Cw: They’re Horny N Fingers In Yn’s Mouth Lol

BAKUGOU BARBARIAN-VERSE | MASTERLIST

tags/warnings: fantasy au, aged up characters, sfw, accidental marriage, part i is gender neutral but reader has fem pronouns in later parts

PART I (1.3K)

On a cold, windy night, barbarian Bakugou warms you up. Things get complicated from there.

PART II (1K)

Your traveling party visits a village where you accidentally trigger an ancient marriage custom. Now, aspiring suitors will fight for the promise of your hand in marriage, and you're not liking how many unknown villagers seem interested. You're just hoping you can figure out a way to sneak out of the village before the tournament wraps up—except, wait, why is Bakugou striding into the ring...?

PART III (0.5K)

You learn something unexpected about your barbarian sort-of husband.

PART IV (coming soon!)

Bakugou learns something unexpected about you, and quickly becomes far too smug about it.

PART V (coming soon!)

After all these months, you wonder what Bakugou's true feelings for you are and whether your marriage is legitimate in the custom of his people. You try to find out what his plans are for the conclusion of your adventure. A small gesture from Bakugou clarifies his feelings.

drabbles will be posted under the tag #bakugou barbarian verse

more than you can chew sakusa kiyoomi/f!reader (haikyuu!) CROSSPOSTED TO AO3 word count: 4.3k tags: 18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, tw blood, tw monster fucking, vampire!au, smut, pwp, biting (obviously), kiyoomi as a rich old vampire just makes sense ok? a/n: thank you @shuwuji​ for putting the idea of vampire sakusa in my tiny little brain

It was a stupid idea.

Possibly the worst you’ve ever had, even.

Your heels scrape against the wet concrete of the narrow alleyway as you skitter down it, your every footfall on the pavement echoing off the walls of buildings that all look the same as you rush past them—an incoherent blur that you don’t have time to contemplate. Your breaths are ragged, and your heartbeat—your pathetic, foolish, hopelessly human heartbeat—is racing in your too-tight chest.

You know what this place is, and what you’ve willingly walked into.

You know the dark district isn’t somewhere you’re supposed to travel at night.

Not alone.

Not if you know what’s good for you.

Not if you want to live.

But you also know it’s where he is, and so setting aside every rational, reasonable warning your mind had pleaded with you to abide by, you find yourself there all the same. Wrapped in a little cocktail dress and expensive pair of heels he’d bought for you, you're an all too perfectly primped prey, ripe for the slaughter.

You’d been so determined only a few hours prior. So sure that you were brave enough to face the side of town you’d been raised to avoid—like all good, god-fearing girls are supposed to.

But that confidence has abandoned you now that you need it most.

One brief meeting with a pair of red eyes and a smile too sharp and too predatory to be sweet had sent you running.

You crumple against a brick wall when you can’t run anymore, pressed against the cool, rough stone when your body is no longer able to continue in your flight. You struggle for breath, dropping to your knees on the gritty asphalt, grappling blindly for the cellphone you know is tucked away in your little cross-body bag.

If you can just get to it, if you can just call him before—

“Get up.”

The voice is so shocking you fumble the device in your hands, almost crying out.

But not in fright.

“Sakusa!”

You scramble to your feet, throwing your arms around his middle and burying your face into his broad chest.

He stays rigid throughout your emotional display.

He pushes you back with a firm hand on your shuddering shoulder, prying your hold from his waist. He holds you at arm’s length as he appraises you, eyes flickering to every inch of you that he can see. His usual black mask covers his nose and mouth but his eyes speak volumes to what he’s feeling.

He’s livid.

“How did you find me?” you breathe out, voice watery with tears of relief.

“I could smell you from two blocks away,” he replies flatly. He catches your wrist in his hand, his thumb finding your pulse point just like it always does, and tugs you forward. “Now move.”

There are no streetlights in the dark district. At least, not as many as you’d find in the neighbourhoods made to accommodate the city’s human populace. You’re lucky the moon is out tonight, hanging full and heavy in the sky overhead, otherwise your journey through the labyrinthine back alleys where you had fled would have been even more unnavigable than they already were.

Sakusa doesn’t struggle to see in the dim light as he drags you along behind him, yet another reminder of the fact that this place was built for his kind—not for yours.

Yet another reminder of how the two of you are so very different.

It’s only slightly brighter when you make it back to the main drag—stepping out onto the street to see the soft glow of neon signs in windows, the muted glimpses of light as doors open into the businesses that line the street as shadowy patrons file in and out. You swallow thickly as you realize that this is because the people working in these establishments are mostly human, like you, and the lights serve as a beacon to guide them through the doors—like a lighthouse leading ships into the rocky shoreline to run aground.

Sakusa steers you towards the street corner with a hand on the small of your back and the other still tight on your wrist. He seems to be shielding you from view as best he can—his broad, imposing body following the movement of yours, as though he’s making every attempt to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

It doesn’t work.

