𝓔𝓵𝓲𝓼𝔂𝓾𝓶

Enjin x female reader

Adult content nsfw

Enjoy loves :3

The rooftop wind was sharp after the long day of fighting, carrying the faint metallic bite of the city below, but up here it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you sweat, smoke, and the low hum of adrenaline still buzzing in your veins after tearing through trash beasts side by side until the streets were finally quiet.

You stepped out softly, boots barely making a sound on the concrete, and there he was: Enjin, leaning against the rusted railing, cigarette glowing orange between his fingers, smoke curling slow and lazy from his lips like he was exhaling the entire day in one long breath. His blond spikes were still damp with sweat, jacket half-open, the cherry catching in his yellow eyes when he heard your footsteps.

“Enjin?”

He turned his head slow, that lazy smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’d been waiting for you to show up and scold him.

“What’s up, princess?”

You strode forward, arms crossed tight, glare fixed on the cigarette.

“Don’t princess me. You’re smoking again.”

He watched you close the distance, eyes flicking over your face, your body, no shame at all. He pushed off the railing in one smooth motion, flicking ash over the side before his hand lifted to your cheek knuckles brushing slow along the curve, thumb lingering at the corner of your mouth.

“Bad habit,” he whispered, voice low and rough, smoke still clinging to the words.

You held his gaze, chin tilted.

“But you promised you’d quit… if I kept your hands and mouth busy.”

The smirk bloomed ful slow, wicked, victorious. He let the cigarette fall, grinding it out under his boot without breaking eye contact. Then both hands found your waist, fingers splaying wide, pulling you flush against him in one firm tug so you could feel every hard inch of him pressing into your belly.

“Now mouth,” he murmured, voice gravel-dark and thick with promise.

He kissed you slow. Deep. No rush at all.

Lips parted yours like he had forever, tongue sliding in lazy, possessive strokes that tasted faintly of smoke and him salt, heat, the sharp edge of battle still clinging to his skin. One hand slid up your spine, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other pressed low on your back, arching you into him so the thick ridge of his cock ground against your lower stomach through his pants.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, breath coming in soft pants. He didn’t speak just turned you gently, backing you up until your shoulders met the rough brick wall beside the railing. The city glittered far below; up here it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

“Hands stay on the wall,” he said quietly, voice velvet command. “Don’t move them unless I say.”

You obeyed palms flat against the cool brick while he sank to his knees in front of you, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. His hands slid up your thighs under your skirt, thumbs hooking the sides of your underwear and dragging them down inch by torturous inch, letting you feel the drag of lace over skin until they pooled at your ankles. He kissed the inside of your knee first soft, open-mouthed then higher, trailing slow, wet kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He took his time, tasting every inch, tongue flicking out to trace the faint tremor in your muscles, lips brushing higher and higher until his breath ghosted hot against your bare folds.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

When your eyes met his again, he held your gaze as he leaned in tongue flat and slow, dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, deliberate lick. You gasped; he groaned low in his throat at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.

“You taste way better than those cigarettes for sure, baby girl,” he rasped against your slick folds, lips brushing you as he spoke. “Keep me buried in this pussy all day, I swear on my life I will never touch them again. Your sweet pussy is heavenly against them ashes, love. I’d rather drown in this dripping cunt than take another drag.”

He did it again slow, deep lick, tongue curling just inside you before flattening to lap at your clit in unhurried circles. No rush. No frenzy. Just deep, worshipping strokes that made your knees buckle. His hands slid to your ass, lifting you slightly, spreading you open so he could bury his face deeper nose pressed to your mound, tongue plunging slow and thick inside you, fucking you with long, languid thrusts while his lips sealed around your clit in gentle, pulsing sucks.

Every time you whimpered his name, he hummed in approval he vibration rolling through your core, making your thighs shake harder.

“Enjin…”

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny, breath hot against your swollen clit.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Say my name while I eat this pretty pussy. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Show me how much better you taste than that smoke. Tell me you want my tongue fucking you open till you’re screaming.”

He dove back in slow, deep, relentless tongue curling inside you, lips sucking your clit in steady pulses, fingers digging into your ass to keep you exactly where he wanted. He built you up layer by layer, never letting you rush, never letting you come too fast just slow, deep, teasing worship. Long licks that dragged from your dripping entrance to your throbbing clit, swirling around the bud in tight, lazy circles before sucking it gently between his lips, tongue flicking the tip in quick little flutters that made your hips jerk forward.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned against you, voice muffled and thick. “So wet for me… all this sweet mess just from my tongue. You gonna come like this, baby girl? Gonna soak my face while I keep my promise? Gonna gush all over me so I can taste how much you own me?”

He plunged his tongue deeper slow, thick thrusts that mimicked fucking you while his lips sealed around your clit again, sucking in pulsing rhythm. His fingers slid to your entrance, two sliding inside slow and easy, curling against that spot inside while his tongue worked your clit in relentless, unhurried circles.

You were shaking now thighs trembling, hands scrabbling against the brick, moans spilling free into the night air.

“Enjin—please—”

He hummed again, the vibration rolling through you like thunder.

“Come for me,” he snarled against your folds, voice dark and reverent. “Come all over my tongue, princess. Let me taste how much better you are than those fucking cigarettes. Give it to me, every drop. Drench my face, soak my mouth, mark me so everyone down there knows exactly who owns this sweet cunt. Scream my name while you do it love let the whole city hear you. How good i make you feel when I eat you right, be my good girl and do it for me, aye?”

He sucked harder tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit, fingers curling deep and brutal until your vision whited out and you came with a shattered cry, gushing hot and wet across his tongue, his chin, his neck.

"There she is" he whispered between the licks

He drank it all groaning like he was dying of thirst lapping every drop, sucking your oversensitive clit through the spasms until you were sobbing his name, thighs shaking, knees threatening to give out.

Only then did he rise slow, deliberate kissing his way back up your body until his lips found yours again. You tasted yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet, and he kissed you through the aftershocks, holding you steady against the wall while the city glittered far below.

“Still mad about the cigarette?” he murmured against your mouth, smirk lazy and satisfied.

