+18 MDNI, as always!
《Tension》
Will be under cut because it contains spoilers and speculation on Tamsy Caines.
Evil Sphereite!Reader x Tamsy, also Evil Sphereite!Reader x Zodyl
▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎
Fate was funny. Seeing those eyes again brought several memories to your head. Memories from the times where you inhabited the Sphere. To you, it was your land. Your playground. Your charming personality granted you fans. Your stunning looks granted you lovers. Your cunning mind granted you all three in the form of Tamsy Caines.
Imagine being rudo's sister....pt3
- when you woke, you wished you had died in during the fall
- the air filled your lungs before you could even register that you're still alive
- when the reality of the situation hit you, out of desperation you grab something anything from your precious bag
- a bandana.. that glows.. and turns into a thick mask... oh well as long as it saves your lungs
- you put it on and instantly feel relief
- quietly you start trudging down the enormous piles on piles of trash and garbage...so this is where it all fell
- you walk and climb over the piles, gagging everytime something with a wrong texture touches you
- your eyes burn, lungs burn, mind burn
- still, you want to know from rudo himself, what happened to your father
- so quickly and quietly as to not draw any attention from what ever may be down here, you scurry to an area not as polluted
- once there, you cant help but to empty your guts behind a rock, your body jerking as it violently tries to squeeze the muck from your lungs and stomach
- you huff and lean heavily against a boulder, you're exhausted beyond belief but you know you need to keep moving if you want to find rudo, if hes even alive
- questions like "did he make it?" Fill your mind as you stumble foward
- the bandana served its purpose and happily went back to normal and into your bag, you're a bit of a hoarder after all
- it didn't take long before you came across a canyon like area, you read too many comics to walk down the middle and possibly be watched
- however a tire with spikes rolled right out the entrance of the canyon, that's... peculiar
- you can hear commotion going on inside and disregarding your better judgment, you quietly go in and hide amongst the rocks
- there in the middle is rudo, your little brother. his coat stained red with what you know is your fathers blood. the sight makes your blood boil and freeze at the same time
- your mind is not on the man your brother is beating black and blue, its on the question did he actually do it?
- you call his name, shuffling to him and wrapping your arms tightly around him, stopping him from punching the man anymore
- you hear his voice, soft, startled yet relieved. he never imagined anyone would willingly jump into the abyss just for him.. he thought you would believe the lie
- he squeezes you, hoping this is real, that you are with him and not his imagination dreaming
- you can feel your top getting wet as your one hand goes to the top of his fluffy white hair, the other subtly goes into your bag, grabbing something sharp
"when I got home, you were gone.. and dad was in a body bag. Rudo... they say you did it"
- he looks up at you, fat tears roll down his cheek as he explains. He got home to tell regto he successfully gave chiwa the toy... only to find regto bleeding out after a masked and cloaked man ran out
- you squeeze him in a hug, both arms wrapped around him. you knew now, your brother could have never killed regto
- it was the angry heartache that had your mind fuzzy and confused, that's why you blamed him
- regret for even thinking he would do such a thing has you squeezing the boy harder than you thought you would. as much as you hated looking out for him, you really are glad to be with him now
- you stand and put rudo behind you, a blond man with tattoos, a cigarette, and an old umbrella walk over
- you just witnessed your brother beat one stranger, for all you know this could be his buddy, though your suspicion falters as the look in his eye says more "there's more of 'em?!" than "imma beat the shit out of these bastards!"
"well I'll be damned. A girl spherite, this is really turning into a hassle."
Glass Shadows in the Dreaming
2k words~
Chapter 1
Many people did not know how to describe you.
It all depended on which version of them you met.
For example: If you crossed paths with an older woman who had just discovered her husband of nearly thirty years was in love with someone else, she would look at you with sharp eyes — as if you were a reminder of every ache she wished she could forget. You wouldn’t even have to speak. Her pain would ripple through you, shifting your features ever so slightly, tinting you with the echo of her heartbreak.
But meet someone who had just received the letter they’d prayed for — the one that opened doors, lit up futures, set entire families cheering — and they would greet you with warmth. Their excitement would soften you, brightening your presence until you almost glowed.
That was the nature of being The Echo.
You didn’t choose how people saw you. They chose it for you.
Their joy made you lighter. Their anger made you sharper. Their grief made you older. Their fear made you younger.