“Omi-omi!” a voice calls, cajoling and gregarious.

Sakusa freezes, his grip on your wrist tightening.

Before you can blink there’s a man in front of you—tall, with tousled blonde hair and a dark undercut, wearing a suit that looks as expensive as Sakusa’s though the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone in a more ostentatious way—and he stoops down to meet your gaze, almost nose to nose.

You don’t even have a chance to yelp, the sound stuck behind the breath of air that lodges itself in your throat.

Red eyes framed by thick lashes blink at you slowly.

“And who are you?”

Sakusa quickly tugs you behind him, leaving you to peer at the unexpected newcomer from around the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Hey now,” the man laughs, but it sounds almost warm. You don’t feel threatened by him—though you’re sure you should if the speed with which he appeared before you and the red hue of his eyes are anything to go by. “I just asked her a little question, Omi.”

Sakusa stays silent, his body between the two of you like an impregnable wall. You’re sure he’s glowering even if you can’t see his face from your place behind his back.

The blonde looks to you again, quirking an eyebrow in place of repeating his question, and you introduce yourself quietly in response.

“No shit? Yer Omi-kun’s girl?” A wide smile breaks across his inhumanly handsome face. “Ya never told us she’s a—“

“Fuck off, Miya.” Sakusa’s voice is low and warning, and you fight back a shiver at the unfamiliar hostility in his tone.

You’ve heard Kiyoomi upset before, but now? He sounds downright vicious.

But even as the uttered threat hangs heavy in the air, you heartbeat can’t help but flutter at being called his girl. At the fact that this Miya seemed to know of you by name, though you’d never once heard of him.

“Miya Atsumu,” the blonde speaks again, an unruffled smile still lifting the corner of his lips as he introduces himself. “Nice to finally meet ya. Dunno if you know it, but yer all this old man ever talks ab-”

“That’s enough,” Sakusa snaps, but the damage has effectively be done: you know they can both hear the sudden excited acceleration of your treacherous pulse. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“But she’s just so sweet,” Atsumu whines a little, peeking further over Kiyoomi’s shoulder to grin at you, inching ever so slightly closer.

Sakusa pushes him back forcefully with a hand wrapped around his throat, so quickly you barely see it happen. A look is exchanged between the two men, tension crackling in the space dividing them. They’re fairly evenly matched in terms of build—both tall and broad in stature—but you can’t deny that there’s just something more imposing about the darker haired individual and the way he carries himself.

His grip around Atsumu’s throat is so tight, you know that a human neck would have already snapped under the force of it.

After a few painfully tense moments, Kiyoomi lets his hand drop.

“C’mon Omi, y’know I’m only playin’ with ya.” Atsumu laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder that Sakusa swiftly brushes off. “But yer gonna wanna get this little lamb outta here before the other boys catch wind of her.”

You sense he means it literally.

“They aren’t as well behaved as I am, after all,” Atsumu winks at you as he says it, something playful and mischievous lilting through his voice, and you can’t help but smile a little bit at his charm.

Sakusa scoffs, taking you by the waist and pulling you into his side as he begins to lead you away.

“Seeya later sweets!” Atsumu calls after you, and you turn back to see him waggling his fingers flirtatiously, a glint of fang peeking out from his quirked lips.

You almost hope he’s right.

“Put this on.”

You’re a few paces away when you feel the weight of Kiyoomi’s coat settle upon your shoulders, the command grunted at you with no room to protest.

It’s to mask your scent, you realize, and you grip the lapels between your trembling fingers, drawing it a little tighter around your frame.

“It won’t do nearly as much as you think it will,” the man at your side’s tone is disparaging, as though mocking the thought you hadn’t even expressed, “but it will mark you.”

“Mark me?” you reply quietly, struggling to match his pace as he guides you down the road towards the familiar outline of his sleek black sports car.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, a glimpse of red in the dim night.

“As mine.”

The drive out of the dark district is tense.

The only sound in the car is the soft rumble of the engine as Sakusa guns it, driving far faster than you’d ever dare. Soon the unlit streets give way to those illuminated by far more streetlights overhead, the unsettling atmosphere of the forbidden district easing with every block you travel outside of it.

You’re well beyond the dark district’s limits when you finally dare to speak beyond the two apologies you’ve already meekly offered up to no avail.

“Did you…” you trail off before you finish your thought, suddenly wrought with doubt that you should bring the subject up.

“I didn’t get the chance,” he understands even without you saying it, his voice stilted as he replies. Though you can’t see his mouth beneath his mask, you know his lips are pulled into a thin line, the tightness of his throat a telltale sign of the clench in his covered jaw.

“Oh,” you respond, quiet and apologetic. “We can go back, I could-“

“You’ve done enough for one night, don’t you think?” Sakusa hisses, and you watch as his knuckles tighten as they grip the steering wheel.