You could only manage a breathless laugh, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

He chuckled low, arms wrapping around you tight.

“Didn’t think so.”

He kissed your temple, voice dropping softer, rougher.

Hi so I'm back!! :3

Female reader x Enjin

!!Nsfw!!

The rain keeps its lazy rhythm on the window, soft enough to feel like it’s just for the two of you. You’re pressed back against him under the heavy blanket, bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces that have been here a hundred times before. His arm is draped over your waist, hand resting innocently on your stomach at first warm, steady, thumb tracing idle little half circles over your skin like he has all night.

He doesn’t speak right away. He never does when he wants to make you squirm.

The first real touch comes so slowly you almost miss it.

His fingers drift upward barely moving, just drifting until the backs of his knuckles graze the underside of your breast. No grab. No squeeze. Just that light, teasing contact that makes your breath catch anyway. He lets his thumb follow, brushing the soft curve in a wide, lazy arc, circling once, twice, three times, always stopping just short of the peak.

You shift. Just a tiny arch of your spine.

He notices.

“Already restless?” His voice is low, amused, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. “I haven’t even touched them yet.”

His thumb finally finds your nipple—feather-light, a single slow pass across the hardening bud that makes your lips part on a silent inhale. He circles the areola next, wide and torturously slow, letting the cool air under the blanket tighten everything further before he grazes the peak again. Barely. Just enough to make it ache.

“Look how hard you are,” he murmurs, voice dropping darker. “One little brush and you’re already begging without saying a word.”

He pinches gentle, slow roll between thumb and forefinger then tugs once, light, pulling the sensation straight down your body. Your hips twitch forward; he presses his thigh between yours, nudging them apart just enough to keep you open without giving you friction yet.

“Stay still,” he says, though there’s a smile in it. “Or do you want me to stop and make you wait longer?”

You shake your head, quick and needy. He chuckles softly against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.

“That’s what I thought.”

His other hand finally moves sliding down your side in a slow drag that raises goosebumps, tracing the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip, then slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. He doesn’t push inside. Just traces the outer lips light as breath up and down, up and down, spreading the wetness that’s already gathered there without ever dipping deeper.

“Soaked already,” he whispers, lips curving against your skin. “And I’ve barely started. What’s got you this messy tonight, hm? Thinking about my fingers? My tongue? Or just the fact that I’m taking my sweet time with you?”

He parts you gently one finger sliding along your slit in the same slow rhythm he’s using on your nipple coating himself in your slick, letting you feel how slippery you’ve become. Your hips rock forward instinctively; he stills them with a firm press of his thigh.

“Patience,” he teases, voice velvet and low. “You know I like to watch you squirm first.”

Only then does he slip one finger inside slow, so slow you feel every ridge as he sinks in to the first knuckle, then the second. He curls it gently, stroking that soft, spongy spot while his thumb finally settles on your clit small, lazy circles that match the rhythm of his finger inside you.

“Feel that?” he breathes against your ear. “How deep I am already? And you’re clenching like you’re scared I’ll take it away.”

He adds a second finger stretching you open with the same unhurried care pumping in long, languid strokes that make wet little sounds under the blanket. His thumb keeps those maddening circles on your clit slow, firm, never speeding up, just building and building until your thighs tremble and your breathing turns ragged.

“God, listen to you,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your neck. “Making those pretty little sounds… dripping down my wrist like you can’t help it. You’re so fucking wet, princess. So needy. And I’m not even close to done teasing you.”

He curls both fingers deeper, grinding against that spot while his thumb presses just a fraction firmer still slow, still deliberate, still refusing to give you the pace you’re starting to crave.

“Tell me,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear again. “Tell me how bad you want to come. Beg for it nicely… or I’ll keep you right here teetering, aching, soaking my hand for as long as I want.”

His fingers slow even more agonizingly slow drawing out every stroke, every curl, until you’re whimpering, thighs shaking, completely at his mercy under the warm weight of the blanket.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, voice thick with satisfaction. “Use your words. Beg me to let you come… or I’ll edge you until you’re crying and still won’t let you tip over.”

He pauses fingers buried deep, thumb resting still over your throbbing clit waiting, lips curved in that slow, wicked smile you can feel against your skin, giving you no choice but to break first.

You’re trembling now, every slow stroke of his fingers inside you drawing out a fresh wave of slick that coats his hand. The blanket traps the heat, the wet sounds, the way your breath keeps hitching every time his thumb drags another lazy circle over your clit. He’s relentless in the gentlest way never speeding up, never letting the rhythm falter, just building and building until your thighs shake and your hips chase his hand without permission.

“Enjin…” The name slips out on a broken whimper, barely audible, muffled against the pillow. Your voice cracks on the second syllable, needy and small.

He hums against your neck, lips curving into a slow smile you can feel. “Mmm. That’s it, princess. Say my name again. Let me hear how desperate you sound.”

His fingers curl a little deeper slow, deliberate pressing right against that spot that makes your back bow. You gasp, the sound turning into another soft, trembling whimper. “E-Enjin… please…”

“Please what?” His voice is velvet, low and teasing, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “Please keep going slow? Please don’t stop? Or please let you come before you lose your mind?”

You try to answer but all that comes out is a shaky “ah—” followed by his name again, drawn out and wrecked. “Enjin… mmm…”

He chuckles softly dark, satisfied and rewards you by pressing his thumb firmer against your clit, still circling, still slow, but with just enough extra pressure to make your hips jerk forward. “Fuck, listen to you. Whimpering my name like that… you’re so close, aren’t you? I can feel it. This pretty little pussy’s fluttering around my fingers, begging to come.”

Another slow thrust of his fingers, another lazy drag of his thumb. Your thighs clamp around his hand; your breath comes in short, desperate pants.

“Say it again,” he whispers, kissing the side of your neck. “Whimper my name while you ride my hand. Let me hear how bad you need it.”

“Enjin…” It’s louder this time, cracked and pleading, your voice shaking on every syllable. “Enjin—please—ah—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, lips against your ear. “Keep saying it. Keep whimpering for me. You’re doing so good… so fucking good. Just a little longer. Let it build. I want to feel you come apart while you’re moaning my name.”

