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mypoisonedvine · 11 months

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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

#jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #red eye fanfic

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orionremastered · 5 months

Note

I’m actually so obsessed with the way you write the boys like🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

why thank you anon this made me smile

and because im nice (school hasn't started yet)

Masterlist

911 Texting the Batboys

Dick Grayson

Exactly one minute after you send him the text, the living room window shatters into a million pieces across the floor. Nightwing calls your name, voice raw with concern, before surveying the state of your apartment.

"Oh," you say quietly by the kitchen, staring at the broken pieces of glass across the floor and then at your boyfriend who stares at you, chest heaving as he looks at you, confused.

"You're not hurt?"

"Well— I— the pan caught fire. I put it out though. I'm not burnt, I promise."

He looks at you doubtfully, storming over before pulling you into a tight embrace. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Don't be. It's okay. Don't be scared to text me if you're in any trouble. Promise you'll let me know if you're in danger?"

"I promise."

"Good," he mutters, though more as a reassurance for himself, resting his head on yours and breathing deeply.

"You can let me go now," you point out gently.

"Two more minutes."

Jason Todd

When your boyfriend takes longer to show up than expected, you start to get confused. And cold— it's the middle of winter and your hoodie was stolen while you were out with your friends.

And that wouldn't be a problem if you're car wasn't starting either.

The familiar roar of a motorcycle engine catches your attention, dark shape speeding down the street towards you. It skids to a stop, the tires screeching in order to slow.

"Hey," you say with a wave and a smile. "Car broke down and—"

Red Hood rushes off his motorbike, carefully grabbing you to look you over in the empty street. When he finds nothing, he sighs. "Thought you'd been kidnapped. Couldn't find you at your apartment."

Without waiting for your reply, he shrugs his brown leather jacket off his shoulders and places it around yours, helping you put your arms into the sleeves despite you protesting that you can do it yourself.

"Let's get you home," he says gruffly, aching to hold you in his embrace when no one can see. "I'll call in a favour to get your car fixed."

Tim Drake

You don't think you'd ever been more embarrassed in your life when you realised you forgot your phone, which has your card in the case, at home.

Tim rushes into the store, having tracked your location immediately and driving well over the speed limit, still in his pristine CEO outfit.

"What's wrong? Is someone bothering you?" his eyes dart around the store, taking everyone's face and putting it to memory.

"No... I forgot my phone and card. And I have a full cart of groceries. Tim, I can't put this all back, that's weird."

"Why didn't you ask me to pay before?"

"I— hmm. I'll do that next time."

You lead him to the counter were the high school aged cashier gapes at the richest man in Gotham who pays for the food without even glancing at the price.

Damian Wayne

When you texted 911 to your boyfriend, you certainly weren't expecting this. Somehow, in the five minutes of the text being sent, he managed to gather ten League of Assassins members that now stand in your suddenly very cramped apartment, sharp katanas at their side.

"Are you alright?" Damian himself has two katanas, glinting in the terrible lights. "What's wrong?"

It seems so stupid now with ten assassins behind him. Maybe you shouldn't have texted after all. "Look, it's really—"

"I don't care how little it is," he states, "You texted me for a reason."

"I... I thought I could hear someone talking and moving in the walls."

All eleven of them tense, exchanging glances. Damian gives them one sharp nod and the assassins begin locating any hollow spaces in the walls, tapping their knuckles and listening closely to the sounds.

"وجدت ذلك," one says after a few seconds.

"Don't worry about it habibi, we'll tear the building apart and find them," Damian assures you, pulling you into his arms.

#batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #batfam #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader

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daycourtofficial · 13 days

Text

Blood moon in Autumn

Pairing: Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader | WC: 1.3k | warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of sex, mentions of violence

Summary: fae cycles are no joke, but your mate is always there to provide you comfort in the best way possible: by being your personal heating pad

Author’s note: this is part of my gingerfucker series, however this can be read as a standalone. @writingcroissant actually gave me the idea for this so everyone say thanks Tori 🥰

Death was imminent, you were sure of it. Every fiber of your being ached, the pain emanating from your lower abdomen through the rest of your body. It felt like someone was stabbing you with a rusted, dull knife, the blade carving out your insides slowly at their leisure.

You heard your bedroom door open and close, footsteps coming towards the bed. You groan in greeting as the steps get closer.

“Just leave me here to die, Er.”

A soft chuckle makes its way to your ears, despite the layers of blankets you are burrowed beneath, the blankets not offering you the comfort you so desperately crave.