He draws in a breath that you swear shakes a little on the inhale.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that stunt you pulled was? How badly this night could have ended if I didn’t happen to catch your scent?” His fury is apparent in his tone, but his eyes never leave the road even as he scolds you. “Do you know what could have happened to you if I hadn’t gotten to you first?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper for the third time since you’d taken your seat on the passenger’s side.

You hear Sakusa swallow thickly beside you.

“So you’ve said,” he mutters lowly in reply.

You don’t speak again for the rest of the drive.

Sakusa’s penthouse is the same as it always is as the two of you step through across the threshold after a long, silent elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor.

Spacious and luxurious, with sumptuous interiors and priceless art lining the walls, it has the feeling of a museum more than a home. Immaculately clean, with not a speck of dust to be seen lingering on any surface. The entire place feels practically unlived in, an almost uncanny atmosphere hanging in the air.

Imposing. Tidy. Unliving.

Perhaps the space is a better representation of its occupant than you give it credit for.

You trail along behind Sakusa quietly, following on his heels after removing your shoes in the entryway and handing him back his suit jacket to hang up.

You linger on one side of the kitchen as he crosses the cold marble floor towards the refrigerator, fidgeting nervously with your fingers.

You watch as he wrenches the door of the appliance open, light spilling out across the impeccably polished floor and dancing along the stainless steel finishes around the room. It’s predictably empty, save for a dozen little silver packets with white capped nozzles on the centre shelf. He grabs one, not even bothering to let the door shut before he’s cracking open the pouch and lifting it to his lips.

It’s not what he needs.

You know that.

You know that bagged blood isn’t as nutritious or as satiating at the real thing. Not in comparison to a fresh feed.

He’d explained it to you once: he sustains himself, as most modern vampires do, on packaged, processed, pasteurized blood—though it’s the best money can buy, to be sure—and only goes to feed when he absolutely needs it.

The blood den you’d followed him to that night was an exclusive, members only club—reserved for the most respected and elite of his kind, with a price tag to match. It was how you’d known where to find him in the first place: it’s the only place he trusts the safety and quality of. He knows they only hire the best servers, take excellent care of them, and don’t overexploit them like a lot of other blood service establishments do.

You watch as he swallows down the contents of the sachet; one, two, three long gulps and then it’s empty. His nose twitches a little as he squeezes the last drops out, like the taste is unpleasant, or at the very least disappointing.

He reaches immediately for another.

Your eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple raptly with each swallow.

“Stop it,” Sakusa growls, crushing the empty packet in his hand. He doesn’t turn to look at you—his eyes fixed to the marble countertop in his shining, underutilized kitchen.

“What?” you ask him, blinking slowly at your eyes flicker up to his face.

“I can smell you from here,” he spits, finally turning to glower at you. “You’re practically dripping.”

Your eyes widen, legs clenching unconsciously together on the opposite side of the room. You can feel it: the slickness between your thighs, the slide of skin on skin as they meet at the apex, the sticky pull of your damp panties over your cunt.

“What about this is so arousing to you?” Sakusa stalks over to you, crowding you against the wall. “What about watching me feed gets you so wet?”

“It’s just… I-I—“

“You what?” Sakusa has no patience for your stammering, no patience for anything when you smell so good and he’s so thirsty.

“I wanna help you, Kiyo.” It’s not the first time you’ve brought it up. Not even the fifth time. You’ve begged him so many times to feed from you, only to have him shut you down on each and every occasion.

You reach up, slowly smoothing your hands along the firm planes of his chest. Your touch is tentative, like you’re approaching an animal that you fear might bite, but you revel in the feeling of the chiselled musculature hidden underneath the soft Egyptian cotton of his button-down.

Kiyoomi shudders under the gentleness of your touch, like even after all this time he’s not used to the way you imbue so much care into every simple graze.

Your pulse pounds.

“You’re impossible,” the man above you growls, teeth gnashing together as he forces the words through them. But there’s something else there: a fracture in his composure that you’ve never seen before, a fissure in the carefully maintained pretence of control he usually wears that you know is threatening to give way.

You stand on your tiptoes, gently fisting the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a kiss.

Sakusa tries to deny you what you want, tries to keep the kiss chaste; a simple brush of his mouth against yours. But the slightest little mewl from the back of your throat makes him snap—his lips parting as he presses you more firmly into the wall behind you, taking your face in one large hand and tipping your head back so he can kiss you like he’s taking it from you.

Your tongues tangle, slick and wet, and you taste the lingering tang of copper.

It makes something flare in the pit of your stomach: a tight coil of arousal, burning white with jealousy as you kiss the taste of someone else’s blood right out of his mouth.

Another growl rumbles through Sakusa’s chest as he smells the fresh wave of slick that seeps out between your legs, shoving the hand that’s not holding your face beneath the hem of your skimpy dress—right under the lace of your panties.