His fingers slow even more agonizingly slow curling deep, thumb pressing steady circles, drawing every tremor, every broken sound out of you until your whole body is taut and trembling, right on the edge, waiting for him to decide when you get to fall.

You’re shaking now really shaking your thighs clamped tight around his hand, hips rocking in tiny, helpless jerks against his fingers as the slow, relentless build finally snaps.

“Enjin—” His name comes out broken, high and desperate, muffled against the pillow as your back arches hard off the mattress. Your mouth falls open on a silent cry that turns into a trembling whimper, eyes squeezing shut while your whole body locks up.

He feels it the instant you tip over your walls fluttering wildly around his fingers, clenching in hard, rhythmic pulses that milk every slow curl he gives you. Slick floods his hand in hot, wet waves; you gush around him, soaking his wrist, the sheets, the inside of your thighs. The sound is obscene under the blanket soft, wet, filthy and he groans low against your neck, lips pressed to your skin like he’s trying to taste your release through it.

“That’s it… that’s my girl,” he whispers, voice rough and wrecked with pride. “Come for me,baby … just like that. Fuck, you’re squeezing so hard look at you, soaking everything.”

He doesn’t stop doesn’t speed up either. Keeps the same torturously slow rhythm: fingers curling deep, thumb pressing steady circles over your throbbing clit, drawing every tremor, every pulse out of you until your hips stutter and your moans turn into soft, hiccuping sobs. Your body jerks once, twice, then melts limp and trembling against him as the waves roll through you in long, syrupy aftershocks.

He finally eases his fingers free slow, careful letting you feel the drag of every inch before he slips out completely. His hand stays between your thighs, palm cupping you gently now, warm and steady, soothing the oversensitive flutter while you pant against the pillow.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck, then your shoulder, soft and lingering. “You did so fucking good… came so hard for me. Look at the mess you made my hand’s drenched, your thighs are shaking… you’re perfect.”

He shifts, turning you gently in his arms until you’re facing him. His clean hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness at the corner of your eye while the other stays low, resting possessively over your still-pulsing core.

“Eyes on me,” he says softly, voice thick with something tender. “You okay? Still hurting, or did I finally take it all away?”

He kisses you then slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while he holds you close, blanket tangled around you both, rain still falling outside like it’s applauding every shaky breath you take.

Qin shi Huang x female reader

You are a miraculous Egyptian princess with pale skin and ethereal Egyptian features violet eyes and black hair of the Celesta royal family. Your presence and appearance intrigue Qin Shi Huang during your travels in China. The secret behind your name carries profound depth, which will be revealed gradually as the story unfolds.

Your journey in china

During your travels to China, fate drew you repeatedly into the orbit of Qin Shi Huang, the Emperor of China the King of Beginning. Your encounters were never planned, yet never accidental. Each meeting left him more intrigued than the last. No Chinese princess, no noblewoman of his own empire, held his attention the way you did. And so, he never missed an opportunity however brief to claim even a single conversation with you.

Tonight was no exception.

The Grand Festival shimmered with lantern light and ceremony, and you stood among the honored guests as the Princess of Egypt. Draped in flowing green, you looked ethereal, timeless an embodiment of something ancient and untouchable.

As Qin entered the hall, his steps slowed.

His eyes found you instantly.

For a brief moment, the emperor of a vast empire paused taking in your presence, your bearing, the quiet authority you carried without effort. Then a faint smirk curved his lips as he approached, measured and deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Ah, Your Highness…”

His voice was smooth, controlled, carrying the weight of a ruler accustomed to being obeyed.

“Egypt has truly blessed us with its finest treasure today.”

You turn to look at him, confident and imposing as always, a presence that demanded attention in any room.

“Well, if it isn’t the Qin Shi Huang himself,” you said, your voice smooth, carrying both curiosity and the subtle power of command. “Tell me, Your Highness, what brings the Emperor of China here?”

Qin’s eyes met yours, sharp and calculating, yet tempered with amusement. He allowed a moment, letting the anticipation linger, before speaking, each word deliberate, weighted with authority.

“Oh, don’t call me Your Highness,” he said, his tone low and controlled, yet threaded with a faint warmth that betrayed his interest. “It doesn’t befit the suit you have chosen for me. You may call me Qin.”

“Well,” you replied, the corner of your mouth lifting in that faint, teasing smile only you could wield so effortlessly, “if that is what you desire, then so be it. Yet my question remains: perhaps you were too desperate to see me?”

A soft chuckle escaped him, resonant and deep, echoing the quiet power he carried as ruler of an empire. The subtle amusement in his voice was unmistakable a recognition of your audacity, your fearless confidence.

“Perhaps,” he said, his tone laced with both jest and curiosity, “I was compelled… by the sight of you. Compelled, yet cautious, for few can match such presence without… consequence.”

He chuckled again, this time with a hint of admiration, the sound rich and restrained, befitting an emperor who rarely allowed himself indulgence.

"I'm honoured." you replied.

For a moment, both of you fell silent, standing together in the midst of the glittering festival. You were tall, as he was, and that had always been an advantage never intimidated by the emperor’s presence, able to meet him eye to eye without faltering.

Yet today, for reasons neither of you would admit aloud, not a single glance had passed between you. Words flowed effortlessly, but eyes had avoided each other, skimming over the crowd, scanning the festival, acting as though neither of you were bound by the invisible thread that pulled at your attention. And yet, you could feel it now his gaze burning into your skin, deliberate, measured, unrelenting.

“Well, if you’re done staring, perhaps you should go and greet your other fellow attendants,” you teased, your tone light but sharp, the faintest edge of mischief curling your words like a dagger wrapped in silk.

He was caught off guard, the momentary surprise flickering across his otherwise impervious expression. He cleared his throat, a deliberate motion, carrying the weight of centuries of authority yet betraying a hint of vulnerability.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice smooth, measured, each word deliberate, echoing the cadence of an emperor who rarely conceded error. “I did not mean to stare… yet your beauty is… quite overwhelming. The other attendants yes, of course though they pale in comparison. It seems hardly worthy of attention, but I shall,” he added, the finality of the phrase tempered with polite duty.