You were not their mirror. You were their afterthought — the feeling that clung to them, the part they couldn’t swallow down or shake off.
Some called you a blessing. Some called you a warning. Most didn’t understand you at all.
But the Dreaming did. And so did its lord.
Or at least… he once thought he did.
A tale as old as time—or at least as old as dreams.
The first time you had ever met him, you were still learning what it meant to be Echo: not quite Endless, not quite mortal, but something that existed in the reverberation between realms. You were unofficial, unrecognized, a whisper in the family’s lineage… and yet he heard you. Dream, with all his ancient gravity and impossible fragility, looked at you as though your existence made perfect sense.
The first time he accepted you, it was with that quiet, unreadable nod of his. The kind that made you feel seen even when the rest of the universe looked through you.
And the first time he loved you—well, that was the moment everything became complicated.
Because love was a thing Dream gave with the same intensity he gave everything else: absolute, devastating, eternal. And you, caught between worlds, were never meant to hold something so heavy. You both broke under the weight of it, in different ways. The relationship ended, but neither of you ever truly let go.
Even now, long after the last words had been said and the last doors closed, there was still something between you—an unfinished chord vibrating through the Dreaming. Echo and Dream, drawn back to each other by nature, by history, by the inevitability of who you both were.
You followed after him with excuses of, “Knowing you, you’d probably get into a fight or something, so it only makes sense for me to tag along.”
It wasn’t true, not really. You knew it. Dream knew it. But he also knew better than to argue—because no matter what he said, you’d be right behind him. You always had been.
Still, as you stood there now, in the middle of… whatever this was, you couldn’t help the flicker of frustration curling in your chest.
You were mad at him, sure—he had a talent for walking headfirst into complications—but you were even more upset with yourself. Because of course, you’d followed him. Of course, you’d let that familiar pull between you reel you straight into trouble. Trouble you should’ve seen coming.
The air around you felt wrong, as did the scenery. Too bright in some places, too dim in others, like a dream that hadn’t settled into itself. Dream was naked, and so were you; however, he used his own body to shield yours, blocking you from whatever waited beyond the warped glass dome surrounding you both.
You stayed still, not using your voice—something told you sound would be unwelcome here. Instead, you pressed your thoughts toward him.
You know, you murmured through your mind, eyes tracing the shifting reflections around you, when I said you’d get into a fight, I didn’t expect… this.
You still couldn’t see his face, but you could feel his gaze on you. Dark eyes: steady, unreadable, but not unfeeling—never unfeeling, not with you.
I had hoped you would not be involved, he said, his voice threading through your thoughts with careful restraint.
You blinked. Yeah, well. Hope’s never been your strong suit.
He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.
The silence between you thrummed with a familiar truth—the trouble he walked into, the trouble you followed him into, and the trouble you both kept circling each other, no matter how many times you tried to break away.
You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up here, in this strange, reflective cage with danger humming against your skin like static. But you remembered the beginning.
Dream telling you he was being summoned. Mortals—greedy, foolish, always reaching for power they could never hold. And you decided to tag along, because of course you had.
Your crystal tucked safely away. Your journal, your mirror, your lock—the tools of an Echo—with you. Dream’s cold hand gripping yours as his sand spilled downward, carrying you both through the veil toward the summoner.
Oh, how you wished he’d never answered.
Because the moment you arrived, you felt it. The wrongness. A circle drawn around you both, sigils biting into the floor. People watching from beyond its edge. An old man standing before you, like he already owned what he’d stolen.
You tilted your head, confused, just as Dream’s grasp on your hand tightened—hard enough to hurt, hard enough to warn.
And then everything shifted.
The world rippled. The circle constricted. Dream’s hold slipped from your fingers.
You reached for him—of course you did, you always did—but your hand closed on nothing but air.
The ground rushed up to meet you.
And then there was only falling
And that brings you back to where you are now—still stuck, still naked, still trapped with Dream.
The man sits before you both, leaning forward as if impatience alone could force a response. Whatever he wants, whatever he demands, it’s Dream he seeks.
“I know you can grant me boons. Power. Immortality. A promise you won’t seek revenge.” He pauses, jaw twitching. “Well? I know you can understand me. Say something.”
Silence. Heavy, deliberate. You remain still. Dream remains stiller.
“Damn you,” the man spits.