He wastes no time teasing you—he doesn’t need to considering the mess that’s already smeared itself along the tops of your legs. Sakusa’s long, lithe fingers crook the moment they slide inside of you, and he holds you upright on your unsteady legs by the grip on your pussy and the press of his body into yours alone.

He finds that spot that has your eyes rolling back effortlessly—like he always does.

“Is this what you wanted?” Kiyoomi pulls his mouth from yours and pants into your hairline as he rests his chin against your temple, his voice tight and angry. “What you were so desperate for that you walked into a district full of beasts who wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to tear out your throat?”

You moan.

“Kiyo, please,” you beg mindlessly, chest heaving with sobs that slip out before they even seem to fully form, crackling through your words. “Want it, wanna feel you, wanna feed you, please.”

Kiyoomi has had centuries to perfect his patience, to master his thirst, to develop a sense of self-control that most vampires never achieve. He’s a legacy—a member of a clan so old it’s seen the rise and fall of dynasties, empires, and eras. He’s stronger than a human mind can fathom, body corded with a power that could rase a city to the ground with nothing but his bare hands.

And you—foolish and fragile and human as you are—are the one who manages to break him.

Kiyoomi’s mouth drags down the column of your throat, tongue pressing against the place your pulse pounds most violently under your impossibly delicate skin.

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you hold him against your jugular. “I love you, Kiyo, s’much. Let me give you what you need.”

He lets out one long, low groan, and then you feel his teeth pierce your neck.

It should hurt, but it doesn’t.

Then you feel it: a euphoric warmth that spreads through you, turning your body pliant and your legs to jelly.

You’ve heard about this before—read about it in trashy magazines you bought with flushing cheeks from the checkout counter at convenience stores, poured over posts in forums on the internet that described the experience in first-hand detail that was a little more believable. Feeding a vampire is an intimate, incredibly sensual experience for a human.

A rush of hormones floods your system as he feeds from you, triggered by a chemical in his own saliva that keep you willing and writhing as he sates his thirst—an evolutionary response to make it easier for vampires to lure their prey and keep them in their clutches.

Because who would ever try to run when it feels this good?

People get addicted to the rush, and you understand it now as you float up up up on the high of Kiyoomi drinking from you. You finally understand how it leads people to jobs at blood dens, or even selling themselves on the seedier corners of the dark district just to get their fill.

Or more appropriately, their drain.

Kiyoomi groans, a primal, beatific sound, and you watch with hazy eyes as he pulls away from you. He throws his head back, fangs bared and smeared in crimson.

Blood.

Your blood.

You crash into your orgasm with no warning at all.

Sakusa’s fingers inside of you don’t stop moving as you ride the sharp edge of your release, clinging to him as desperately as your walls do to the digits trapped between them.

Before you can even blink you’re sprawled across his bed and his teeth are sinking into your neck again—on the other side of your throat this time—a perfectly symmetrical pair of bite marks framing the delicate column of your throat.

You don’t have time to question how you get to his bedroom so quickly. Don’t have time to notice that your pretty dress is torn in half—leaving your flushed skin bared as the two sides of a garment that used to be united hang limply on either side of your body. At least not enough time before you’re cumming again with a strangled cry of Kiyoomi’s name.

Your toes curl at your back bows, your body drawn so tightly you feel like you might snap.

He pulls back to watch you writhe underneath him—scarlet dripping down to the fair, chiseled point of his chin. His eyes are wild: red with fresh blood and a glint that’s downright insatiable.

Kiyoomi descends slowly down the bed, down your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he goes while you fight to catch the breath that evades you. Crimson lip prints trail in his wake that dry like an iron-ochre map imprinted to your skin.

Your panties are long gone as he settles between your legs—though you couldn’t even begin to guess where. He takes your thighs in his hands, guiding them up and apart, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pressed back towards your waist. He drags his tongue along your skin before his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and another wave of warmth ripples through you to override the ebbing pleasure of your second orgasm. A throb of lust tightens in your core, sending another drip of slick along your folds.

“Kiyoomi,” you call to him, breathless and wanting. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your vision fuzzy along the edges.

He pulls away from your thigh, laving his tongue over the two crescent shaped imprints of his teeth in your skin to soothe the wound—or not miss a drop.

“Yes?” his voice is even as he responds, but the feral look in his eyes betrays him.

“Do I taste good?” you whisper, feeling the corners of your lips pull in a drowsy little smile.

He pauses for a moment, pressing one last kiss to the bite mark between your legs before crawling back up the bed to cradle your face between his palms. It’s hard to focus your eyes, even when he’s so close to you, and nearly impossible to make your tongue cooperate in speech—as drunk off the feeling of him as he is the taste of you.

“You’re divine,” his words are breathed out like a prayer: reverent and pious.

Kiyoomi’s hands guide you where he wants you, settling your head gently against the soft down of his pillows, holding your quivering thighs back as he positions himself on his knees between them. He drags the head of his cock through the mess between your legs, the hot, velvety soft petals of your slick cunt parting as he pushes through them, the tip of his length nudging at the puffy, sensitive swell of your clit.