He began walking, excusing himself with the grace and restraint befitting a sovereign, yet every subtle motion betrayed the truth: he did not wish to leave. Every step away from you was a calculated compromise, a careful balancing of desire and decorum. He could not appear desperate, for even the most powerful ruler must never seem governed by longing. And yet, in the measured arc of his movement, the world if one looked closely could see the faint rebellion of will, the silent acknowledgment that he wished, more than anything, to remain in your presence.

You were also busy attending to other princesses from distant continents, yet Qin’s gaze never strayed far from you. You allowed yourself a single glance in his direction, and though brief, it seemed to anchor him entirely. Even beneath the blindfold, the intensity of his focus was unmistakable you could sense the tension in his posture, in the subtle tightening of his jaw, in the measured grace of his movements.

Though you had never seen his true eyes in life, only in the rare paintings he permitted of himself, you knew them in essence: a startling blue, with a solitary star nestled in the center. Unique, impossible to forget. And yet, the mystery remained why did he always wear the blindfold? The question lingered in your mind, tantalizing, unanswerable.

Before your thoughts could wander further, your eyes met his. For the first time since your arrival at the festival, the two of you shared a gaze. He stared undaunted, commanding, utterly present and for the first time, you felt the full weight of his attention. The world around you dissolved.

He excused his attendants with the quiet authority of a ruler whose command brooked no denial. “Uh… Your Highnesses, may I steal the princess for a moment?” he asked not requested, but commanded, the words carrying the subtle imperiousness of one accustomed to obedience. They bowed immediately, relinquishing you to him.

He extended his hand. You studied it for a moment: strong, deliberate, the callouses of command tempered by the care with which he offered it to you. Then, slowly, deliberately, you placed your delicate hand in his.

He led you through the festival crowds with a careful precision, each movement elegant and controlled. His rough palm brushed against your brief, electric an unspoken reminder of the subtle power exchange between sovereign and equal. Every step he took was measured, every motion deliberate, and yet entirely fluid, as if the very ground itself bent to his presence.

Together, you moved out of the and into a garden illuminated with countless lanterns, fountains glittering like captured starlight, and flowers that spilled color across the pathways. Towering above it all, a Chinese dragon statue seemed to watch over you, majestic and eternal, echoing the weight of his empire in its stillness.

You both walked together in silence, the soft murmur of fountains and the glow of lanterns creating a private world amidst the festival chaos.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice calm, appreciating the tranquility that seemed to exist just for the two of you.

“It indeed is,” he replied, his tone measured, deliberate, each word carrying the weight of a ruler accustomed to precision. “I often take walks here.”

You hesitated, then spoke carefully, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

He smiled, a subtle curve of his lips, fully aware of the question that lingered unspoken between you: the mystery of the blindfold.

“You can ask,” he said, his voice even, regal, yet soft enough to invite curiosity.

“Why are you dressed in woman’s clothing?” you asked bluntly.

For the briefest moment, he was caught completely off guard. The question was audacious, direct a boldness few dared, yet not unexpected coming from you. He regained his composure with the ease of one accustomed to command, each motion controlled, his voice settling into a calm cadence that demanded attention.

“No one has ever asked me that, or dared to,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, measured. “And of course, you would be the one to ask me that. I am not surprised. So, I may answer. No one knows this, but it’s the outfit my master used to wear… actually, not my master more like mother.”

He smiled, a subtle, reflective gesture, eyes lowering slightly as if recalling something sacred.

Now it made sense to you.

“You must care about her much,” you said softly, curiosity tempered with respect.

“I do,” he admitted, voice tinged with a rare vulnerability, “but she’s long gone.”

“Ah… my sincere condolences. I didn’t know.”

“No, it’s fine. I love to talk about her,” he said, the authority in his voice softened by reverence.

You listened as he continued, each word deliberate, each memory treated as a relic:

“She taught me everything. My life was hell before she came into it. She taught me how to laugh, how to cry, how to survive, how to fight, how to live, and how to become a proper king. I see her more as mother than my master,” he said, the weight of his truth settling between you.

You smiled, touched by his reverence. “She sounds like a kind woman,” you said.

“She was,” he admitted quietly, eyes distant. “She died protecting me. She told me to become the most amazing king and make my people happy.”

“Did she… well, at least you’re an amazing king as she wanted,” you said, your voice warm, genuine.

He turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting beneath the blindfold, a small, measured smile touching his lips. “You think so?” he asked, his tone carrying both curiosity and the rare vulnerability of someone used to command yet rarely questioned.

“Yes,” you said firmly, your words deliberate. “Considering everyone in this kingdom seems happier than ever, it proves that you’re an amazing king.”

A smile spread across his face, rare, genuine, and full of quiet pride a fleeting crack in the armor of an emperor whose life had been sculpted by duty, loss, and devotion.

“Do you judge me?” he asked, his tone deliberate, measured, as if weighing your answer before it was spoken.

“Why’d I?” you replied lightly, though your curiosity was clear.

“For me… always being in women’s attire, as a man,” he said, his voice carrying the authority of one accustomed to command yet tinged with genuine vulnerability.

“No,” you said firmly, meeting his quiet intensity with confidence. “I possess no authority to judge such an act.”

He blinked, taken aback by your composure.

“You do not?” he asked, his voice sharper now, probing. “Find it… rather unmasculine?”

“No, at all,” you replied, smiling with warmth and ease. “It’s completely fine. Be yourself. Be whatever you want to be.”

A pause lingered, and then he spoke, voice low, rare vulnerability threading his words. “You’re the first person… not to judge.”

“Who dared to judge the Highness?” you asked, teasing, the corners of your lips tilting upward.

“Nobody… yet I can feel it in their demeanor, in their eyes,” he said, voice measured, precise, betraying the subtle irritation of a man constantly observed, constantly weighed.

“Don’t mind their attention,” you said softly, assuredly. “They’re mere interruptions to your uniqueness.”

He smiled, a small, rare flicker of amusement and intrigue. “You intrigue me,” he said, as always, his words deliberate, curling around your presence like smoke.