“You’ll be remembered for even in death, your flare for the dramatics never faltered.”

You push your face from the blankets, allowing your face to be seen. You scowl towards your mate, his smirk making you want to push him from the window. You take in the sight of him - he had changed into more relaxed clothes since you saw him last. Gone is his formal jacket, a deep red velvet with golden leaf embroidery. The garment would make anyone look like court royalty, but on Eris it made him look positively radiant, as if the fires of Autumn truly originated from him, as if the apple orchards and the crops found their nutrients from him. You loved when he wore it, your fingers tracing the fine embroidery along the lapel as you would straddle his lap, grinding softly-

You groaned, the idea of moving so much making you nauseous and slightly dizzy.

Now he wore a loose, billowy shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, casual brown trousers covering his toned legs. If it were any other day, you’d devour him. Any other day, you’d pull him directly into bed, pushing his clothes off of him, neither of you leaving bed until you slipped his shirt on to grab the two of you some pastries.

Instead, the sight of him made you slightly annoyed - he seemed fine as he set down a tray on the table next to you. He was fine this morning when he rose, having to tend to some things before returning. You were dying, and he was perfectly fine. You groaned, shifting to sit up on your elbows. “What’s this?”

“I believe those of us who leave our beds call it ‘food’.”

His smirk disappears at the pillow that hits his feet. He sends you a withering glare that just makes you scoff. “That could have hit the tray of coffee I made for you.”

You perked up at the sound of coffee - you were sure the warm liquid would at least distract your insides. Or at least provide you some comfort.

You’d take anything at this point.

“Did you make the coffee? Or did you just prepare the tray?”

“What difference does it make? Coffee is coffee.”

“Well, if Jora made it, then I aimed perfectly for your feet.”

“What if it was my coffee?”

“Then I would have aimed for the tray.”

He gives you a withering stare, his fingers halting their movements. “Now that’s no way to treat your mate who lovingly made you coffee.”

You squint your eyes, “if it’s my mate that’s making the coffee, it’s more of an assassination attempt than love.”

“You wound me, my love.” Despite your grievances, he continues preparing your cup exactly as you like it.

“Is the wound fatal?”

“Perhaps.”

“I shall pay my respects at your funeral, then. With my next husband.”

His eyebrow quirks as he rests the cup on your side table before he rounds the bed, peeling back the layers of blankets on top of you. He crawls in behind you, his body heat causing you to melt.

“Next husband?”

“I will get lonely. Besides, the hounds need a male’s touch. They’ll grow soft under me.”

“And who is this next husband? Is he capable of this?”

Before you can ask what ‘this’ is, he slides his arm around your waist, his palm lying flat over your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading across your skin. Your skin began heating under his touch, and you moaned at the relief he provided you.

“If he’s not, he’s not worth it. Perhaps one of your brothers will be capable. Lu, maybe?”

Eris growled at the teasing, your friendship with Lucien a constant sore spot for him amidst his rekindling relationship with his youngest brother. He hated to admit it, but he seethed with jealousy watching you interact with Lucien, the way your conversation would flow easily.

A life of regrets and Lucien takes several of the top five spots.

“Lucien would make a terrible husband. You’d never see him - he spends all day brushing his hair.”

“I like a well-groomed male.”

“The noises his eye makes would keep you up all night.”

“I think you’re getting us confused. The whirring would soothe me to sleep.”

He buries his face into your neck, mumbling, “you are not marrying Lucien.”

“Alastor, perhaps?”

You clutched onto Eris’s arm, the heat providing you some relief. You nuzzle your head into his bicep, and he blows out a hot breath, “if I die, and you are unable to continue alone, marry outside of my family, leave my brothers out of your marriage pool.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“Not Azriel.”

You huff, “well if I can’t have a Vanserra or Azriel, I’ll stay alone forever.”

“I prefer that alternative.”

“I will rule Autumn alone. Just as Beron would have liked.”

You spin in his arms, pushing his shoulder down so he’d lay on his back. You crawl on top of him, laying so every inch of you is touching him in some way. Not an inch of space exists between your bodies. You poke his ribs, urging him to start heating up. He ignores you, so you start tugging on the bond between you two.

“Patience is a virtue, don’t they teach that in the war camps they call villages?”

“I’m dying, I think the Mother can forgive my lack of virtues.”

