count: 2500 + words 

Warnings : Nicknames | Dirty talk / degradation | Edging | Spanking | Overstimulation | Kissing | Penetrative sex

Minors DNI

This one shot is a follow up to this list of HCs. 

Translation

Kēlītsos - Kitten

The scent of your perfume, all orange blossoms and summer days, preyed on his mind.

The sight of you, his wife, in that dress of yours, preyed on his mind. 

Aemond stood at one corner of the dance floor, waiting for the music to start. 

It finally did, much to his relief. Aemond and the rest of the lords that stood up took the first step forward, to bow. You and the other ladies who stood at the opposite end, curtsied. Then, at the next beat, dancers on both sides of the floor moved toward each other.  

At the first twirl, Aemond took a deep breath as soon as you reached him. "What is that perfume?" he whispered. 

"Something my mother sent me," you whisper back. Aemond took another deep breath and moved again. This time to where the ladies were all standing before. At the next change in the music, the men came forward to join the ladies in the center. There was another twirl around each other, another question. 

"And that dress?" he mumbled as his eye feasted on your body. "From where did you get it?" 

That dress. Cut in the Dornish style, with a deep neckline, flowing silhouette, and intricate embroidery. The neckline plunged so much that it required smaller pieces of fabric held together with thin straps tied at the back to conceal the wearer’s breasts. 

"A Dornish seamstress," you said quickly, as he took your hand in his and twirled you again. "You know, the one Helaena and I visited a few weeks ago?" 

He did remember, very well in fact. He remembered the trip you and the queen took, and the scandal the queen caused when she donned a Dornish dress for the first time. Aemond’s eye went over you again. That dress was quite eye-catching. And not just eye-catching. Beautiful it was, making his mind wander to other things, made him want the night to end quickly and take you to bed. Aemond’s eye went dark when he saw you standing there, in a dress guaranteed to make the most resolute of men go weak in the knees. He quickly took control of himself and shook his head. 

But his control didn’t last long. It took another hammering on the next change. Aemond could feel his mind going hazy at the sight of you. His body was heating up with lust. He shook his head again. No. Aemond was a man of control, of discretion, a man not given to overt displays of feeling of any nature. It was who he was, who he would always be, but seeing you standing there, a vision in that dress, fuzzed up his mind, dredged up the baser urges he would rather save for more private moments.

And that was when he caught it, the upward tug of your lips. His eye, that blazing amethyst purple poets wrote about, narrowed to a thin slat when he caught you struggling in vain to hide a victorious grin. Understanding dawned. 

This, all of this, the perfume, the revealing dress, was solely for his benefit, and done to rouse him a little. While dancing. In public. Aemond had always been a discreet man, and you wanted to see how less discrete you could make him. It worked. His eye had been on you the entire time. You could hear him take deep breaths every time you got close to him. 

At the next change, Aemond took you by the arm and gently escorted you to a dark and private corner of the hall. After making sure the two of you were alone, he said, "What are you playing at, kēlītsos?"

You give him the most innocent look you could muster. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." 

He shook his head and tutted. "Yes, you most certainly do. And I must say, it worked." Aemond took another deep breath, felt his mouth water. He let his gaze wander all over your body. He then remembered your triumphant grin, the mischievous glint in your eyes. He wasn’t going to let you have the whip-hand tonight. 

"But still, such efforts are unnecessary." He swallowed and felt blood draw to his loins with the next breath you took. Now he definitely wanted to end the night early and take you to bed. Aemond hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. He leaned in closer, his mouth just a hair’s breadth over yours. "If you want to ride the dragon that badly, kēlītsos." He crooned huskily, "You need only ask." 

Your cheeks flushed and grew heated. Aemond had caught on to your little scheme. Your head dropped, only to be lifted again when a finger curled under your chin and tilted it up. This time it was Aemond who was grinning triumphantly, it was he who had the mischievous glint in his eye. "Well?" he asked, very much the image of a man who had taken back control. "Do you want to?" 

Goosebumps rose over your flesh when he dipped his head to the crook of your neck. You felt a hum at the back of your throat when his tongue ran over your skin. You looked around, praying that no one would wander this way and see what your husband was doing to you. Your eyes grew heavy when Aemond’s hold on you tightened. “Aemond,” you mumbled softly. 

Aemond, meanwhile, had been blinded to all else but you. Feeling your hands bunch in his hair, hearing his name rolling off your lips like a whispered plea intoxicated him, making him back you up against a column. You were caged now, with his body flush against yours. You felt him, all of him, thick against your belly, every time he moved or even breathed. "Tell me, kēlītsos," he crooned again, this time more than a little roughly and quite directly. "Do you want me to fuck you?" 

His hands streaked possessively over your waist, making you quiver as they drifted over your exposed skin. It was like a drug that seeped into you and made you feel dizzy and weak. When skilled fingers drifted higher, you nearly buckled. You were filling up with this glorious ache, an ache only he could satisfy. And you still hadn’t answered him. 