A boy rushes in, clutching a thick book. The old man calls him Alex, though he looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else than standing beside the child. Alex whispers in his ear, excitement spilling off him in bright sparks you wish you could taste—but whatever barrier surrounds this place keeps your senses muted, useless.
Your back rests against Dream’s chest. You rub your finger along his, a tiny motion meant to soothe him—or more honestly, yourself. Through all the time you’ve both spent in the glass dome, Dream hasn’t moved at all. Not a breath, not a muscle. You’ve fidgeted, shifted, tried to keep your mind from unraveling, but you’ve never once left his side.
And then, unexpectedly, his finger twitches. A single, delicate movement that matches yours.
To anyone else, even to your own rational mind, it would have meant nothing. A twitch. A brush of skin. But in the suffocating loneliness of the dome—even pressed against him—that tiny movement felt like a lifeline.
You let their conversation fade into a dull hum, your attention drifting inward. But then the boy’s voice cut through, bright with excitement.
“See? He’s Dream. Morpheus, Lord Shaper, the Prince of Stories… the Sandman.” He held up a drawing of Dream, lines sharp with awe.
“And that’s Y/N. Anomaly. Echo. The Queen of Memories.” Another drawing—this one unmistakably of you.
Your breath caught. Surprise flickered through you; you had always assumed only a handful knew you existed at all. Enough to whisper your name, perhaps, but not enough to draw you, to label you, to recognize you.
Not enough to remember you.
Yet here he was—a child holding your likeness as though it were common knowledge
Years—decades—passed with nowhere to flee, nowhere to hide, nowhere even to stretch your legs.
You had long moved past the embarrassment of being naked before anyone who wandered down those stairs. What lingered instead was curiosity. Wonder. Dread. What dream occupied his mind all this time?
Was he plotting? Worried? …Scared?
You could only ask these questions in the silence of your own thoughts.
One evening, Alex and the old man—Burgess, as you had come to know him—descended into the cellar with a woman trailing behind them.
She circled the dome slowly, inspecting you the way one might study an oddity in a traveling show. Not a human—because you weren’t one—but not a person, either. Just a curiosity. A thing.
Your body never moved, but your eyes followed her, unblinking.
She approached Burgess, and he handed her Dream’s sand. Their voices were muffled through the barrier, but her gestures were unmistakable: she spread the sand across her skin, reveling in it, breathing it in with greedy fascination.
She spoke briefly with Alex, inhaling the sand again before he guided her back toward the stairs. At the threshold, Alex hesitated, turning to look at you both.
You met his gaze with a stare sharp enough to pierce the glass. Dream’s stare, you knew, was sharper still.
Years and decades continued to pass, and still—you felt nothing.
You trusted Dream with all your heart. You had followed him across ages, realms, and stories. But now, doubt whispered at the back of your mind. Would you ever escape this prison? And if freedom did come, how would it come?
You wished you could speak to him. Hear him. Feel him. But he remained still, unyielding, unmoving.
You admired that—his patience, his discipline, the impossible control of it. Yet part of you ached for him to do something. Anything. And maybe he was. Maybe he had been trying all along, in a way you couldn’t sense or comprehend.
You didn’t know anymore. You weren’t sure of anything.
Like clockwork, Burgess made his way down the stairs to where he held you captive. Through the glass dome, you had watched him shrivel from arrogance to frailty, from a man grasping for eternity to a creature terrified of its approach. Sentiment wasn’t something you often felt for mortals, yet watching his slow decay stirred something—pity, perhaps. Resignation.
Not that you could have saved him even if you wanted to. You couldn’t see his memories anymore. You couldn’t do anything.
He leaned heavily on his cane, coughing until the sound rattled the air.
“It’s your fault! Damn you!” he wheezed. “You aren’t Death, but you live forever. You haven’t aged a day since I caught you. You could have given me power beyond my wildest dreams.” His voice cracked. “I… I didn’t have to get so old. I shouldn’t have had to get old.”
You only stared, expression empty, carved from silence.
“That’s it, let it out,” a soft voice murmured.
You knew that voice instantly.
Death.
The first person—besides Dream—to accept you. To help you settle into your existence. Your first friend.
She knelt beside the dying man, comforting him as gently as she guided all mortals toward their next journey. When she finally rose, she turned to the two of you.
“I’m sorry, little brother… y/n…” Her voice wavered. “There’s nothing I can do. I… I miss you.”