“I’m honoured—”

“That none other, none other noble woman has,” he interrupted, voice firm, commanding yet tinged with private intensity.

You went silent, feeling the warmth of your cheeks burning at the weight of his gaze. He noticed, no doubt, yet said nothing, letting the unspoken tension linger between you.

Your eyes wandered, drawn by the crimson petals swaying in the lantern light. “Oh, look—it’s spider lilies,” you said, running lightly toward them, your excitement effortless.

“Ah, indeed,” he replied, following, voice calm but edged with quiet pride. “One of my favorites.”

“Mine too!” you exclaimed, delighted.

He moved beside you, kneeling gracefully, mirroring your motion. Together, your hands brushed lightly as you reached for the same flower. With careful restraint, he withdrew, letting you take it first. As you stood, holding the flower between you, he rose as well, matching your posture, their quiet proximity charged with tension.

“It symbolizes rebirth,” he said, voice low, deliberate, as if speaking both to you and to the weight of history itself.

“And death in Egypt,” you added after a pause, the contrast rolling from your lips like a quiet lesson in duality.

“Very opposing symbols,” you said softly, pondering the dichotomy, the shared flower suspended between life and death, the tension between worlds reflected in a single, fragile bloom.

“Life and death,” you murmured, your fingers brushing the delicate petals of the spider lily.

“Two sides of the same coin,” he replied, voice calm, deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of one accustomed to weighing worlds, not just people.

He stepped closer, the red spider lily held carefully between the two of you, a fragile bridge connecting two entirely different worlds. His gaze lingered, unreadable yet piercing, and his voice dropped to a low, thoughtful whisper, rich with the weight of command and something far softer.

“Yet… I feel, for a moment, standing here with you in this garden, it feels as though life and death are not so far apart after all,” he said, leaning closer.

The proximity caught you off guard. Your breath caught as you inhaled the faint, intoxicating scent clinging to him.

“You smell like sakura,” you whispered, your voice barely rising above the soft rustle of the garden.

His fragrance carried a contradiction, delicate and floral, yet his presence screamed the authority and raw masculinity of an emperor in command.

“Is it… bad? For me to smell like a woman? This fragrance…” he asked, his words deliberate, careful, yet threaded with the faintest vulnerability.

“Something the nobles would think… not me,” you replied softly, your tone gentle but unflinching.

“And you… what, pray tell, do you think?” he asked, his hand brushing yours as the flower remained between you, the touch deliberate, electric.

“I think I like it,” you said, smiling, letting your amusement and approval linger in the warm evening air.

He drew in a deep breath, inhaling your own scent as though committing it to memory. The closeness between you tightened, charged with something neither command nor protocol could diminish.

“Princess…” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, almost a prayer.

“Odessa,” you answered softly, and the slight surprise in his tone betrayed him.

“My name,” you continued, whispering it with deliberate intensity, “is Odessa,” meeting his eyes beneath the blindfold, fearless.

“Odessa,” he repeated, your name falling from his lips like a sacred invocation, reverent and reverberating through the quiet of the garden.

“Not The Miraculous Egyptian Princess?” he murmured against your lips, a teasing shadow in his tone.

“No,” you chuckled softly, warmth curling in your words. “It’s just a title.”

He looked again into your violet eyes, his expression unreadable yet expectant, brushing his thumb across your cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His breath warmed your lips, deliberate and controlled, the weight of his presence pressing upon you.

“Your Highness…” you whispered, almost a plea, your voice betraying the flutter in your chest.

“I told you not to call me that,” he murmured, authoritative yet intimate, his tone a velvet command. “Just call me Qin. Say my name.”

Without hesitation, without waiting further, he pressed his lips to yours. The first taste was commanding, intoxicating, and entirely consuming. You yielded, letting yourself melt into him. His lips were absolute, divine, and when he bit lightly at your lower lip, a soft gasp escaped you.

His tongue traced yours with deliberate precision, mastery woven into every movement, while his hand slid to the nape of your neck, brushing over the sensitive skin there. The flower you held slipped unnoticed to the ground, abandoned in the intensity of the moment. Every gesture, every movement carried authority, desire, and the quiet insistence of an emperor claiming what was his, yet with the reverence of a man who had never met anyone like you before.

𝓣𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭...

ROR MEN X FEMALE READER

Qin shi Huang

Hades

Posiedan

Buddha

Beezlebub

Hades x female reader

Warning!! contains nsfw

You are a goddess with silver hair, crimson eyes, and silver tinted lashes. And your name is Sleath.An ethereal Goddess of Desire, you get whatever you want, which is exactly how you won Hades. You are married, but you argue constantly, for he is the God of Hell, Hades, and you, the Goddess of Desire, are his equal in power. There is always banter between you, each of you trying to dominate the other, and every encounter ends in argument

Sleath

You were seated in the heart of the celestial garden, surrounded by your female attendants. Crystal-clear fountains murmured softly, their waters catching the light like scattered starlight. Birds sang from marble arches and silver-leafed trees, their melodies weaving seamlessly into the serenity of the space. The garden was a sanctuary meant for peace, yet your mind was anything but calm.

You had come here to escape your husband.

The argument from that morning still burned in your chest, sharp and unresolved. You had refused to speak to him since, letting your silence serve as your weapon. Deliberately, you bit into the sweetest strawberries known to world, the juice staining your lips like crimson wine, though its sweetness could not calm the fire simmering within you.

Then, a hush of whispers rippled among your attendants.

“What is it?” you demanded. They froze, startled by the sharpness of your voice.

“It’s your lord, your highness,” one of the servants said cautiously.

“What about him?” you inquired, your tone dangerously calm.

“It’s been said… someone saw him with another… another—” she stammered, struggling for words.

“Another what?” you commanded, your patience thinning.

The servant flinched.

“Another woman!” she blurted, her face reddened, green hair tumbling forward to partially conceal her pale features. Beside her, a pink-haired attendant stood frozen, fear etched into her expression.

“Another goddess?” you asked, your tone deceptively composed, though the flames of rage burned brightly within.