“Don’t make me use other means to get an answer, kēlītsos," he growled.

Other means. You knew what those other means were. Not here. Not where someone could see and hear. "Yes,” you mumbled softly. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Aemond chuckled wickedly. Seeing your flushed cheeks and darkened eyes thrilled him. "Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?"

You nod, just like he expected you to do. "Yes."

"Good, my little kēlītsos. And when we’re in bed," Aemond leaned in again, gripping your chin with one hand, while the other was still on your waist. "I expect to hear more than just yes, understood?"

You nod again. This time, he smiled sweetly and kissed you softly on the lips. "Go." Aemond looked around to make sure the doorways were clear. "I’ll make our excuses to the king."

                                                       *****

More than an hour had passed since the both of you left the feast.

Aemond had you under him, grinding his hips against the insides of your thighs, taking you to the brink, then stopping. He wanted you begging and pleading, as if to make you pay for your attempts at fogging him up with that dress of yours.

Beads of sweat gleamed on his skin. His breath was but ragged pants. He felt it again, you squirming, your slick, velvety walls pulsing around his cock, your hips moving in rhythm to meet his thrusts. Aemond’s own body was screaming at him, begging him for release, but he needed to do this, to turn you into a quivering mess before he made you cum. He stopped again and pulled out. When he took another brief respite, his body resting heavy on yours, you couldn’t help but mewl in protest. “A-aemond,” you begged. You couldn’t take it anymore, being brought to the edge of orgasm, only to be denied again. “P-please… no… no more… I ca--”

His eye glinted in the light of nearby tapers as he put a stop to your protest with a sharp spank to your thigh. “Keep protesting, kēlītsos, and I’ll make this night drag on for as long I have to. And you forget yourself.” Aemond then propped himself on one arm, his free hand gripping tightly at your chin. “What should you say instead of my name?”

You felt so frustrated, for being so weak and under his spell like this. Aemond would always do this, and you always willingly conceded to him.

Another spank made you gasp, made you writhe. You heard him groan when you moved beneath him. You couldn’t delay, he needed an answer. “My prince…”

Aemond dipped his head, and moved lower, his lips latching onto the soft flesh of your belly. This was where he left his mark, in places only he could see. Your breath hitched when teeth gently nipped and pulled, when his hair tickled your skin. “Giving up so easily,” He crooned before moving even lower, letting his lips trace their way over your hip bones. “Pitiful, my little kēlītsos.”

Your back arched when he moved his kisses from your hips to the insides of your thighs. Your fingers struggled for purchase against the sheets and nearly ripped into them when his mouth finally settled over your throbbing cunt. “My prince,” you whimpered when his tongue flicked against your clit, softly, gently, at a controlled pace. “Please…”

Aemond lapped up your juices, moaning deeply when your legs moved over to his shoulders. He didn’t bother to look up, for he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He placed an arm over your tummy, to stop you from squirming so much.

He was doing it again, taking you to the brink. You could feel it, your muscles coiling, your body tensing. You tried to move, but that arm over your belly kept you pinned to the bed. You felt like you were being pulled under the waves again. Too much. It was too much. You wanted to sob. “M-my p-prince,” you plead this time as you felt him slowing down again. “I--I c-can’t take m-more.”

 Aemond chuckled into your trembling folds, giving one final lick before kissing his way back up again. “So weak,” he crooned as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your slick heat. “But you know you deserve this, yes? For teasing me the way you did?”

He teased you by entering you, making you feel full, then leaving you empty and aching by quickly pulling away. You mewled again, and the spank that followed ripped a moan right out of you. “Y-yes my p-prince,” You almost sobbed. “I deserve this.”

A callused hand cupped your cheek. “Look at me.”

You did as you were bid. Your eyes looked like they had glazed over to him. You had reached your limit, Aemond could see it. He wasn’t going to deny you anymore. He entered you again, slowly, going in bit by bit.

You felt like your breath was sucked right out of your lungs when he filled you, keeping still, letting your walls throb around his cock. “Say the words, kēlītsos,” Aemond rested his temple over yours, sighing dreamily when your arms circled his shoulders. “Say the words, and I’ll take you over.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?”

Another sharp smack to your thigh reminded you that Aemond never liked to be kept waiting. “Please finish me, my prince.”

Your eyes nearly rolled back when he started with slow, shallow thrusts. “This is what you wanted, yes?” Aemond growled into your ear. “This is what you wanted? My dirty little kēlītsos?” 

His fingers raking over your thigh made his name roll off your lips in a sinful whisper. “Y-yes my prince,” you choked on a sob when he went in deeper, hitting that sweet spot of yours and making you see stars. “This is what I wanted.”