You can’t take his teasing, not after you’ve already cum twice, not when you already feel so spent. He seems to sense this before you muster the strength to do anything other than whimper, and suddenly he’s sinking into you.

“Oh—oh!” you cry out, voice breaking between the repetition of the word. “Kiyoomi s’too much, too much.”

Kiyoomi shushes you gently, a contrast to the sharp thrust of his hips against yours. In spite of your words, of your hesitation, your walls still desperately suck him in.

His thumb drags through the drool that dribbles from the corner of your parted lips, forcing it back into your mouth as his ruby eyes flicker between the place his cock is disappearing into you and the way your features are screwing up in pleasure. Your lips wrap around the tip of his thumb instinctively, sucking on it as he continues to fuck into you with long, forceful strokes that have the sturdy bed shaking beneath you.

You moan around the finger in your mouth as Kiyoomi pummels into that spot that has your vision going white, stars crackling across your already blurry vision as your entire body flushes, over and over again. You feel the slick sheen of perspiration clinging to you, and Kiyoomi’s low body temperature feels positively frigid as his skin meets yours.

“Kiyo, kiss?” you slur around his thumb needily as want burns white hot in your belly, and he doesn’t hesitate to comply your desperate request, his chest pressing into yours as he dips down to capture your lips with his.

He bites your lip as your panting mouths move fervently together—a simple nick, but enough to send a burst of copper and salt across your tastebuds. Kiyoomi’s own tongue chases the taste as it washes across yours.

Another surge of heat and endorphins courses through you as his tongue presses his saliva into your wound, blood and spit smearing down your face, and you cum with soundless cry—fingers clumsy as you scrabble for purchase in his perfect, unyielding skin.

Kiyoomi’s toppling over the precipice soon after, though his hips don’t stop fucking you down into the mattress through both of your rapturous peaks.

This is different from the other times he’s allowed himself to touch you; lacking the restraint that up until this point he’s been so steadfast in exerting. Limbs and lust and breaths entwined, you hardly feel like two bodies at all.

You’re one in every way, body and soul, down to the blood that runs through your veins.

You know, you both know, that nothing will ever feel like this again.

That nothing will ever satisfy either of you in place of it—in place of what you've found in each other.

The two of you are well and truly damned.

Together.

─── ハイキュー!! SUNDRESS SEASON

kenma, tsukki, kageyama, hinata; 2,321 words; highly suggestive, fluff, no "y/n", slightly sadistic!tsukki, gamer!kenma, jealous!kageyama, needy!hinata

summary: sundress by a$ap rocky plays loudly in the back

a/n: this wasn't supposed to be horny but then tsukki happened....

─── 研磨 KENMA

he’d never been against the idea of you becoming a streamer, even though some of his friends (kuroo, mostly) had objected with the fact that “you know you’re gonna have to beat off weird dudes on the internet thirsting over your girlfriend, right?” to which kenma’s response had been a nonchalant shrug, followed by a series of expertly aimed button-mashes.

“we’ll get mods for her chat,” he’d said, “it’ll be fine. plus, she’s not doing gaming stuff, she’s just gonna like talk about her day and stuff.”

kuroo’s exasperation was tangible, even though the voice call.

“right, yeah, that’s so much better.”

but now, kenma thinks, kuroo might’ve been onto something.

“yo ken, flash—” someone says. kenma jerks, yanking his eyes away from a small window of your stream, pulled up on one of his dozen or so screens, where you’re currently doing what you’d called a “summer haul” stream, popping in and out of the bathroom in your room, trying on dresses for your subscribers.

“and this one is one of my absolute favs,” you say, doing a twirl in front of your camera. kenma’s mouth goes dry — it’s a sundress, dotted in tiny little daisies, ruched at the waist, the thin straps tied in twin bows on your shoulders, the square neckline underlining the delicate curve of your collarbones.

“ken — the fuck —”

“sorry, one sec —” kenma rips off his headphones and mutes his stream, his video going dark.

a second later, on your stream, the door opens and kenma appears behind you, making you jump slightly as he loops a possessive arm around your middle.

“k-kozume! what’s up?” you blink, letting out a surprised laugh as he leans down to squint at your chat, nose crinkling at some of the comments flying across the screen.

“sorry, i forgot that we made reservations for dinner,” he says into your mic before ending the stream. you make an affronted noise, pouting.

“hey!”

kenma turns, his arm still tucked around your middle, and cocks his head.

“i don’t think you should stream anymore.”

“w-wait, what? kozume, where’s this coming from? you were so supportive of me streaming in the beginning —” you wave at your set up, “you even helped me with the rig.”

kenma frowns, not looking at you, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he sighs.