You had always been easily moved: an injured animal, a sad song, a fleeting memory—and tears were already threatening. But hearing her voice after… gods, who knew how long? The years blurred together, meaningless in captivity.
To see someone you loved—someone who had once held you like family—shattered something inside you.
You wanted to break free more desperately than ever. You hoped, just for a moment, that Burgess’s death would sever the binding circle. That maybe, with the caster gone, the prison would crumble. But nothing changed. Nothing ever did
©birdofwildness is introducing a new series...
⋆°·☁︎Dreambound series
Summary::They gave you to the King of Dreams to settle an ancient debt.You were meant to be a symbol. A tool. A bargain.But you’ve never been good at staying quiet.And he’s never been good at letting anyone in.Neither of you asked for this, but the realm is watching. And so are the gods.
Works::
DREAMBOUND PART 11.
Summary::Trying to come to terms with your husband dying can be challenging. (He's not dying...YET.. I was just trying to write an interesting sumarry💔)
Warnings/AN::Death is a racurring theme in this part,emotional distress,greek family sucks💔 So,hehe,I'm back. It's been a long time and idk if anyone still cares about this😭 I'm highkey waiting for this to flop lol. Oh—and turns out this is not the last chapter lol. I added everyone who used to be on the taglist. Also I have hinted at Y/N trying to tell him something, which isn't explained not even later. What do you think it is?
The room was awash in pale light, that tender shade between dawn and dream. Dust hung in the air and Death stood by the window.
“I must know if my husband will die,” you said. It felt almost vulgar, saying it aloud,the word 'die' and 'my husband' in one sensentence.
Death tilted her head, the faintest smile touching her mouth. “You must know,” she repeated, finding the words amusing. “And if I told you, would that change anything?”
You wanted to tell her yes, that you could still save him in time.
“He is your brother,” you whispered instead. “Surely you care what becomes of him.”
“Caring and interfering,” she said at last, “are not the same thing. I care for them all. Even for you. But I do not interfere.”
“You could stop this.You could warn him, help him, something, but instead you stand there, watching it all unfold as if you’re just watching a performance.”
Death tilted her head, studying you. “Because that’s exactly what it is, my dear. The story was written long before you and I learned to speak.”
You blinked. “Okay,” you said. “Not to be rude, but I wasn’t really asking for a metaphor, thanks.”
Death’s lips curved. “You prefer something literal?”
“I’d prefer something useful,” you shot back. “Like, I don’t know, a way to stop my husband from dying?”
Death’s gaze softened. “He loves you,” she said. “You should spend time with him, while you still can.”
Something in you bristled at that,at the quiet finality of it. While you still can. As if love was a ration to be measured out, as if time was already slipping through her hands and she was merely letting you know.
“That’s not enough,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite. “I can’t just sit beside him and wait for the story to end.”
Death’s expression didn’t change. “No one asks you to wait,” she murmured. “But some things cannot be rewritten.”
You wanted to argue,to scream that she was wrong. But her eyes were kind, and that made it worse.
...
The Dreaming had fallen into one of those long, honey-colored evenings. Clouds drifted and the lake reflected the sky so perfectly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
You sat on the old bench. That bench.Your bench. The one that had seen everything,from wary glances to whispered confessions, from distance to the slow and painful collapse of it. And now, somehow, you've always found peace here.
Morpheus was beside you, close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm with every breath he took. He looked softer in the twilight, less like a god, more like a man. He was still, eyes following the small ripples spreading across the water. You wondered if he was counting them the way he sometimes counted stars,one for every word he never said.You wondered if he would become a star himself. And if yes, would he shine bright above you? Would he grant your wishes? You don't think he would,not out of malice. But because your only wish would be for him to return.
You leaned back. “It’s funny,” you murmured, “how every time we fight or make up, we end up here. Like this bench is our confessional.”
He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the faintest smile on his lips. “Perhaps it remembers us better than we remember ourselves.”
You huffed a laugh. “Then it’s seen too much.”
“Perhaps,” he said again. “I am glad it has.”
You studied him for a moment. The way the fading light caught in his hair, how the gold of it softened the black like starlight brushing the edge of night. There was something almost human about the warmth behind his gaze now.
You remembered the first time you saw him. The king of Dreams standing silent among gods and ghosts. You had thought then that he looked like something carved, not born. All marble and, a man sculpted by solitude. You hadn’t understood how someone could look both beautiful and unreachable at the same time.