Aemond chuckled breathily before crushing your lips with his, forcing your lips apart with his tongue. Your mouth felt so warm, so delectable, it made him want to weep. His tongue flicked against yours, and his breath grew even shakier when your fingers dug into his shoulders. When you threw your legs over his hips, your heels digging into his back, he moaned and pressed himself into you, fitting his body against yours until there was not even a fraction of space left between you both. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your hips bucking to meet his thrust halfway.

He held on, not stopping until you sobbed into his mouth. You could do nothing but cling onto him and arch your back, your body shaking violently. Please, you plead silently. Please let it be now. 

Aemond had no plans on stopping again. He wanted to feel your cunt tighten around his cock when he made you cum. He kept up a pace you liked, bucking into you, growling every time he heard his name part your lips. “Cum for me, kēlītsos,” he rasped. “Cum for me.”

It felt like you were pulled under a wave when your orgasm ripped through you. You felt like your world had skidded to a halt. So pulled in by your own bliss, you didn’t even hear Aemond groaned as he lifted your hips, his eye never leaving you until his coiled muscles snapped and he thrust deep, burying himself inside you. Feeling your throbbing walls clench against his cock as he spilled his seed dragged out a deep and guttural moan from him. Exhausted and trembling, he let himself rest atop your still-shaking body. He sighed dreamily again when your hands moved around to circle his waist and glide up and down his spine. So good, it felt so good.

You barely felt the heaving body rest against yours, the callused hands gliding over your waist, the lips that grazed your shoulders, your neck. Aemond moved, rolling you over until you were on top of him. He pulled your head up, plundered your mouth. This time his kisses were soft and sweet. His hands rubbed your back, glided over your bruised thighs, as if to soothe. “Easy kēlītsos” he crooned as he gently rubbed down your aching thighs. “Easy.”

His gentle caresses and soothing, reassuring words put you at ease. In a whisper, you manage, “thank you, my prince.”

“You’re welcome, little kēlītsos,” he mumbled sleepily, a smile tugging at his lips when he felt your own brushing softly against his cheek. “Now get some sleep,” he mumbled again. This time he cradled you to him and pulled up the pelts. The room had grown cold despite the fire and he didn’t want you to feel the chill. Aemond then hummed softly, trailing his fingers over your spine, lulling you to sleep. “I’ll have a hot bath ready for you in the morning.”

And he made plans to buy you more dornish dresses, for that dress  now lay on the floor, a ruined heap.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #house of the dragon #reader inserts #fanfiction #writeblr #aemond imagine #aemond x you

[missblissy]

Vox x reader but its fluufffy as shit- like im talking hurt/comfort like full on motherfucker is down so infamously bad

((Ofc Nonny UwU Vox is a guilty pleasure of mine, so this was fun to write. Again.... IM STILL A LIL RUSTY SO IM SORRY IF IT'S NO EXACTLY WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND QWQ... But! As always, Enjoy!))

Little taps traveled down the lush golden halls, with a tiny fury in each step. Sparks and zaps and zips twisted from the broken wires popping out of your skin. The arm you clutched tightly let out fizzes and glitches and your broken hand moved on its own. 

You found an elevator and slapped the buttons with your good hand then stared at the spycam in the corner, “Vox!” You whined, “Let me in!” Your high pitched cry was more of an annoying beg but still… It worked. The elevator’s door dinged and shut before lowering down into the catacombs of the mega tower.

At first some silly stupid song played in the elevator before a familiar voice came over the speakers, “What did you do now?” It was Vox. You raised a brow, a pointed and angry pout as you took a side glance at the spycam. Shameless guilt was on your face, as you caved and confessed, “It wasn’t my fault! I was just trying to get today’s filming done and that-” You stopped yourself and took a breath before you got worked up again, “Anyways,” You held up the broken arm and hand, “I need a tune up, and you know I won’t let the tech boys touch me,” 

The elevator slowly lost its walls and you were standing alone on a moving platform lowering itself to a bridge. You didn’t even wait for it to reach the ground or stop, you jumped halfway down and started skipping along the bridge. With a new tune in your step, happy to have gotten your way, you gave a cheerful wave to the tanks full of sharks while heading towards Vox’s lair. 

You first checked his room full of tv monitors and spy cams, he wasn’t in his Little Throne as he put it. So you made your way to his workshop. He was already there sorting through replacement arms for you. With your good arm you looped it with his and gave him a playful nudge, “Thank you, Voxxy~!” You hummed out, putting on extra layers of cuteness knowing he’d be annoyed with you already for interrupting his work. 

“Mhmm,” Vox hummed, then reached for a robotic arm. You quickly pushed his hand away from that one, “Not that model,” You told him, “Remember? It’s got that bug that makes the nervous system fail,” He just nodded his head and reached for another arm while gesturing for you to sit down. You did just that, sitting on the workbench with your feet swinging back and forth off the edge. 