He huffs, but starts warming his skin to better provide comfort. You groan, laying in silence with him for several moments, the heat a comfort to the constant pain.

A few moments later you roll, your back laying across his chest.

“Ah,” you sigh, the pain in your lower back lessening at his touch.

“You’re spinning like game over a campfire.”

He rests his hands on your lower abdomen, the warmth making the stabbing pain into a dull ache.

You sigh at the contact, practically melting at how he soothes your muscles.

“I want to go bathe but that requires movement and leaving this bed.”

Eris laughs into your hair, but you hear the water running in the bathroom. You groan just thinking about how soothing the water would feel on your joints. You breathed out slowly through your nose, preparing yourself for the trek across the room.

You rolled off of Eris, and before you could get off the bed, Eris moved from behind to in front of you, his feet landing softly on the floor.

“Care for a ride?”

You nod, and his arms sweep you up.

“I think this is my preferred method of travel.”

“Perhaps this is how you will tour Autumn, hm? I shall carry you throughout the lands.”

You laugh as he sets you down, helping you remove your clothes. He must be warming the air somehow, because you don’t feel the chill of the air when your clothes are completely off. He helps you into the water, which you melt into immediately. You close your eyes, laying back in the tub, the porcelain a nice surface to lean against.

You’ve completely forgotten about Eris’ presence until you feel him nudge your shoulders forward, his lean body slipping behind you into the tub. His legs stretch besides yours, and you lean your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“There’s no way my next husband will be as helpful as you are.”

He breathes out through his nose, “I fear you can only marry down from here. A pity, truly.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader

Thanks for reading 💕

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #acotar writing #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra

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strawb3rrystar · 29 days

Note

the same HH and HB boys with a s/o that murdered a person who was after them, brutally? Like, the boys can barely distinguish the person's face from how much rage their s/o took at 'em, blood n shit everywhere. Love me, a crazy person who would kill someone 4 me 🤑🤑‼️ for example, sumn like the situation that Stolas has Stella, she's always after him. And their hysteric lil s/o drags them to the corpse and is just there grinning proudly and shit like they didn't rescind a mf's body. I feel like Blitz would be so moved "omg🥹🥺" give his s/o headpats and shit but idk again, you're best at writin' about him, love youuu! -🐆

My insides are red, and yours are too.

Pairing: Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Alastor, Lucifer Morningstar, Blitzø, Stolas x GN! Reader

Warnings: Violence, talks of murder

Word count: 425

✰HH Masterlist | HB Masterlist

Angel Dust will be more or less freaked out. Like, he's seen dead sinners before, but he didn't think you were capable of murder. Basically, you killed someone at one of the clubs you frequent who made him uncomfortable. Even though he gets freaked out at first, he finds it very sweet that you killed someone to protect him, and not just for fun.

Husk is surprised at first when you show him the body. Like Angel, he didn't think you were capable of murder. Though he warms up to the idea eventually, it's Hell, you're going to need to defend yourself. I'm not sure who you would have killed for him. Maybe someone he lost to in the past?

Sir Pentious is completely shocked that you murdered someone for him. He knew you were capable of fighting since you've fought alongside him before, but he's never seen you so excited about it. He must admit, he finds your enthusiasm to be quite charming. Wants to hear you rant about every detail of the body and how you planned it of course.

Alastor isn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he loves the fact you killed someone for him. It proves your loyalty. You probably murdered one of his enemies/someone who hates him. Which is a lot to choose from. He finds your joy of killing to be quite similar to his, and he finds it endearing.

Lucifer is now terrified of you. He knows he's stronger than you in every way being the King of Hell, but he can still get scared. He's mostly scared of the look on your face after it happened. Seeing that face in thousands of sinners, he never thought that you would get that look too. And, you know, it scares him because he kinda feels like he's losing you a little bit.

Blitzø is also ecstatic about you murdering someone. He's never seen you do something so badass and he loved the little show you put on for him. Is very supportive, hyping you up and everything. Either thinks you're his best employee or wants to marry you. And there is an in between. It's both!

Stolas will be quite alarmed that you killed someone for him. He's ever grateful however, considering that he's constantly trying to be assassinated. If you killed Stella, first of, what the fuck?? Secondly, he didn't think anyone would actually kill her. Probably helps you make it look like an accident or blame it on someone else so you don't get in trouble.