“i know but —” he cuts off, feeling a raw heat crawling up the back of his throat at the image of you on his screen, spinning in that sundress (the one you’re still wearing — god the fabric is so soft beneath his hands). he curls his fingers into the new material of your dress and drops his face into your shoulder.

“sorry, just —” he waves a hand vaguely at the setup, “this dress…” he manages, finally, still not looking up, “i saw you and…” he swallows around the lump in his throat.

you let out a tiny laugh, leaning back, your palms on his chest as you search his face.

“kozume… are you… jealous?”

kenma scowls, “no — i just don’t want my girlfriend prancing in a dress like this in front of a bunch of strangers on the internet.” the words tumble out of him, almost too fast to catch. he sucks in a long breath when he finishes, his eyes widening as he stumbles half a step back.

“a-ah — sorry — i don’t know where that —” he stutters, looking bewildered.

but you grin, looping your arms around his neck to pull him back. you tug him into a long, slow kiss, and you feel him soften against you, his thumbs drawing tiny circles just beneath the last rung of your ribs.

“how’s this — the next time i do a haul stream… you can get a preview of all the outfits and veto the ones you don’t want me wearing on stream.”

kenma crinkles his nose, bites back the urge to tell you that maybe he’ll just veto every single one. but the imploring look in your eyes is too sweet to deny. he sighs, nodding.

“fine,” he takes a step back as you reach for mouse to resume your stream; he pulls you back.

“we’re getting better mods for your chat.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes, “yeah, yeah, whatever you say, ‘zume.”

─── 月島 TSUKKI

“quit squirming.” tsukki swats at your hand as you try to tug at the hem of your dress. you whine, scowling down at him as the pair of you arrive at the top of the escalator and step off with the crowd.

“it feels weird —” you protest, but tsukki only tsks, his glasses flashing in the bright mall-interior lighting as he guides you by the small of your back towards the next store on your list.

“you were the one who wanted to come out shopping,” he says, his voice lilting into a sardonic tease. you sigh, feeling your cheeks prickle with heat as you feel another breeze between your legs.

“i — not like this!” you hiss as the pair of you duck into the clothing store, the bright lights flooding the colorful displays of summer outfits. you resist the urge to tug at the hem of your dress again, regretting every decision in your life that’s brought you to this moment, including the late-night purchase of the a-cursed sundress currently hugging your body.

tsukki wanders towards one of the meticulously set up displays and tugs at a shirt.

“this one’s cute.”

you frown at him. he cocks an eyebrow at you, watching for a solid three seconds before he drops the sleeve to the shirt, shrugging up a single shoulder.

“well, if you don’t like it —”

you hurry to his side, shuffling into one of the tighter aisles.

“it’s not that i don’t like it — i just —” you drop your voice, feeling your whole body burn as you press your legs. “i can’t believe you’re making me walk around without any panties on!”

tsukki’s smirk goes lopsided; his glasses flicker as he gently adjusts them up the bridge of his nose.

“like i said,” he heaves an exaggerated sigh, leaning down to back you up against a wardrobe full of pastel-colored croptops, “if you wanted to go prancing around outside in a dress like this… then i get to keep your panties.”

you chew on your lips, fidgeting with your fingers, heat roiling in your belly as tsukki leans back with what could only be called a sadistic shrug.

“kei,” you whine, but he only roll his eyes, unmoved. you sigh, deciding to change tact.

“what if someone sees?” you counter, to which tsukki only pins you with a deadpanned look.

“then let them see —” he leans down again, a hand coming up to brace against the shelf behind you, pinning you to the clothing rack. you let out a tiny squeak as his nose nearly brushes yours.

when he speaks, his voice is soft, sweet, smug and tantalizingly sadistic —

“then let them see… and they’ll have to live with the fact that they’ll never get to do anything else but a single look… cause this pretty little pussy’s mine, got it?”

─── 飛雄 TOBIO

the picnic had been your idea, so tobio tells himself as he leans patiently by the door with a large basket full of picnic-stuff — everything from chilled rose wine to finger sandwiches to strawberry tarts and just about a million other tiny, delicate, edible items.

“sorry, sorry —” you say, rushing out, putting in a pair of earrings as you stumble into the hallway by the door, “i couldn’t decide what to wear but i remembered that i got this a few months ago when it was still too cold to wear outside —”

tobio looks up, and the rest of your words fade out into a strange, muted silence as his head fills with a white-noise buzzing. he sees your mouth moving, the waterfall of your hair as you flip it over your bare shoulder, but the thing that catches in his chest like a loose thread around a chain-link fence is the dress —

and sweet god, what a dress —

dotted in tiny red strawberries, the hem frilled with a rim of delicate lace, the pleats pooling out from the scrunch around your waist, accentuating the flair of your hips.

he swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“— ready to go?” your voice fades back in as if someone had suddenly turned the volume back on as tobio shakes his head, feeling not unlike a wet dog, ridding his ears of water.