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Vox asked while keeping his eyes focused on the task at hand. He took your broken arm and first looked over the damage, then the hand as well. His eyes flicked up to yours as he added, “Or do I need to check the surveillance system?” His hands lightly grabbed you by the crook of your arm, bending it by the elbow to find the hidden port under your skin. He pressed nothing, just skin, but soon it lit up in the shape of a little heart.

You looked away with a pout, maybe the cute act wasn’t going to help. You huffed and rolled your eyes, “She started it!” You yelped, “I was doing the scene for this month’s show perfectly, as always, and the stupid bitch couldn’t deliver her lines right!” All while you ranted, Vox managed to run his finger along your arm and unlock the skin shell, uncovering the wires, blots, tubes and bars that made up your insides. 

A heavy gulp came from your throat, and your irritation slowly melted to an uncomfortable uneasiness. It was still so strange to you to be nearly fully made of bits and parts. So was Vox…. but still… It wasn’t a familiar concept to you quite yet. On the outside you looked completely the same as you’d always had in your afterlife. Selling your soul to the overlord was the biggest decision you’ve ever made. Surely one day you’d live to regret it, but so early on into the contract you hadn’t found any solid reason to regret a single choice you’ve made with Vox thus far.

He treated you so much better than Valentino did to Angel Dust. in fact Vox tried his best to keep you as far from them as possible. You were uniquely his. Literally, he made you. Bought your soul, tore it from its flesh and welded it to new metals. And you’d be lying entirely if you said you didn’t feel something for Vox. It was the biggest reason for being his, you felt some type of way and he liked to stroke that ego and play along with it.

Vox gave you a smug look however, with gentle hands he removed the arm entirely, “And who threw the first punch?” He asked. Which was a very good question, because you definitely did. Called out and put on the spot, your cheeks started to burn different shades of pink and red, “You’re still a prototype,” Vox hummed. From what you could feel, it was nice. The way his cool finger tips tentatively work at the seams of your sinews. He clearly was putting care into each and every work on your wiring, “You aren’t yet strong enough to take on a co-star, much less anyone, in a fight,” He said.

He had never been cruel with you, or even mean. Vox could be stern, like now, lecturing you to do better, be better. But his touch was always soft and careful. Like you were his greatest work of art, his favorite thing to work on, and his beloved precious project. And sure, he liked the person you were too. It was just a bonus that you could make him laugh, or get him to stop faking his smiles for real ones.

It didn’t help how often he kept you at his side. Filming was really the only time you were away from Vox, otherwise, you were always near, always in sight, and never too far from reach. Vox preferred it that way, and, honestly… so did you. So it was a welcoming and familiar touch, his hands tinkering away, checking you over as to look for any other damage.

Sheepishly you laughed and said, “Well, at least I only walked away with a broken arm,” And Vox chuckled along with you. The girl you fought couldn’t say as much. You nearly tore her in two… She was just so… annoying! And you got so sick of doing the same scene over and over and over…. “I taught her a thing or two about real tears, that’s for sure,” Your snotted little huff and pout was back, though luckily Vox seemed to enjoy it, “She had it coming, and I basically won if there was even a competition anyways,” 

He even agreed and said, “I’m sure you held your own, I don’t doubt you can’t kick some ass,” He then attached the new arm and started flicking and switching things on from within your hardware, “But I can’t have my little super star starting fights, or getting into them, or risk damaging the goods,” He smirked as he looked over his work with pride. Finally he snuck in a kiss and you felt all your rage melt away. First there was one on your cheek, then Vox gave you a quick but deep kiss before pulling away.

Vox then grabbed a new skin shell and snapped it in place, slowly feeling returned. The chill of his hands running down your arm, clearing off all the dust and fuzz, sent little buzzing sparks down the newly awakened skin, “It’s not good for our image either,” Vox added with a smirk and raised brow, “You’re my little super star, hell’s new sweetheart that everyone can’t get enough of,” He then fixed your hair, tuffing it back in place, curling it around your ear, “We can’t have leaks of you beating your co-star into a pulp getting out,” He rolled the sleeve of your shit back down, smoothed it out, and stole another kiss.

You could feel your arm again and life buzzed into the metal, until it heated up and felt all the same as any natural or organic creatures. As much as you like the coddling in his words, you tried out your wrist and looked at your nails, asking, “What am I, if I’m just your little super star? Are you trying to make your own fizz bot? A Vox bot? Whatever you call it, just some way to steal Mammon’s power?”

Vox smirked and pinched your cheek with his fingers and gave a little shake, cooing at you while saying, “To some degree, yes. A bigger, better, smarter one that runs off a human soul,” You pushed his hand away but he just grabbed your hand instead, pulled you off the table, to your feet, and gave you a little spin, “But for now, you’re just my favorite little toy, right?” 

A little yelp jumped from your lips as he spun you around, then caught you with one hand. You could not lie, the way this man spoiled you had you hooked, line and caught. He made it so easy for the both of you to forget what goes on outside this workshop of his. He made it easy to forget he owned you…. He made you what you are now.