Star's notes -> The other day my friend and I played 'Phobics' on roblox. Turns out I have a fear of mannequins and being chased lol. We also played Doors and got jumpscared so bad (I hate loud noises)

(Thank you, 🐆 anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @alexandria-fandom @corruptcoder @perfectlycraftychaos @stressedbleach @ghostdoodlen

@roboticsuccubus83 @marenelili @mollzaj @sunshines-bright @t0uchst4rv3d

@saints-wrapped-in-plastic @sweetadonisbutbetter @little-miss-chaoss @sunr1s3-strab3rr1 @naathanuwu

@solicitedfreakiness @sugarplumz100 @hazbinhappy @facelessfionna | Join the taglist

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tiredfox64 · 2 months

Note

Hellooo! First of all, I love your fics, especially Tomas's. They are very entertaining and the way you write is just great ^^

This is more of a question than a request, although you can develop it further if you want.

How would the linkuei trio react to a s/o who says "I hate men... except you"

It came to me out of nowhere and I thought it was funny 🙃

There Are Exceptions

Prior notes: Hehehe I throughly enjoyed writing this. Also I forgot to say this with other people’s requests who gave me compliments but thank you so much for liking my writing! (*´∀｀*)

Pairing: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: Men

Bi-Han

These dim witted, nitwit goobers who serve your husband are too much to handle. All they know how to do is punch and kick. They have no other survival instincts that can save their asses.

It’s so tiring being the one to try to help them with whatever. A woman can only do so much.

You tried teaching them how to sew only for them to say something stupid like it’s a woman’s hobby. Forget about cooking. You have never seen someone screw up scramble eggs so much that it doesn’t even form. How the fuck does it stay watery? And why are you the only one who knows how to fold clothes? Screw steaming out their wrinkles.

Your last straw today came in the nighttime when one of the clansmen came up to you and ask the most stupidest question you have ever heard.

“Uhm, some of the men were telling me that a woman’s period was when she peels her skin every month. Is that true? Cause if it is you hide it well.” This clueless assassin…oh goodness.

You just stared blankly at the young man. It had to be a joke, right? They can’t be that stupid. Actually, you don’t want to know if they are that stupid. You walked away briskly with one thing on your mind and you had to shout it out. The moment you walk into your bedroom you slammed the door shut and screamed,

“I hate men!”

Bi-Han was already in bed, waiting for you to come around. He stared at you with that grumpy expression he always has before folding his arms in front of his chest. A low grumble was being emitted by him.

How can you say you hate men when you are married to one? One that treats you like the queen you are considered you are the grandmaster’s wife. He is also one who pleasures you till you are fully satisfied. Course, it’s more like you have to go on until he is satisfied.

“…except you.”

“Mhm, that’s right. I should be the exception here. I am the grandmaster, I deserve your full respect.” Bi-Han reminded you of his role as if he doesn’t do so every day.

“And you are also my husband,” you walked up to him and placed a kiss on his forehead, “Now would you mind spooning me for tonight.”

“After that outburst, I am unsure if you deserve it.” Now he’s just being petty.

You pouted as you changed into your sleepwear. If Bi-Han looked for at least five seconds he would have caved. But he looked away immediately to prevent himself from changing his decision. You huffed as you slipped into bed. You went on your side and pretended like you didn’t care. You did because you always lost the idgaf war.

“Please, I love you.” You said over your shoulder.

Bi-Han let out a groan before turning over and wrapping his arms around your waist. Haha you win.

You may not like men but you love this man. You like this man because he’s your man.

Kuai Liang

Why does no one think of the logical answer to something?

You go out to the market all the time so you could help feed the Shirai Ryu. It helps lessen responsibilities for your husband. But even this simple task is made difficult and stupid because of some of the venders. More specifically the men.

You asked for watermelon and they hand you plastic containers with the funkiest bits of watermelon. They are discolored and are definitely past their ripeness. Yet they all tell you it’s fine. It’s not fine! It’s not good quality! Why even cut the watermelon in the first place you can do it yourself!

You want some mangos? Well you can’t fucking have any because they don’t got it. Oh what’s that? A BUNCH OF FUCKING MANGOS RIGHT BEHIND THEM! And they tell you that those are honey mangoes you didn’t specifically ask for those. They told you no because they thought you wanted Haden mangoes. Just give the woman a fucking mango!

You’re so over those male venders. They never even help you pack the carts up.

You’re too tired went you get back to the temple. You let everyone else pack the food away without helping out this time. You can’t be bothered. You take your shoes off, step into the temple, and sigh heavily.

“I hate men.” You groaned.