“no.”

you blink, “huh?”

tobio frowns, his eyes flickering back down to your dress, where it lingers on the neckline, the soft, stomach-clenching rise of your chest, the pendant necklace he’d gotten you for your anniversary two years ago sitting pillowed between the dip of your tits.

“not this one,” he says, shaking his head.

you stare up at him, your mouth slightly open.

“not… this one… of what?” you ask, clearly confused.

tobio grabs your hand then, tugging you back down the hallway towards your bedroom.

“t-tobio!” you yelp as he jerks you into the room, pulling open the door to the walk-in closet, “w-what’s going on?”

tobio huffs, whirling around to wave vaguely at you with an exasperated hand.

“you! i — we can’t go out like this!”

your eyebrows shoot up as you look between him and the dress on your body, a dull, pulsing heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“w-wha — i — i thought you’d like this dress — i picked it just for **—”

“i just… don’t want anyone else to see,” he says, his shoulder shrugging up and for a moment, he doesn’t look like an international sports star, for a moment, he looks like the awkward boy who’d stood outside the gym and asked you to be his girlfriend who knows how many years ago.

you let out a breathy laugh, looking down at your dress.

“so… i take it you like the dress?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

tobio sighs, closing the space between you as he tugs you to him, his large hands circling your waist as you press your palms to his chest.

“i love it… and i’ll be damned if i let anyone else see you in it but me.”

─── 翔陽 SHOUYOU

you’ve always loved shopping with shouyou, because who could ask for a better hype man? and for his part, he loves shopping with you, because who could ask for a better model?

you’d already been to a good handful of stores, and shouyou’s admittedly muscular forearms are slowly starting to run out of real estate.

“alright — you ready?” you call from behind the changing room doors.

“yep!” shouyou’s voice answers, bright as sunlight.

you giggle, pushing open the door and stepping out in front of him. he’s sitting on a large couch, surrounded by the proof of your very successful shopping trip.

you tug on the hem of your dress, shifting from one leg to the next, feeling a familiar heat creep up your chest as you watch him look you over with molten-honey eyes.

“so… what do you think?”

“whoa…” shouyou gulps as you do a twirl for him, a dull humming settling behind his ears as the lace-hemmed dress flairs up, showing more of smooth, buttermilk thighs. he clears his throat and sits up just a bit straighter, “it’s — really nice — i mean — you look so good,” he says, though he’s not sure if he’s doing a good enough job of impressing upon you just how fantastic you look in the sundress.

you still look doubtful, looking down at the thin material of the dress, the cute little pleats, the tiny tangerine pattern.

“yeah?” you ask, turning towards the full length and looking yourself over, twisting this way and that.

shouyou fights down a groan as you roll up onto your tiptoes and he catches a glimpse of your lacy panties as the edge of the dress kicks up.

“yeah — holy shit —” he swears, clearing his throat, suddenly feeling very, very warm for reasons he doesn’t really want to go into.

“so…” you trail off, turning back towards him, a silent question in your eyes.

shouyou quirks a grin before calling for a shop clerk and handing over one of his cards.

“oh! you didn’t have to —” you cut off as the clerk bows and takes his card to the checkout. shouyou coughs into fist as the clerk returns with the receipt. he signs without so much as glancing at the final number.

“it’s a pretty dress,” he says, even as he gently guides you back into the spacious changing rooms. you squeak as he squeezes in behind you, locking the door with a sharp click.

“sh-shou! what’re you —” you let out a bitten-off moan as he drops to his knees, his eyes blown dark and lightless, his warm, callused hands flipping up the hem of your newly purchased sundress, his touch nothing short of reverent.

“you just look so good,” he says, his voice debauched as he tugs down your panties, “i — c-can’t i just —” he breaks off as your breath hitches, your back hitting the floor-length mirror. you press the back of your hand to your mouth as his fingers inch up the back of your thighs.

“shou — please —”

“mm… you can be quiet for me, right? god, you’re so pretty — just lemme make you feel just as good as you look in this sundress, yeah?”

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @unriding @phroggii @fennecnco @inloveinsickness @simpingdailyforthem @jkj33w10 @ryescapades @katiekawls @ally-all-around @arahiraaai -- join the taglist

shouyou truthers: @dearru @neiptune @shoyosh

tobio nation: @mcdonaldsnumberone @lale-txt @hiraethwa @inloveinsickness @hiraethwrote

You slide into your regular booth later than usual - a sweating bottle of your tried and true choice saving your spot as you catch the tail end of some heated debate between Katsuki and your best friend.

“Okay, but he’s really nice Bakugou—“

“Nice? Y’need therapy.”

He holds an arm out for you to settle in under, turning his head to kiss your temple in greeting.

“Okay so maybe he’s not nice all the time, but no one is nice all the time.”

You can feel the eye roll from your boyfriend without having to see it. “Is he fuckin’ twelve? There a reason he can’t control ‘imself when he’s grumpy?”