Or perhaps that part of the deal you like. Who knows. It was unexplainable your attraction to him and you honestly didn’t mind being his pet, his distraction, his stowaway. Whatever one may call it, you were sucked in by his every word and move… every single time. Besides, you could pride yourself on being the one that cheered him up, that made him happy, especially when Valentino upset him. You were the one that Vox poured hours of his time into, who he tediously worked to improve. You were his favorite distraction.

He moved you about in a silly little mock dance, an equally silly tune playing from him, “And for now, your job is to just stay pretty, talented, flawless, and overall perfect just as you are,” His wooing words melted your metal heart. He slowed, holding your hands in his while he then gave a smile, a raised brow, and asked in a way that wasn’t really asking, but rather telling, “So no more fights, and ruining all my hard work, right?”

You blinked up at him, still slightly flustered from the mini dance, and even more so that he held you so close to him, “R-right,” You breathed then gave a small smile yourself. It was a strange relationship the two of you had, it clearly wasn’t something outsiders would understand. He peppered kisses along your new arm and trailed them up your shoulder, leaving a few on your cheek as you giggled out. 

He gave you a twirl then spun you off, “Now get back to work,” Vox’s grin stayed full on his face while you got your footing again. With a huff, you crossed your arms and gave a pointed look, teasing him obviously and putting on a bratty act, “I don’t need anymore distractions until about…” He paused and looked at his watch, “Five thirty?” 

Your foot tapped a few times and you shifted weight from one leg to the other, hip out in a sassy look, “I’m not a distraction,” You pouted, then rolled your eyes with a grin to match his, “Six thirty,” You challenged him, seeing if he could push off the time and actually commit to his work, “I should be done filming by then anyways,” 

“Fine,” Vox shrugged, seemingly unbothered by your teasing, “Six thirty,” He echoed. Vox then blew a little kiss to you, with spark and zap it zipped across the air in the shape of a little heart. The sweet sting of its electric shock warmed your cheek and let out a little snap on contact. You giggled and let your arms fall, a more cheeky look on your face and less of a pout as you spun on your heel and skipped back off to work.

#the queue tag!! #hazbin hotel #hazbin #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox x you #reader inserts

[tweetracer]

I’m begging someone to give me Barbie, Ryan Gosling’s Ken, or Allan x reader prompts PLEASE cringe is dead and I wanna kiss this little plastic toys so bad it makes me look stupid

#ken x reader #barbie x reader #Allan x reader #reader inserts #barbie 2023 #barbie Imagines #ken imagines #reader insert #tweed peeps #tw flash #tw flashing #tw flashing lights

[envy-of-the-apple]

Heart Infection (Part One)

(I usually only post dark content here but im lowkey proud of this one. The rest of the fic is here

In a world where society has gotten used to zombie outbreaks, your domestic life is turned into chaos and a race for survival when an outbreak occurs in your city. In the middle of it all, you stumble upon a giant, speaking in a foreign language. He won’t show you his face. He’s ruthless. He’s a force to be reckoned with. But, despite the fact you can’t understand him, you know without a doubt this man would die to protect you.

Pairing: König x reader

They always say it happens fast.

They never clarified how fast.

It was just one report. One incident of someone behaving strangely. Just a couple of minor incidents. You hadn't thought much of it. You existed as you had always: going to work, lazing around your home, talking with your friends. One week you carried life as normal, the next you were getting bombarded by alerts to stay inside.

Lock your doors. Stay silent. Stay undetectable. It was the last message you got before your internet went out, and you descended into a microscopic dark age.

You’ve never really thought about outbreaks all that much. It’s a tragedy, but it’s a rarity. The probability of it happening to you or anyone else you knew was 0.0005%. Maybe even less. It was never supposed to happen to you.

The screaming ended days ago. You still didn’t move from your spot, huddled in a small corner of your apartment, too scared to do anything else.

You could hear them every so often. The groaning. The horrific footsteps of something not human. At least, something not human anymore. They’re so loud. You didn’t think anything could be this loud. Their screams ricochet off the walls, into your apartment. Sometimes it’s upstairs. Sometimes it’s right by your door.

A morbid part of you wondered if you’d be able to recognize them. Your neighbors, something that used to be your neighbors. You couldn’t, something which you were grateful for. All the moans, the garbles, the shrieks, they were all incoherent, unrecognizable. Inhuman.

Protocol had been drilled into your head ever since you were a kid. In schools, you had outbreak drills, where you and your classmates sat in a room for five minutes until the lights came back on and class resumed as normal. If an outbreak happened when you were at home stay put. Stay silent. Stay unnoticed.

Only now are you realizing the parallelisms between now and the drills practiced by schoolchildren during the Cold War. Teachers would tell their students to hide under tables. They'd board up the windows. It was all useless. Just a half-hearted attempt to quell the nerves of the people. To give them a false sense of security.