“We… we’re not certain, your highness,” the pink-haired girl admitted softly.

You placed the strawberry back on the plate as a servant hurried to retrieve it, stepping aside immediately. Rising gracefully, your silver hair caught the breeze, flowing like liquid moonlight. Every step you took caused your white robe to sway elegantly, the golden jewelry adorning your hips jingling softly a melancholic hymn accompanying your movement.

“Are you certain of what you are saying?” you asked, towering over them.

They did not dare meet your gaze.

“Y-yes, your great highness.”

You hummed softly, turning away, then set off toward the king’s chambers. Your steps echoed through the vast halls, each one sharpening the fire of your wrath.

King.

You scoffed inwardly at the title. You cared little for it—and that, more than anything, was precisely what unsettled the King of Helheim, Hades. You adored the sparks of irritation you could evoke in him.

Without knocking, you slammed open the double doors.

The scene before you made your silver lashes flutter in controlled shock. Hades stood close to a woman, far too close for comfort. Perhaps he truly did have a death wish. The woman did not look like a goddess; her black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her tan skin contrasted vividly with the green dress she wore.

“HADES, ARE YOU NOT AWARE OF MY RAGE?!” you roared, your voice echoing through the chamber.

The woman froze, then fled without a backward glance. Hades remained, smirking, his eyes traveling up and down your figure with calculated amusement.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “It seems my beautiful wife has remembered her husband after all.”

You advanced toward him, his two steps forward barely closing the distance.

“Why do you always flirt with other women whenever we argue?” you groaned.

“I was bored,” he said casually. “Besides, my beautiful wife wasn’t speaking to me. I was dying of loneliness.”

“So instead of coming to me and asking for forgiveness,” you snapped, “you chose to entertain a peasant?”

“It is against the laws to be with other goddesses. Moreover, my funeral would come first before my lips would ever touch another goddess. You would be the one arranging it. I may be the King of Helheim, but I have never bent to anyone—yet I always beg for your forgiveness. And you… you refuse,” he said, his voice low and heated.

“That is rather true,” you smirked. “But you have never been on your knees before me.”

“What would you have me do? Bend?” he asked, challenging.

“Indeed,” you confirmed, crossing your arms.

“Not happening. Not in hell or heaven,” he replied, unwavering.

“Perhaps you forget,” you said, your gaze narrowing, “I am the Goddess of Desire. I get whatever the hell want.”

“You may rule desire, you might get hell,” he shot back, “but not the King of Helheim.”

“Oh? I did?” you raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

He stepped closer, invading your space. You could feel his breath, inhale his scent—divine, impossibly so. How could the King of Hell smell of heaven?

“Not in bed,” he whispered, reminding you that intimacy had never passed between you—your encounters consisted solely of dominance, defiance, and challenge. Your breath caught.

“You never asked,” you whispered back.

He froze.

“You… you would let me bed you?” he asked softly.

“Not really,” you retorted, “considering you’ve flirted with dozens of women.”

He paused, gazing down, then back up at you, a peculiar expression restrained within him before he suddenly burst into laughter.

“You thought they were real?” he asked, still chuckling.

“They weren’t?” you asked, bewildered.

“No. None of them were real. All illusions. Sleath… you actually thought they were real?”

The truth hit you like lightning. Only the God of Illusions, Lureth, could craft such deception.

“You asked Lureth for all this?” you said, voice sharp with surprise.

He nodded.

“Yes, indeed, my intelligent and beautiful wife. I would rather be slaughtered than let my eyes wander elsewhere. My heart belongs to one woman one and only and that is you, my Sleath,” he whispered, pronouncing your name like a sacred prayer, gently brushing silver strands from your face.

You could have given him your heart in that moment. Everything. Even your virginity.

“I’ll let you,” you whispered, with confidence and intent.

He blinked, uncertain.

“To bed you? Now?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“Yes. On one condition,” you replied.

“Command anything,” he said.

“Bend,” you commanded.

He froze.

“You can’t be serious,” he asked, incredulous.

“Bend the knee, or you shall never have me,” you asserted. The words left your lips with absolute will. No one could deny a command from the Goddess of Desire when it was spoken with unwavering truth.

Without hesitation, he leaned back and lowered himself onto one knee, then the other, never breaking eye contact with your crimson gaze. A surge of desire coursed through you like you had never experienced before—watching the King of Helheim kneel before you.

“There, my great highness,” he said softly.

“Rise,” you commanded.

He did, stepping back gracefully.

You advanced, staring into his violet eyes.

“Now you may bed me,” you whispered against his lips.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed onto yours. His hands slid down from your waist to your bare thighs, fingers tangling in the fabric of your robe and grazing against your bare skin. In one swift motion, he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist without breaking the kiss. He bit your lower lip, eliciting a gasp, and slid his tongue into your mouth.

“Sweetness divine,” he groaned. Your moans, a sound he had longed to hear, pushed him to the brink of desire and death a dangerous combination. He hovered over your fragile form, his thighs bracketing your waist as he broke the kiss.

“I’ll make sure you remember this. Remember me destroying your insides for the rest of your life, my great your highness, Sleath,” he growled, lips tracing your neck, leaving no skin untouched. His hands moved with precision, undoing your jewelry and stripping away your robe, leaving you bare beneath him.

He revealed himself, his upper body a divine vision of muscle, veins pulsing, heat pooling between your thighs.

“I’m not holding back,” he whispered, thrusting into you. Your moans echoed through the chamber, your body trembling under sensations previously unknown. He moved slowly, letting you adjust, inhaling your scent, brushing against your skin as stars seemed to explode behind your eyelids. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes; he noticed, tenderly wiping them away.

“Relax and let go. I’ll take care of you, my love,” he murmured, his voice a wave of reassurance, giving you time to acclimate.

His fingers traced your thighs, smothering them in your blood. He brought them to his chest, drawing a heart across his skin. The blood transformed into a beautiful tattoo, petals adorning the heart.

“This will remain here forever because I earned it. I earned your innocence,” he whispered, leaning into your ear.

He pulled out and thrust back in, making your mind go blank.

You moaned.

“Hades~!!”