He looked infinite still, yes, but breakably so,like the universe had made him out of starlight and then given him a heart just to see what would happen.
You thought, not for the first time, that the Dreaming must have grown a pulse only because he learned to love you.
“I talked to your sister,” you said suddenly. “Death.”
At that, he blinked. “Did you?”
You nodded. “She said I should spend more time with you. That we should…make the most of what’s left.”
Morpheus inhaled. “She is wise. Too wise, sometimes.”
You smiled faintly, eyes on the horizon. “I must admit, I am rather fond of Delirium,” you said. “She doesn’t pretend that eternity makes sense. There’s something almost refreshing about that.”
He turned to you then. “My sister has a unique way of seeing the world.”
“Maybe that’s why I like her,” you murmured.
That drew the smallest hint of a smile from him, brief but real.He looked at you, and for a moment, the Dreaming itself seemed to still.
You were carved in quiet defiance of the divine. Light caught on the edges of your hair, the ghost of fire behind your eyes.
He had built kingdoms out of dust, shaped myths into being, yet none of them had your allurement . You, who were born of death and bloom. You, who could unravel him without ever meaning to.
His hand reached for yours.You let him take it.
“Do you regret it?” he asked. “Our union. The pain that followed.”
You shook your head, smiling faintly. “No. I regret the time we spent pretending not to want this.”
Something shifted in his expression.Some ache melting into relief, into awe. He leaned closer, forehead brushing yours. The smell of rain and ink and stars clung to him, familiar and utterly him.
You knew this was the moment. You could feel it. The universe had gone quiet just for you two, as if the stars themselves leaned closer to listen.
You’d practiced this in your head so many times. In the garden, in your dreams, even once or twice under your breath when you thought he wasn’t listening. But now, sitting here, with his fingers laced through yours and that rare softness in his eyes, the words tangled somewhere in your throat.
“Morpheus,” you started. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important. And you can’t—” you let out a shaky laugh.“you can’t overthink it, alright? Just… listen.”
He tilted his head, utterly unaware of how your world was about to change.
“I am with a—” you began, and then..
The wind shifted.The sound of sand spilling through unseen fingers.
“Morpheus?” you whispered, blinking as the light beside you fractured. His hand slipped from yours, scattering into grains of dreamstuff that sparkled once before fading into the air.
“Morpheus!” you called again, but there was no one to answer. The bench was empty.
You sat frozen for a moment, staring at the place where he’d vanished, your mind scrambling to make sense of the impossible.
Your heart still beat too fast, your hand still half-raised as if he might reappear and finish the conversation.But he didn’t. The garden was quiet, and the light had gone flat and grey.
“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, pressing your palms to your belly. “He just… sand-teleported. That’s fine. Totally fine. Perfectly normal husband thing to do.”
You stood, your legs a little unsteady.The palace wasn’t far, but it felt like crossing a desert. Each step dragged a little more.Get it together, you told yourself, and pushed the heavy doors open.
Lucienne was there.She looked up immediately, her expression shifting from calm concentration to alarmed.
“My Lady?” she said carefully. “What has happened?”
“He's gone,” you said finally. “He just... he just disappeared. One second we were talking, and then… sand, wind, poof.” You made a vague explosion gesture with your hands. “I think he’s been pulled somewhere. Maybe accidentally. Or maybe deliberately. I don’t know.”
Lucienne froze.“He’s gone?” she said again, almost to herself. “That means the Dreaming is unprotected.”
You blinked. “Unprotected?”
“Yes,” she said carefully. “If he’s gone… the boundaries weaken. The Fates may enter.”
Your stomach sank. “They wouldn’t dare,” you said. The Furies never needed permission, only opportunity.
“They will, if they sense weakness. And with the Lord of Dreams gone, vengeance would be swift.”
You swallowed. “I told them to stay out of this,” you muttered. “I begged them.”
“They are not merciful.” Lucienne replied softly.
You exhaled. “So that’s it? I just wait for them to crawl in through the cracks and finish what they started?”
She hesitated. “There is little we can do without him.”
“Wrong.” You squared your shoulders. “There’s me. They know my name. They won't shed family blood.”
Lucienne’s eyes softened. “My lady, you’re not their enemy.”
You almost smiled. “No,” you said quietly. “But I’m about to be.”
...