You check your phone, tapping on the screening, telling yourself you’d put it on silent already. You can’t charge it. The power in your apartment went out two weeks ago. You’re pretty sure the water went with it too. You can’t connect to the internet. The phone lines are down. At this point, your phone is only good for its flashlight.

(You don’t even think about turning it on even in the darkness of your apartment. They’re attracted to light.)

It’s useless, but you’re still pulling up your mom’s contact. You send her a message. The 438th one.

‘Still alive. I love you.’

Message unable to deliver responds your phone. You turn it off, closing your eyes.

Your mother, God what was she thinking right now? She wasn’t in the city. She lives miles away in your hometown. You knew she was already aware, probably sick with worry. The last outbreak happened two years ago in a small town all the way on the other side of the country. You were home from college, cuddled up with her on the couch as you two watched the news in horror. Her co-worker’s daughter had been in the infected city. She hadn’t made it. Your mom attended the funeral.

She later admitted to you that she was glad it wasn’t you she was watching on the TV.

You wonder if she remembers these words right now. If they haunt her.

Outside, the siren flicks off. It had been blaring static music for the past hour. They’re attracted to noise. The woman’s voice is too cheery for the current situation. Her voice was too clinical, and measured. It was obvious that it was pre-recorded. She always repeated the same thing: We apologize for the delay of Aide. Please remain in your homes. We thank you for your patience.

You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so terrified.

It had only been three weeks since your world went to shit, but you’d already lost hope of help ever arriving. Maybe the tanks, the guns, the arsenal were already on their way but they hadn’t gotten to you yet, too preoccupied by the swarms of monsters. You’d already boarded up your windows, too afraid to see something you didn’t want to see, but through the tiny cracks, the barren streets were lifeless. No one had come. Not yet, at least.

The barren streets were lifeless. Lifeless, not empty.

During the first two days, there were many of them. Now, you could sometimes see a couple, if any at all.

Their skin had lost the brightness of a human’s. Each one was a dull shade of grayish green. Some decayed faster than others, revealing rotting flesh right underneath their sagging skin. You’d seen a couple missing arms, and legs, mindlessly limping, crawling away to some unknown destination. When they weren’t hunting, they were slow. Truly dead.

The worst were the children. Small,  bodies stumbling here and there. Tiny bones jutting out from rotting skin. Sickly eyes that had been gone for days. You couldn’t bear to look outside after that.

You'd seen them hunt before. It was during the first couple of hours when everything went to shit. The man was running, dragging his clearly broken leg as fast as he could. He wasn't fast enough. They had caught up to him in minutes. You had to turn away when his screaming turned to painful shrieks. You could still hear them every so often, even after you boarded up your windows. You don't think you'll ever be able to forget his begs for help. Ever the coward, you prayed he didn't see you. You prayed it wasn't you he was begging to.

The guilt kept you up at night sometimes. Every so often, you'd hear another scream, another tearing of flesh. You just lay there, covering your ears with your hands, hoping you'd wake up from this nightmare.

Had your friends ended up like that? You hadn't been able to get into contact with any of them. Hopefully, they had evacuated. You couldn't even think of them huddled up like you, stuck to listening to the terror outside. Or perhaps a fate even worse turned into a rotting corpse still living.

Your pantry was full of canned food. Beans, corn, tomatoes. You knew you wouldn’t have to worry about food running out, that is if you could ever have an appetite big enough for a full meal. You had water bottles too, all piled into the back of your closets.

The real issue wasn’t food. The real issue wasn’t water. It was the wait. The terrifying suspense every time you moved a bit too fast, terrified that something above or below you would hear. You were always warned about how strong these things were. Devoid of the human limitations, they will do everything they can to claw past wood, concrete, steel. It doesn’t matter how mangled they get. They can’t feel pain.

Your pantry was overflowing with food. Now, all you had to do was play the waiting game.

You've noticed they're more active in the night rather than the day. It made sense, to a degree. The cooler air slowed down the rate of decay. The sun was harsh, especially during the summer months. Why would a rotting piece of meat ever want to stay underneath the burning sun?

But it made the nights tenser. You could hardly sleep when the sun went down and the light in your apartment faded to pitch black. They were louder. Hungrier. It was as though they took their anger on the sun out on the darkness, letting their fury consume everything in their path.

You flinch when another bang ricochets across your apartment. Tonight seemed to be the worst. The shuffling. The growling. It seemed to all get desperate. Impatient.

It was starting to seem more and more as though they were looking for something.

You don't even want to entertain that thought, but you could hear scratching through the walls. The sound of human fingers raking their claws against cement. Tonight, you had barricaded yourself in your closet, nestled between your clothes. You could hear the muffled echoes of things crawling upstairs, knocking things over.