You didn’t realize Kuai Liang was coming up to you to greet you. You looked up and saw his face. He stared blankly with a bit of concern.

“…except you.”

You wanted to make it right so you ran up to him, giving him many kisses and hugging him.

“What has made you so hateful, my love? Did someone at the market bother you?” He asked with concern.

Kuai Liang was not at all mad at what you said. He found it odd which meant there was something wrong. His hands went up to check if maybe it was something physical. He would hate to find out you were hurt while out. What kind of husband would he be if he can’t protect his wife?

“Many people bothered me at the market today. Some people are unfortunate stupid.” You replied.

“Perhaps you can tell me all about it in bed. I’ll make you some tea to help with the stress.” He took your hands as you both walked to the bedroom.

Kuai Liang is the kind of man you need in your life. If only the men at the market had his intelligence. Though you do like being cared for when there is any sign of distress from you. It makes you feel like a princess.

Tomas

To help train the Earthrealm champions is like trying to train a seal, a kangaroo, a bison, and a Komodo dragon to leap at least a meter out of the water. One will succeed, another will jump but not reach it, another one won’t try to jump, and the other will be too busy trying to mate with you.

They are all nice in their own way but Johnny is the worst of them all. You tell him you are happily married and it’s in one ear and out the other. Just because his marriage failed doesn’t mean yours has to.

Kenshi is alright he just has stubborn. He believes it’s nerves that wins fights. If that were true why does he keep failing to you. And when he is not going against you he’s going after Johnny’s throat. You get it, Johnny won’t give back Sento. But now is not the time to bust his ass.

Kung Lao just gets on everyone’s nerves. You have never seen a bunch of monks ready to implode and strangle someone. Don’t forget that you almost lost your head because he flung his hat in the wrong direction. All you got back was a small ‘sorry’ before he took his hat and ran off.

And Raiden…he’s fine. He’s done no wrong.

Yet no matter what you always have to return and help the fools. You give and give and what do you receive? Hell!

You are exhausted when you return home. You don’t talk to anyone you just go straight to your bedroom. You let out a groan the whole time and when the door closes you let that groan become words.

“I hate men.”

Tomas was already waiting for you in the bedroom. He was walking up to you to hug you until he heard those words. He looked concerned and even a little sad.

Well he’s a man, do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He hopes he didn’t, he doesn’t want an unhappy wife.

Your attitude immediately went away at the sight of Tomas.

“…except you.”

You ran into his arms and hugged him tight. You could never hate a man like Tomas. He is your husband after all. You picked a good one compared to all the other men that you have seen.

“I’m guessing they upset you again.” He asked.

You nodded. The day is already over you don’t feel like talking about every single stupid thing that they did. Tomas understood and hugged you tight.

“Do you want me to beat them up?” He whispered jokingly in your ear.

For once today you laughed. He always manages to bring a smile to your face. You wish you could let him but that would be a bad decision. Though it’s funny to think about. He was just happy to hear that wonderful laugh of yours. It just shows that he’s a good man to you. He can turn a frown upside down and make you see the good in men. Or at least the good in him.

After notes: Can you tell I got pissed off with Kuai Liang’s part? That shits a little too true. Those instacart tik toks be crazy. Here’s a little experience of when I hated men: one didn’t take no for an answer for YEARS. He still can’t take no even from other girls. But most of the men I know are good. Alright enough yip yap I must march on. Adiós!

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saerins · 4 months

Text

#001 SUDDENLY, COLORS 𖧧 NEXT: #002 PLAYING DOMINO ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — sae gets more than he bargained for when he decides to entertain you. and then suddenly, maybe he isn’t so indifferent to everything after all.

content: itoshi sae x female reader. bllk guys here are all pro players now. profanity, complicated relationships, reader is a working adult, implied ex-fwb situation with otoya, minorly questionable work ethics, mention of infidelity. word count: 3.8k.