“Yes, my beloved wife?” he whispered, caressing your face.

“Does it feel good? Do you want more?” he asked.

“Yes,” you panted.

He smiled, increasing the pace. He leaned into your chest, sucking one nipple into his mouth while thrusting, biting, making you arch your back.

“Smells like roses, tastes like the strawberry you ate,” he whispered. He repeated this on the other nipple, his hands working expertly. His fingers pressed against your clit, pulsing, driving you wild.

“I-I’m going to—” you choked.

“Already?” he teased. “I would love to keep you on edge, but since it’s our first time, I’ll show some mercy,” he whispered, pressing his lips against yours again, tongue dancing with yours.you couldn't hold any longer as you came undone shuddering under him.

“I didn’t give you permission to cum yet, wife, did I?” he asked, biting your lip.

“Very well, then it’s my turn,” he whispered, grabbing your thighs, thrusting with wild precision. You screamed his name. He came inside you hard, your body trembling, gripping him as your mind went blank.

“Perfectly wrecked,” he whispered, pecking your lips. His gaze caught your breasts, nipples forming the shape of delicate pink flowers. He froze.

“Oh, hell,” he whispered.

“What?” you asked.

“Well, guess I’ve bred you,” he chuckled.

Before you could question further, you looked down at your chest and realized.

“Well, you’ll bear my heir now,” he said, placing his hand on your stomach.

“I’m more than blessed to fill your divine womb, my beautiful wife,” he whispered, pecking your lips.

“Well, I didn’t agree to any of this,” you said, annoyed.

“But it’s our baby,” he pouted.

“Don’t pout like that... Ugh Fine... I want it too,” you whispered.

“Of course you do. You were too good for your first time, Sleath,” he said, nuzzling your neck.

“I’m good at everything,” you said.

“Well, then we’re going to have lots of kids together now. You’ll be busy every day,” he said.

“Not happening,” you said.

“Yes, it’s happening,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“How many kids?”

“About 1,172,” he answered.

“What the hell? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I’m in my right mind for the first time ever,” he replied, unfazed.

“I’m not having 1,172 children,” you said.

“Ah, c’mon, I’ll help,” he said.

“Yeah, in creating, I don’t need that,” you replied.

“I don’t need your help, thank you,” you said.

Ror men x female reader

Warning!! contains nsfw

Qin shi Huang

Hades

Posiedan

Buddha

Beezlebub

Female reader x ror men

Warning!! contains nsfw stuff!!

Qin shi Huang

Sfw

He’s definitely touchy in public. He doesn’t care even if you’re shy, red like a tomato.He kisses you in front of everyone, not on the cheeks, always on the lips.He definitely loves to show everyone who you belong to by calling your real name, no pet names.

Nsfw

He definitely has a kink for blindfolding you while you ride him. He does it often.He definitely loves to mark you in visible places.He definitely loves public sex, not in public, but in one of his quarters while people wait outside.He doesn’t let go of any opportunity to play with you real quick, but finger play is his favorite.And he definitely lets you ride his abs for some reason, obviously with a blindfold on, and he’d be smiling the whole time like he’s conquering something, conquering you.

Hades

Sfw

He’s definitely touchy, a lot, in a teasing way.He loves teasing you always.He definitely calls you darling, my love, or my beloved.He also loves always being in control, but in a polite and obsessed way.

Nsfw

His kinks, I just know his biggest kink is edging you till you cry for him to let you cum.He always teases you a lot before actually giving you what you want.He also makes you beg to him to make you cum, like saying,“Say my name and beg for it, my love.”He also loves to mark you, but not in visible places. He doesn’t want to embarrass you as a gentleman, or maybe one or two, depending on his mood.

Posiedan

Sfw

He is in fact always quiet and doesn’t talk to people, but you’re an exception. He loves talking to you and listening to you. He doesn’t talk a lot in broad daylight, but in bed, oh boy, he’s a completely different person.He loves, loves to compliment you.He definitely has pet names for you like my little dove, my baby, sweet angel, like that.

Nsfw

He has a major praising kink. He loves to praise you every time.He avoids eye contact with you sometimes in broad daylight for the things he would do to you, but when you’re both alone, he never breaks eye contact the whole time.He will definitely fuck you in every position he wants to, maybe because of holding back all day. He definitely has you. You’re not going anywhere until you’re thoroughly fucked.He doesn't mark you in visible places. He marks you on your thighs.He loves to eat you out, and the fact that you pull his hair while he does, you’re just too helpless. He loves it.

Buddha

Sfw

He’s so talkative sometimes you wonder if he’d ever shut up.He’s always embarrassing you with every chance he gets about how good you were last night, how you were screaming his name.He also has pet names for you, most of them similar to food items like cutie pie, cupcake, little pumpkin, of that sort.He also loves your food, and he loves to cook with you.He’s so possessive, he doesn’t play about you at all.

Nsfw

He doesn’t shut up in bed either. Also, he will do multiple things at one time, like sucking on your nipples and fingering you, marking you at the same time. He loves to overstimulate you.His biggest kink is putting stuff like chocolate syrup, or honey, or cream on your nipples or your pussy and sucking it, and why wouldn’t he? He is the biggest foodie, and you’re his favorite meal to prepare.He loves when you suck his dick. Basically, he loves the idea of fucking your mouth. It’s too pretty to not be stuffed, he once mentioned.He definitely marks you, and I mean by that he doesn’t leave a single spot empty. Hickeys everywhere.

BONUS

Qin is obsessed with your lips.

Hades is obsessed with your neck.

Poseidon is obsessed with your hair.

Buddha is obsessed with your boobs.