The sky above the Dreaming split in quiet fury. the Fates, the Kindly Ones, the ancient arbiters of endings.Their voices came first, a chorus of thunder.
The Fates stood at the edge of the Dreaming,between them, a mortal woman.
“We warned you once, niece of shadows,” they said. “Step aside.”
You didn’t move.Around you, the guardians stirred, the lion, the griffin and the winged horse.
“I warned you,” you said, your voice carrying farther than you meant it to. “You come for him, you go through me.”
The Crone smiled, all teeth and patience. “You cannot stop us, child. The debt must be paid. Blood must answer blood.”
“Ladies,” came the low, ancient voice of the dragon, wings unfurling wide above the palace dome. “Leave this place.”
“We are the Guardians of the palace,” said the pegasus.
“And we shall fulfill our function,” the griffin declared, diving down and landing beside you, feathers bristling. Its golden eyes burned like suns.
The Maiden of the Fates tilted her head. “You stand between us and justice, niece.”
“Justice?” you laughed once. “Is that what you call revenge these days?”
That’s when the mortal woman stepped forward,Lyta Hall, they called her. “He killed my son.”
You blinked. “Who the heaven are you?”
“I am the mother of Daniel Hall,” she said with fire behind her eyes. “And I have every right to be here.”
“Ah,” you said slowly, voice. “So you’re her. I’ve heard about you.”
Lyta’s lips curved. “Then you know why this ends today.”
Behind you, the doors of the palace burst open in a deliberate motion.Sand spilled from the threshold.
And then you saw him.Morpheus stepped through the storm. The light bent around him, even the Fates paused.
“Enough,” he said.
You turned, your breath catching.“Morpheus…” your voice cracked. Relief breaking through your ribs.
He met your gaze for a moment and the corner of his mouth softened.Then he looked past you, to the Fates.
“You may come in.” he said.
♱’¡!≡≡ BEDTIME
tw. noncon!!! and r4pe mentions, forced cuckolding, patronization, threesome, tiny bit pseudo-cesty, dom/sub themes, foul dirty talk
wordcount. 4.8k
a/n. ♡♡ after a very long wait I finallyyyyy finished this fic dear god <33 bless enjin that man is so fuckinggggg fine and I was so tempted to do another brother fucking fic but I tried to do smt different for once hAHAHHA I really like cucking so I hope I can write it some more sometimes eEEHH thank you for reading my loves
enjin x fem!reader x nijiku zanka
The headquarters is in an uproar. The front door’s been swung open. It lets in the most awful, whistling gust of wind as people run in and out with flashlights. There’s uncomfortable chatter in the air, glances that sting. And you, you’re trying your very best to keep a frown off of your face. To not blame everyone whose eyes linger too long. Easier said than done. After the person rummaged through rooms and left in a hurry in the night, presumably along with whatever it was that they broke in for in the first place, you’ve been left with this nagging feeling.
A sticky, uncomfortable edge that grates your nerves down to nothing.
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞ ⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga. >>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
- 𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
Talk to Me (Jax x Reader)
D: Like everyone else, you got transformed into the Digital Circus and you just so happened to have a mime avatar. Mimes can't talk right? Can't talk about complex feelings, or hold an actual conversation, you and Jax have a LOT in common.
Including abstractions.
a/n: most original writing with some scenes from the episodes,
____
THE SUPERCUT OF US
SUMMARY: it's been three years since you've seen robert. your break up wasn't going to go down in history as being the most amicable but was else could you expect after spending all those years together? but despite the souring end of your relationship towards the end, and all the years that have passed, there's something still there. lurking under the surface of all the hesitancy and skepticism. is the spark worth tending to? or will you both burn?
PAIRING: robert robertson x hero! afab!reader, slight robert robertson x invisigal
CONTENT: childhood friends to lovers, to exes to..lovers? multipart series, reader has a hero name (Lume, Luminara), reader has a background and some trauma to be uncovered, loss of a parent, slight description of an unnamed illness, reader does not have a relationship with their mother, slow burn, slight canon/timeline divergence eventual smut, mild angst (for now), robert can be a bit of a dick, no use of Y/N, pronouns used: they/them, little to no description of body type, and no description of complexion
WORD COUNT: 10K.
a/n: welcome to the series! super excited to have this out and see how you all enjoy it. this is my first gn/afab reader so if there's anything I missed in here please point it out to me! along with any missed tags as well! I hope you enjoy and lmk what we're thinking so far! all banner creds are in the tags, and more detailed credits at the end of the work!