༝༚༝༚ first chapter ! (bear with me because we’re gonna be in the early stages of sae & y/n getting to know each other) i hope you guys like this one as much as infy >_< the dynamic between yn & sae here is slightly different heh :) if you’re reading this: ily <3 + will add little mini extra facts at the end of each chapter ^_^

lights flashing, red carpets, familiar faces that feel so out of reach.

there’s an entire life out here that people like you, should you have been without connections, won’t get to experience in your lifetime. it’s eye-opening, and more than you bargained for. sure, when you heard that this is a party thrown by one of the japan’s national soccer team’s sponsors, you expected a lot of a-list names, but to think it’s this many.

beautiful, handsome people litter every corner of the destination, enough to fill anyone with a year’s worth of anxieties just simply looking at them. to think, this is the kind of life they live in the regular; photographed by everyone, welcomed and greeted like royalty by staff and strangers alike.

it’s nothing you can ever get used to. luckily, you don’t have to.

you stand at the top of the stairs in the venue, looking around as you try to spot your friend. on the ground floor, you see many people huddled in different groups, smiles plastered together as they catch up with one another. all you can hear are everyone’s voice and laughters muffled together and melding into one giant mess. many movie stars, models, athletes all gathered in one place, commanding the attention of everyone in the room as well as those who are watching the livestreams from home. that’s to be expected though, considering this is a party thrown by the top sports brand in japan—surely supporters and fans alike are tuning in from all over just to see their favourite celebrities.

you bet the chat is getting blown up with comments about how the captain of the soccer team looks absolutely handsome when he cleans up, or how the up and coming setter in the volleyball team is a quiet assassin if looks could kill.

there’s a vibration in your purse, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you fish your phone out to see that it’s from eita.

you slowly make your way down the stairs, carefully so that you don’t accidentally catch your heels against the bright red fabric under you. it’s not everyday you get invited to events like this, and it’s certainly not everyday you get to wear something this nice—you don’t want to end up falling face flat in front of all these important (and famous, or infamous) people.

you make a mental note to yourself to thank eita again for getting you this dress.

as you look around the floor, trying to spot whatever private booth eita’s in, your eyes flick across the top of someone’s head. somebody that could catch anyone’s attention. those alluring eyes and that tall frame. you catch your breath.

eita can wait. maybe you should take a detour first.

as you’re drawing closer to him, you can’t help but think how much more handsome he is in person; all you’d been able to see of him thus far is whatever you saw through the screen, or in paper from the photoshoots he’d been a part of. now that you’re looking at him in the flesh, you don’t think they do him justice. not by a long shot. he’s still handsome as hell in whichever form of media he’s in, but in real life, they have nothing on his actual person.

his lips look soft and pink right there in front of you, and his lashes frame his eyes just perfectly that you’re almost envious.

in all fairness, you’re not used to talking to mega huge celebrities like him. he’s a pro-athlete, but his popularity is in the millions, his talent for being japan’s best offensive midfielder skyrocketing him to fame at the young age of eighteen.

nearly ten years later and he’s somehow still topping the lists for most popular male athletes from japan.

opportunities like this don’t come easy, especially for people like you—you’re not stupid enough to not take it. with a deep breath, you put your game face on; he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t have to know the real you, just the you that you want to show him.

somehow, he manages to make your heart beat faster than anyone else in the room, and he hasn’t even looked your way. half of you is telling yourself you’re doing this for a friend, but the other half of you is selfish, it wants to see what this is all about.

“what are you having?”

the moment you set your purse down on the bar, choosing to stand beside him instead of being a normal person and settling in front of the bartender to get his attention for your drinks, sae finds himself perplexed.

there are many reasons people would want to talk to him for. if you’re from the sponsor’s team, then you’d want to run a collaboration idea by him. if you’re another celebrity, then you’d probably be asking for a picture. if you’re press, well, your occupation is an answer in and of itself.

for the first time, sae’s eyes land on you. on that smile, on your eyes.

dim lights, violets and pinks bouncing off the disco ball, and somehow you do look pretty in spite all that. he’s never seen you before, but then again, he doesn’t pay attention enough to anything in the media for him to be able to know all the celebrities in japan. you have to be one, right? he doesn’t see the press card around your neck.

your dress hugs your body nicely. it’s all black, and a one-shoulder. your thin gold necklace holds a feather charm at the end. the way you tuck your hair carefully behind your ear unveils your matching earrings. you’re pretty, very pretty. but he thinks you’re about to be a pain soon enough. and that probably cancels it out.

“water.”

maybe if he’s boring enough, you’ll leave him alone. maybe if he’s rude enough, he’ll drive you away. that’s the whole point of why he’s here anyway, to escape those pointless conversations with these media… acquaintances, and oliver and the others were being nuisances in the booth anyway. so much so that he needed a breather.

unless you’re offering an escape, he won’t entertain anything.

“do you have a game tomorrow?” you ask, setting your phone down on the tabletop. a measly excuse for a conversation starter but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to see where you’re going with this.

is that why you think he’s drinking water? he shakes his head, “no.”

what do you want with him?