Last time before battle

• Qin shi huang

Qin shi Huang x female reader

!! Warning nsfw

The announcement echoed in the arena, sharp and final: Qin Shi Huang would be stepping into the next round. You had been standing just behind the ropes, heart thudding, nerves fraying at the edges. Watching him calm, poised, and impossibly confident something inside you clenched. What if this was his last battle? The thought alone made your stomach twist.He turned to you, noticing the worry in your eyes, the tiny tremble in your fingers. “Come here,” he said, his voice low, commanding, but soft enough to pull you closer without force. Without thinking, you moved, and before you knew it, you were seated on his lap. His arms wrapped around you, steady and grounding, as if nothing in the world could topple him.“You’re tense,” he murmured, resting his chin lightly against your temple. “There’s no reason to worry. I will be fine.” His hand traced gentle circles along your back, fingers warm and sure. “I’m the King of the Beginning. This… none of it will touch me.”You let out a shaky laugh, half-teasing, half-relieved. “You’re confident… as always.”He lifted his head just slightly, his dark eyes catching yours, and then, with deliberate slowness, pulled his blindfold free. The sight of him those piercing, calculating eyes made your pulse spike. Before you could react, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, tasting of unspoken promises and restrained desire.Your hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the lean strength there, the taut muscle beneath his robes. His hands were already in your hair, tangling slightly as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer so there was no space left between you. The world outside the arena, the battles, the roaring crowds faded until it was just the two of you, suspended in that intimate orbit.You shifted slightly, pressing yourself against him, letting the curve of your body meet his. There was a shiver in his touch, subtle but undeniable, as he adjusted his hold, his thumb brushing your jawline. Your lips parted, hearts beating in sync, breaths mingling, and the sensation of being on his lap so close

Slowly, teasingly, you began to grind against him, the thin layers of fabric between you doing little to dull the delicious friction. Qin's breath hitched as you swiveled your hips in a slow, sensual circle, his length rubbing against your most sensitive spots.

"Minx," he growled, nipping at your lower lip. His hands roamed up your back, shoving your shirt aside to map every inch of skin he could reach.

You moaned softly into his mouth as he kissed you again, tongues tangling wildly. The world fell away until only the two of you existed, lost in a haze of lust and longing. Qin's fingers dug into your flesh as you increased your pace, riding him with wanton abandon.

Pleasure coiled tight within you, every roll of your hips stoking the flames higher. Qin's breath came in sharp pants against your skin as he struggled to maintain control. You could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

"I need you," you whispered desperately, reaching between you to unfasten his pants. "Please, Qin. I can't wait any longer."

Qin's lips met yours with a ferocity that stole the air from your lungs. His hands slid down to cup your ass, pulling you even closer as his tongue delved into your mouth, tasting deeply. You could feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against your core, sending sparks of desire skating across your skin.

Qin pulled back slightly,

His words sent a shiver through you. You rocked your hips forward, feeling him twitch and harden further beneath you. A low groan rumbled in Qin's chest as he gripped your waist tighter.

Qin made a sound that was half-groan, half-growl as he lifted you up. In one smooth motion, he lowered you back down, sheathing himself deep inside your welcoming heat with a guttural cry of relief. You gasped at the exquisite fullness, fingers clawing at his shoulders as you began to move.

Slowly at first, savoring every perfect inch of him, then faster, harder, as frantic desire overtook you both. Qin met you stroke for stroke, hips surging up to meet yours as he buried himself to the hilt again and again. The slick slap of flesh against flesh filled the air, mingling with your broken moans and his ragged curses.

Qin's hands slid down to grip your thighs as he lifted you up, guiding your hips as he thrust up into you with a low groan. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely, your body yielding to his perfect rhythm.

"More," you whimpered, rolling your hips to meet his. Qin obliged, snapping his hips harder, faster, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep inside. Pleasure bordered on pain, delicious and all-consuming.

He kissed you again, tongue delving into your mouth as his hands explored every curve. Your clothes disappeared between one heartbeat and the next, leaving nothing between you but slick heat and desperate need. Qin's lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting as you rode him, lost in sensation.

"Fuck, you feel good," he growled against your skin, voice rough with desire. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you down harder with each roll of your hips. The wet slap of flesh filled the air, mingling with your broken cries and his ragged breaths.

The crowd could be heard faintly outside, their muffled cheers and chatter barely registering. You were too lost in pleasure, consumed by the way Qin continuously thrust into you, each stroke reverberating through your entire being. His hands gripped your hips possessively as he drove deep, again and again, your bodies slapping together in a lewd, delicious rhythm. You could feel him swelling inside you, his pace becoming more urgent, more frantic as he chased his release.

"Fuck...you feel incredible," Qin growled, his voice rough with exertion. The raw hunger in his tone sent a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. You moaned wantonly, hips rocking back to meet his every thrust, craving that final push over the edge.

The world narrowed to just the two of you, everything else fading away until all that existed was the slick slide of flesh, the building tension coiling tighter and tighter low in your belly. Qin's thumb found your clit, pressing and circling with unerring precision.

"Come for me," he demanded again, voice low and commanding. "Let me feel you come apart on my dick."

The words sent you flying over the edge with a keening cry. Waves of blinding pleasure crashed over you as you clung to him, shuddering and spent. Qin followed with a guttural roar, spilling himself deep inside you as you tumbled back to earth together, wrapped in a tangle of slick limbs and ragged breaths.

As the haze of ecstasy slowly faded, Qin gently disentangled himself from your embrace. His calloused fingers lingered on your flushed skin as he carefully fixed your dress and smoothed your tousled hair. The tender gesture sent a fresh wave of emotion washing over you.

"It's time for me to leave for battle," he murmured, reluctance coloring his tone. You couldn't bear the thought of him marching off to fight, your heart twisting at the mere idea.

"Too early," you whispered, voice thick with unspoken fears. Qin pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin. "Don't worry. I promise to come back to you, my beloved."

"May...good fortune lead your path," you managed to choke out, repeating the traditional blessing. His smile was confident, unwavering. "It shall."

With one last smoldering look, Qin disappeared from the room. The silence he left behind was deafening, amplifying the sudden emptiness consuming you. You sank onto the edge of the bed, chest tight. I don't even wanna watch him fight, you thought, knotting your fingers together nervously. He won't die...right? I should have faith in him.

Your hand drifted to your stomach as if seeking comfort. He needs to live...for you, for us. The truth of your impending motherhood, still a secret from Qin, weighed heavily upon you. Taking a shaky breath, you resolved to tell him everything once he emerged victorious tonight. made the heat between you thrum.