An infinite amount of thoughts run rampant in your mind at any given moment. It wards sleep away from you half the nights of the week, it distracts you from your daily routine, and slowly takes more and more away from you every passing day. You fear that you may never be able to find a way to silence them. But the one that always manages to push itself through the crowd to make itself known is: whether or not your father would be proud of you.
You were on the edge of eighteen when your father passed. The man you knew, larger than life and full of energy, was taken away from you far before he died. In the end, he was bedridden, thin, and paled, but he still managed to find the energy to show how much he loved you every time you came to visit him. Your logical mind tries to undo all the damage that’s been inflicted upon you by saying, Of course, he would be proud of you. That your hiatus from hero work doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done - the work, the blood, sweat, and the tears you put in this life; that despite it all, you’re still a hero. Logically, you know that he would be. But you still can’t find it in yourself to believe it.
ROBERT ROBERTSON TWT LINKS
INCLUDES— fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, making out, groping, creampie, blowjob/throat fucking (?), body worship, spanking, grinding, breast/nipple play.
WARNINGS— 16 links, all of these videos are for afab readers/viewers, don't like don't read/watch, make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working please lmk !
Hi I saw your doing Dispatch request so can I request smut for robert with fem reader whose a wolf hybrid and a former villain and part of the z-team,and during the day she goes in heat and robert helps her out.
PAIRING: Robert x Wolf Hybrid Female Reader
SUMMARY: You are part of the z-team as a former villain but it seems that you started your heat earlier than expected but do not worry, Robert is there to help
TAGS: Heat cycles, Fingering, I know Robert praises, Semi Public, Nickname 'Wolfie' :')
A/N: I JUST KNOW ROBERT PRAISES THE HELL OUT OF US
"Great work out there team but Name I would need to talk to you for a second" Robert spoke through the communicator
"Ooo someone's in trouble~" Flambae laughed along side with Prism causing Robert to roll his eyes
"No one is in trouble" Robert spoke as he disconnected the line as he clocked out to go look for you
He finally found you in the locker room as you hurried to pack everything in your locker until Robert call out your name causing you to curse under your breath
"Do you have a moment?" He asked
You slammed your locked door shut, turning your whole body towards him "Sure.." You muttered
"Well I just wanted to see if you're okay, you seem very out of it and you're usually the concentrated one of the group, What's up?"
Robert seems quite worried, your ears pinned back on the top of your head as you looked away not trying to make eye contact "I'm fine"
"You don't seem and sound fine" Robert raised an eyebrow, now crossing his arms across his chest "Tell me what's going on"
You let out a huff "I started my heat alright" You confessed causing Robert to stay silent
Awkward silence....
"Rrrright.. so that's why your behaviour has suddenly changed" Robert asked "Yeah.."
"Want me to help you?" ....
"What?! You..." You stumbled across your words as Robert chuckled "It's okay if you don't want my help but I'm just seeing if you want help with your heat, it must be hard trying to handle it"
You felt embarrassed, rubbing your arm as you tried to form words but only nodded causing Robert to smile "Good.."
.....
"F—Fuck! Robert—" You let out a whimper, your head smacking against the locker behind you
Robert's fingers plunging in and out of you as your legs started to shake "That's it Wolfie, Take it" Robert teased
His fingers hitting spots you didn't know were there, you tried your very hardest to quiet your sounds down, I mean you guys are fucking in the locker room, anyone could walk in and see both of you
"Nngh.. pleasepleaseplease.. I need—" You whined, gripping Robert's wrist in pure instinct, Robert smirked "Please what? What do you need?"
"Please I'm so close—!" You moaned, Roberts free hand quickly covering your mouth "Shh— Be a good girl and try to stay quiet for me, Maybe then I could let you cum on my fingers
"Mhmhmh—" You muffled out hums and you nodded, your pleading muffled behind his hand as he continued to finger you
His finger gently curling causing your whole body to shiver and tremble beneath his touch "Good girl, doing so well for me.. Don't cum unless I say so"
You gave a quick nod, your legs about to give out
Robert watched your reactions until he said the word "Cum" He gave the command, his thumb rubbing your clit causing you to send over the edge
"Fphuckk—" You muffled out a cursed, your eyes rolling back as you finally released, Robert praising you for doing so well as you tried to catch your breath
You were about to fall on the ground until Robert caught you "I've gotcha, here let's get you cleaned up and re-dress you, how does that sound?"