It almost distracts you from the thudding at the front door. Like a body is being rammed against your door over and over and over and over and over and over and-

Your door has to give eventually. You want to curse yourself for it because you once remembered your mom berating you for not installing better security and tougher doors. You'd laughed her concerns off. You thought it was paranoia.

The door caves in, something inhuman is crawling into your apartment. All that you can think about is your mom's knowing I told you so.

Haggard footsteps made their way into your abandoned living room. It was loud, messily bumping into tables and walls. There didn't seem to be a set direction. It didn't know where exactly you were. It didn't matter.

You were going to die.

It was a startling thought, but not something you could deny. You were only able to survive for five days, that alone was a miracle. That’s all this was. Luck. A roll of the dice. You weren’t a survivor. You were weak, with zero combat experience. This was all just a one-in-a-million chance. You still have no clue how you managed to survive this long. Maybe the monsters thought you were already dead? Maybe they thought you were too weak to even bother? You didn't know why you were still thinking about this. It wasn't like it mattered. You were living on borrowed time. Your front door was no match for it. What about your room? What will the numerous barricades even do against these things?

You were out of time.

You can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You suck in your breath, huddling into a tighter ball.

This thing was going to find you. This thing was going to kill you. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You check your phone. Still, no signal. You sent her your last message, anyway.

'I love you'

A part of you hopes your messages never get through to her. So she wouldn't have to know her child died with fear. With pain. You pray to any god still listening to you that she will assume you died within the first day, unaware, oblivious. You prayed she would know that you died a merciful death.

But the gods hate you. They laugh at you, leering as the thing drags its body closer and closer to your room, towards your closet with a trembling hulk of flesh locked inside, ripe for the taking.

And then it stops. You wait, bracing yourself. When there's still no movement, you realize that it's listening for something.

Soon, you hear it too.

Gunshots.

You clasp a hand over your mouth, stifling your gasp. Had help arrived? Had you just narrowly avoided being eaten?

The thing just outside your room door growls. You can hear it hustle out of your apartment on unsteady legs, as it fights to go where the gunshots are coming from. It doesn't have to go far.

It doesn't sound like a struggle. It's more like a one-sided fight. Decaying flesh doesn't do well against steel guns and bullets. There are a couple of rapid shots, and then something heavy collapses outside of the apartment.

And then, it's all over.

You almost can't believe it, still huddled in your corner of the closet. It's all over. You can't hear any more dull groans and screeches. Whoever was out there, had gotten rid of them all.

You're crying again, for an entirely different reason now. Relief. Utter joy. Hope.

But now, you have an entirely new problem. How do you get out to meet your saviors, without getting shot?

Their boots were heavy, roughly stomping around without a care in the world. From what you could hear, there was only one of them. The rest must be outside, scanning other apartments, looking for more survivors. Military. Or maybe a crudely put-together army of minute men. You didn't care which.

There was only one person in your apartment, and they seemed to be a sort of shoot-first-ask-questions-later type of person. You had to get their attention in a way that wouldn't spook them. You had no trust in your voice, it was going to be scratchy from the unuse, maybe even rivaling the monsters' groans.

You take too long to come up with a plan because the intruder in your apartment seems to still, seemingly realizing they aren't alone.

His voice is deep, almost rattling the apartment, as he calls out. You can't understand him. It takes you a moment to realize he's speaking a different language than you.

Shit. This was going to be harder than you initially anticipated.

His footsteps seem heavier as if he is intentionally trying to intimidate you. It's working, because your heartbeat quickens when your room door is blown open. You can hear him rifle through your bed. He calls out something again. Closer. It sounds European. Dutch, or perhaps it was German? Russian? You still can't make out what he's saying.

The man says something. Despite your lack of understanding, it's crystal clear that he's making a threat. He sounds right in front of your closet. The soft click of a gun makes your shyness whittle away far enough that you can actually say something.

"Don't shoot. " You try to scream, but it comes out with a choked cry. "I'm human. I'm human."

That seems to stop him, and he pauses long enough for you to prove your innocence. Slowly, as if he's the one you're trying not to scare, you creak the door open, gently giving away your hiding spot.

The flashlight makes you wince, and you try to shy away from the light. He seems to be assessing as to whether you're a threat or not. As uncomfortable as it was, you let him, lowering your eyes so you're not blinded.

He says something, obviously asking a question. When you don't respond quickly, his voice grows harder, more impatient.

You bite your lip, nerves rising.

"I don't-I don't understand," You finally manage to say, "I'm sorry."

There's a moment, and then he's clicking off his flashlight. He gives a ragged sigh like this is above his pay grade.

"I'm sorry," You say again into the darkness.

You can tell that he's still watching you. What else is there to inspect? The rest of your rundown apartment? He tries speaking again. It's clear that he's trying to sound softer. He's lost the harsh growl in his voice. It makes him sound younger, at least, to your ears.

The change of tone doesn't change the fact that you still don't know his language. You shake your head, hoping you can get your point across once more. He reaches for you, and you can't help it.