She sticks her tongue out at Katsuki, and you turn to press your smile into his shoulder. It’s endearing, the way he’s fit himself into the lives of your friends. The way he genuinely cares, in his own harsh way - the way he wants your friends to be treated well. He’s a girls’ girl through and through, even if you’d never say it to him. They have this argument every week.

Your friend picks at the label on her bottle, pouting.

“Okay, but isn’t it enough that I love him?”

Katsuki throws his head back and cackles. It’s mean, but the three of you know that he means well.

“That ain’t love.”

She huffs at that, setting her bottle down to cross her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Katsuki. “You don’t know that.”

You feel him eyeing you then, and you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. He’s warm - the smile is in his eyes as yours pulls at the corners of your lips. He turns his head to take another swig from his drink.

“I know enough,” he says finally, arm around you tightening just a bit.

Your friend gags, and it makes you laugh. Katsuki is stubborn and crass, but he’s right about this.

prime alpha!tobio and his beta assistant—who's lived an easy, comfortable life free from the shackles and rigid hierarchical expectations of a secondary gender—who falls unexpectedly ill despite being in good health, with no known cause.

you're bed-ridden in your illness, unable to perform your usual duties—it's the first time in the year you've been working for him that you've missed a single day, and yet you're absent for almost a week. your symptoms include a low-grade fever, a strange abdominal discomfort, and just a lingering feeling that sits under your skin like something is wrong.

you visit the doctor who runs a series of tests, and though nothing comes back conclusively, the doctor sits you down and asks you some questions about your daily life. maybe it's stress, maybe an allergy, maybe some environmental factor has brought this mysterious illness on. but when your physician hears about your work, her expression changes. she consults the test results again, eyes scanning over the reports raptly. her final remark (and the pamphlets she sends you home with) all point to one thing.

tobio stares down at the piece of paper you've placed before him with a pensive, irritated furrow upon his brow.

"what's this?" he asks, his cold gaze lifting towards you.

you have your head lowered in a bow—the lines of your body rigid and uncomfortable as you stoop in deference.

"my resignation," you say, your voice thick but surprisingly meek.

"why?" tobio asks, something flaring in the centre of his chest. it burns like anger, but there's something more there too. something primal and animalistic that tells him, goads him, to fight.

you still don't lift your head. "i'm sorry."

that's not an answer, you both know it, and before tobio knows what he's doing, he's already crossed the room and snatched your wrist up in his hand. when your eyes meet his in surprise, there are tears in them. from this close (the closest he's ever been to you, he thinks) there's no mistaking the way they shimmer upon your lash line—how they well up the longer you look at him.

you're trembling, your knees wobbling underneath you, and tobio worries for a moment that you might buckle in onto yourself.

"i can't," you warble, "you—you're making my body weird," you say, lifting your hand up to your face and clamping it over your mouth and nose. tobio pauses, realizing that he's been polluting the air around both of you with pheromones ever since you placed the letter of resignation upon the table before him.

but you've never been susceptible to that before.

he processes this slowly while you tremble, his hand still tightly wrapped around your wrist.

his eyes widen.

saliva floods his mouth.

there's no way he can accept your resignation now.

SPOILERS!!!! Due to recent events.... Guess no more Twins and BrothersAU... Sike, just kidding. Now we have Twins, Brothers, and UncleAu (Canon, lol) AHAHAHA. The only thing missing is the Indian music in the background, cause that's the only thing that fits this Santa Barbara, lmao

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

arguing w bakugou is so funny because he gets bricked up when you yell at him.

mid fight you look down and just catch a glimpse of his dick print, look back up and smirk while he tries to come up with an excuse or win back the argument !!

Evil monsters should have big fat cocks they wanna bully into holes too tight for them and use their big wet tongues to lick up all your slick while leaving behind even more spit and wetness and slide their claws experimentally inside you while you cry big pathetic tears and let them find heaven between your legs

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. roomie!matsukawa ! — the masterlist.

disclaimer: these can be read as singular pieces or in order. each fic will be updated with its own set of tags. thank you for reading !

ᥫ᭡. MY ONLY VICE — mattsun always had a bad habit. but with your help, maybe he can change that. question is, are you willing?

‎꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, cigarette smoking, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, fingering, semi-public sex — WC : 2.2k

ᥫ᭡. STORMY NIGHTS — the thunderstorm rages on outside, but what can you do about the one inside of you?

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, unprotected sex, praise, minimal prep tbh, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight cervix fucking, creampie, light dose of aftercare — WC : 2.6k

ᥫ᭡. WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR — working at a funeral home can take its toll. aka mattsun comes home after a bad day at work.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : hurt/comfort, pining, cigarette smoking, mentions of death, mattsun has the beginnings of an existential crisis : WC — 1.7k

ᥫ᭡. THE WORST GUYS — the dating scene sucks. especially when the only man you actually want to be with is your roommate.

more coming soon …