"MhM' Your voice cracked a little as you felt like your energy was sucked out of your body, too tired to speak
-A<3
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Say it in Any Language// Seonghwa x Black!reader Part 7
you’ve watched every version of “pirate king” on your cracked iphone screen. now, you’re watching it in person — the man you love under stage lights for the first time. behind the scenes, your new job on ateez’s international team is chaos and caffeine, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧
english is usually bolded, but there is no english dialogue in this fic
you don’t breathe when the lights go down.
not really.
not until the first beat hits, and you see him — center stage, chin up, sharp in all black with wind in his hair like it was choreographed just for him.
and maybe it was.
maybe all of this was.
you’re pressed in the wings beside hongjoong’s older sister and mingi’s cousin, gripping your press badge like it’s going to fly away. they don’t notice you holding your breath. no one does.
but when seonghwa turns and his gaze sweeps past the crew, the managers, the shadows—
and lands on you?
you swear he smiles.
just a little.
just for you.
❀
you scream the whole time, as quietly as you can.
your nails dig crescents into your palms during the high note.
you almost cry when jongho does his knee slide.
by the end, your heart is wrecked and your throat is dry, and your phone is already buzzing from international fans reacting in real time.
"THEY’RE SO GOOD WTF"
"WHO’S THE ONE WITH THE PIERCING STARE???"
you grin.
that’s your man.
you barely manage to hold it together when the lights come up again. the crew starts moving. you’re supposed to be following the tour planning lead, getting notes from the PR team and forwarding everything to the translation hub.
but instead, you’re floating.
because they did it.
and no one can ever take this day from them.
❀
you find seonghwa backstage twenty minutes later.
he’s sweaty. glowing. gulping from a water bottle, chest still heaving.
you don’t run to him.
you walk.
because you’re not just his anymore.
you’re part of this.
you’re staff now.
so you wait until he spots you. until he sets the bottle down and walks toward you with that same smile — the one that started on stage, but never really ended.
“well?” he asks, arms open.
you don’t hug him.
you launch at him.
he catches you easily.
“you were perfect,” you whisper into his collar.
“you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs.
“you better not. the makeup still looks good.”
he groans, but you feel the way he holds you tighter.
like he knows this was your dream too.
❀
your first week on the international team is chaos.
there are thirteen emails about stage equipment.
seven zoom calls about u.s. visa paperwork.
you spend four hours translating an interview script because the machine learning software kept mistaking “pirate” for “pilot.”
and your group chat with the other assistants is full of unhinged midnight voice notes and crying emojis.
still, it’s the most alive you’ve felt since moving here.
every schedule sync, every fan call transcription, every lunch you skip without noticing — it’s all more satisfying than any job you've worked; it feels like a team that somehow, you're finally part of.
you even start using your old stan twitter to quietly boost content. no one knows it’s you.
you keep it that way.
not because you’re hiding.
but because this is sacred.
and you’re not sharing him with strangers unless he says it’s okay.
❀
seonghwa drags you to a pojangmacha on your first night off.
you’re half-asleep by the time the tteokbokki arrives.
he doesn’t mind.
he just leans in close, lets you rest your cheek on his shoulder.
“i saw you in the crowd,” he says.
you hum.
“i know.”
“you cried?”
you groan. “no.”
“yunho said you were shaking.”
you hide your face.
“leave me alone.”
he grins.
then goes quiet for a long time.
you think he’s finished teasing — until he whispers:
“you made me brave.”
you blink.
“what?”
he picks up a skewer, offers you a bite.
“on stage,” he says simply. “you were there. i saw you. and i knew i could do it.”
you chew slowly.
your chest aches.
he brushes hair from your face.
“ please don’t ever stop showing up.”
and you won’t.
not now.
not ever.
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Let me know what you think! Also if there's any points in the ateez timeline you want to see feel free to stick it in the comments or my request box!
Part 8 will be coming out in the next 2 weeks!
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Request are open
So I’m switching up I’m not really feeling like doing that color coding shit so I’ll just have Noemi pink and then the rest of them will be have the name abbreviated 🤗👍🏾
I lied like a mf with this, I didn’t even make Noemi pink she is the same as the rest of them I just abbreviated all of there names