“don’t tell me you’re a lightweight,” you guess, smirking at him.

sae can’t figure you out; where other people are easy to guess, he can’t make heads or tails about you. why hasn’t he asked you to leave him alone yet? better yet, why hasn’t his own two feet walked away like he intended to before you came and smiled at him?

“just didn’t feel like drinking,” sae tells you. (you actually guessed right, but there’s no way he’s going to admit to that out of the blue.)

you hum in contemplation, your head resting against your balled fist as you look at him, pursing your lips like you’re thinking of something. he finds himself wondering exactly that: what the fuck are you thinking?

right now, you’re a mix between being interesting and annoying and he’s kind of leaning towards the latter.

all of a sudden, you fish a coin out of your purse, grinning.

“you look like you want me to leave you alone,” you tell him, sighing, though you’re probably not so much disappointed or affected as much as being playful, like one of those children that like to test the limits of their parents. you’re perceptive at least, he’ll give you that. “how about a deal? i’ll toss this coin, and if it lands on heads, you’ll do me a favour, no questions asked. if it lands on tails, i’ll do the same. then you can tell me to go away.”

to be fair, sae could just walk away and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

“fine.”

so why? why is he agreeing to your terms?

you flick the coin into the air with your thumb, and sae watches your face as you anticipate the results. you’re staring so intently at such an inconsequential coin that he finds it both comical and troublesome. there’s something both alluring and childish about your presence.

“aha! heads!” you shout excitedly, and sae tries to keep his head down to avoid any unwanted attention. if you cause anyone to come over and pull him aside for some small talk he’s going to kill you. you look so blissfully ignorant of that fact, though. lucky for him, almost everyone around you seems too self-absorbed to care. “looks like you owe me something.”

sae sighs. “i have the feeling i’m gonna regret this,” he mumbles to himself, though you’re blatantly beaming at him, excited at your little win. you shouldn’t be; if it’s too troublesome sae would still shoot you down. he reminds himself that he doesn’t even have to follow through with the bet—who are you to him? “what do you want?”

“i’ll tell you later,” you answer, not missing a beat, ordering a shot of vodka and having it slid over to you. you down it in a second, looking even more invigorated.

does alcohol wake you up even more?

something tells sae that he’ll get nothing out of this conversation, so the gears are already turning in his head on how to slip out of this situation, make a break for the bathroom or something. “this sounds like a hassle, so i’m just gonna leave—”

“is soccer all you care about?”

“huh?”

yeah, you’re definitely leaning more towards annoying.

as he expected, you continue speaking without even listening to him. still, that’s not the kind of topic he thought you had in mind. soccer? you don’t seem like a fanatic.

“i mean, do you do anything else outside of soccer? like play games? or, i don’t know, have some secret hobby like sewing?”

sae deadpans at that last one. what do you want to know? his secrets? he’ll definitely stick with his plan of being boring. you’ll probably give up sooner or later. “no. just soccer.”

you press your lips into a firm line, like you know he’s full of it but you don’t immediately call him out. “no hobbies outside of soccer? okay.”

“yes, i have no life.”

he nearly smirks at the horrified pout that graces your lips. your scepticism nearly makes him laugh, but he holds it in. you’re probably messing with him, but he can do just the same.

“heard that your little brother scored the winning goal at the champion’s league game, how do you feel about that?” you down another shot.

sae snorts at your obvious discontent at his disinterest, though it goes over your head because maybe you’re a little lightweight too.

“yeah, i was there. i mean, i’m proud of him if that’s what you’re looking for,” he tells you—something so generic and so bland that you can probably form the answers in your head yourself.

your line of questioning continues despite sae’s half-assed participation. maybe he’s only entertaining you because he doesn’t feel like entertaining anyone else. and maybe because he probably won’t see you again so he wouldn’t feel the need to be cautiously polite around you (and so his manager won’t nag him about keeping up an image). from what he gathers, you’re probably not a celebrity—call it his gut instinct. you sure look like one, but you don’t act like them.

there’s the incessant vibrating of his phone in his pants pocket that he ignores. meanwhile you’re accepting his lacklustre answers left and right.

“actually i’m curious, itoshi sae, who’s your best friend? some say it’s ryusei shidou and others say it’s oliver aiku. what do you say?”

he leans an elbow against the table, staring you straight in the eye. you’re looking right back at him, a smugness in those irises.