You flinch, pressing yourself against the wall, watching his shadow warily.

It's funny how the one thing you wished for was to be saved, and now that you are, you still cower. It's not intentional. It's uncontrollable. You're still wary of the stranger. He's unreadable.

He seems to get the point, raising his hands up, and leaving the gun at his side. You doubt being weaponless makes him any less dangerous.

You can't make out most of him, but in the dim light you got, you were able to tell he was big. Even now, as he crouched before you, in a clear attempt to make himself less hostile. You can't seem to find his face. There's some kind of darkened mask on him, obscuring his features. For some reason, you suddenly realize you can't really hear his breathing.

He tilts his head as if to say See? I'm harmless! You don't think you agree with that statement. Even then.

He's safe. You know he's safe.

You don't exactly relax, but you ease back into your space. He seems to get the point, standing back up to his full height, easily towering over you.

He gestures to his hands. It takes you a while to realize he's asking if you're injured.

"No." You shake your head. "No injuries."

He seems satisfied with that, backing away to look at your room. Apart from the numerous barricades you put across the windows, your bedroom is pretty sparse. You wonder if he's thinking how you managed to survive this long. You wonder if he's impressed by it. You wonder if he pities you for it.

He moves around more, scuttling throughout your apartment. It's becoming clear that he's checking for other survivors. As expected, he returns with no one else. It's just you and him. Alone.

There's a silence now. You hadn't realized it until just now, everything around you seems gone. Dead. You peek out the window. You can't see much, just more barren streets. There's nothing.

Did he and his team get rid of all of the monsters in the area? How?

There's a thud and when you turn back you notice something has been thrown at your feet. It's an old backpack you owned. You look up at him. His meaning is clear.

Start packing.

Right. You can't stay here. Not anymore. Despite your home being your sanctuary, with your door broken into, you're vulnerable here. Easy prey. You know all this, and yet you find yourself hesitating for a bit.

You had to go out there? Where danger lurks in every corner? It sounds like a daunting task. Your heart is telling you to stay put, where it's always felt safe. Home.

Your brain knows the truth. If you stay here, you are dead. For right now, this man was the only hope you had.

You do as he says, running around your apartment, eager to stuff as many items as you can. It's mostly food, water, and any nonperishables. You don't have any weapons, the only thing that even counts as one is your small can of mace. You don't know how well it will fare against the undead, but you take it with you, hoping something is better than nothing.

He doesn't comment on anything you took, merely turning back to face the front of your apartment the moment you look ready. You follow him obediently, only giving one last look at your home. It's a bleak end. You wonder if you'll ever be able to return.

He gives a grunt. When you look forward, you see that he's quite a ways ahead of you. He jerks his head in the universal gesture of 'you coming?'.

Your shoes pitter-patter to catch up to his boots, abandoning the remnants of your apartment. His strides are long, almost twice the length of yours. You almost have to run to keep up with him, jostling your bag. Dawn was coming. The windows gave way to the sun slowly rising from the horizon. It causes you to see more fragments of him.

Looking back, it was probably a good thing you couldn't see him all that well before. Otherwise, your first encounter might have ended with you assuming that he was planning on eating you. He easily towered over you, having to duck under the ceiling at times. His hooded mask rivaled the death that had been crawling around your home, creating a terrifying parallel. His vest was covered in assorted knives, guns, and other weapons you could barely name. The gun he'd used on the monster was slung on his back. You can't see his eyes, you don't know why that bothers you.

It's intimidating. And you're suddenly glad you aren't on his ire.

You're confused. You're scared. Those are never a good combination. You decide to momentarily forget your burning questions. You'd come back to them when you were safe.

At least, you hoped that's where this man was taking you. To safety.

He hadn't even bothered saying another word to you, just casually trekking on, letting you follow a couple of steps behind. Every so often, you'd catch a glimpse of his mask as he glanced behind him, as though he were trying to assure himself that you were still there. Where was he going? Where were you following him? It's not like you could just ask him.

You didn't even know his name.

You were half-afraid the small tap on his shoulder wouldn't register to him. He turns, to your relief, peering down at you.

"Who are you?" You softly ask. It's the first sentence you've managed to say to him that wasn't a stuttered apology.

He tilts his head, clearly not understanding. In response, you point at his chest. He takes a moment, it's why you get worried he still doesn't get it.

"König." His voice is rough against the word.

"König?" You repeat, the word alien in your mouth. He gives a barely visible nod.

You give a tentative smile. When he keeps staring, you give out your own name. He takes a second, mulling it over.

And then König is walking again. You follow one step in front of the other.  

#reader inserts #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x reader #zombie apocalypse #dark content #cw: gore #cw: violence #x reader

[mondaymelon]

⌗ . . . 𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄 .. *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

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❀ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 (𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐘!!) i just fucking realized ive been on this hellsite for a full year and my little pea brain is going to pop into many little bits and pieces

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