“who are you, by the way?” he asks, because despite him entertaining you for—he checks his watch—nearly half an hour, he still doesn’t even know your name. and clearly, you know all about him. or at least, what the internet can provide.

you inch closer, grinning despite the scowl on his face. “let me change the question,” you propose, because you’re always so adept at switching subjects when it benefits you, pupils scanning your immediate surroundings briefly before you lean in to whisper in his ear. “people like to say you’re hard to get, is that true?”

(because that’s what it seems like—from press coverage to girls, it doesn’t look like it’s easy to garner his interest and thus consequently his effort. if there’s one thing everyone can agree on about itoshi sae is that he screams exclusivity.)

he clenches his jaw when he feels your breath hit his ear, and he hates himself for staying this long because the moment you see his ears go red, you’re smirking.

“is there anything wrong with not wanting to waste time with people who won’t matter in a matter of days?” and that’s probably the only completely honest answer he’s given you for the night—because he doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t see making it into his future. he can’t say that for work purposes since it’s his team who manages everything, but as far as his personal life goes, that’s all you have to know.

that’s all he’s going to give you.

from the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar face, the light in their eyes going dark when they realise you’d been taking up his time.

“heading off already?” you ask, sensing his restlessness.

“yeah, well, i gave you a lot already, so…” he trails off, just hoping you’ll get the hint and leave him be.

you nod, taking your phone off the table, fishing something else out of your purse but sae’s too preoccupied looking at someone else to notice.

and just like earlier, you inch even closer, finally commanding his attention. sae catches a whiff of your perfume, a hint of sweet mixed with a little spice. you’re so close now that all he sees is you, and for some reason, he’s not moving.

you’re so close he can count the lashes on your eyes, can tell your lipstick’s not really pink but more mauve, can see up close that ever-growing smirk of yours when you catch him off-guard. and he expects you to stop, just like you did earlier, but you’re coming even closer and for some reason he can’t help but close his eyes, long lashes briefly brushing your face before he feels it go away.

when he opens his eyes, you’re not smirking anymore. that playful smirk is gone and replaced by—he can’t really tell—bashfulness? is he hallucinating the heat that built up to your cheeks?

“thanks for wasting some time on me,” you whisper, slipping something into his jacket pocket before walking away, a wave of your fingers all that you give.

and sae’s left wondering if he really was just about to let you kiss him if you didn’t move away.

he watches as you head off in the direction of the booths, a surprise washing over his face when he sees a familiar face taking your hand at the top of the first flight of stairs. that head of white with a hint of green—you know otoya?

sae takes out the piece of paper you slipped in his pocket—a name card. your name is y/n, apparently, and you work for a magazine. he scoffs, realising the intentions behind your earlier attempt to get him to talk. behind, you’d scribbled really quickly: the favour: approve this interview please? :D

you really are… something. by the way you questioned him, and your questions by itself, you must not have done this for very long. it’s a nice attempt though. still, sae has no reason to play along.

he can’t help but wonder, though—that last question: was it for the magazine, or your personal curiosity? his eyes linger on the phone number at the bottom of your card.

“hey, who was that?”

sae turns his attention to the girl he saw earlier, now in front of him, curious eyes following you as otoya walks you to their table. he quickly slips the name card back into his pocket. “dunno, she was just asking where otoya was.”

as the girl drags him away by the hand, he looks back, catching a glimpse of you staring at him before otoya guides you to the table, his hand on the small of your back, and then you fade out of view.

maybe, just for once, he’ll play along. again. because there’s something inexplicable about you, about your existence.

“look who made it back in one piece,” oliver exclaims as sae makes his way back to their table a couple of hours later, taking a seat next to the man himself. “what did bianca want you for this time?”

shidou puts down his glass of champagne to wince at sae, a pitiful glance thrown his way. “she's kinda territorial, bro. blink if you need help.”

snickers are heard around the table, most of them knowing how exasperated sae can get sometimes, even if he never actually says anything.

“you know if you guys are dating, you can just tell us right?” karasu teases, joining in the conversation.

sae rolls his eyes, ignoring them entirely. the topic about him and bianca had gone completely stale for him. honestly, if his manager didn’t convince him that he absolutely had to attend till the end, sae would’ve left halfway. maybe he wouldn’t have attended at all if he had a choice in his own schedule. then again, if he didn’t come tonight, he wouldn’t have met you.

is that a good thing?

speaking of, there’s a lack of your presence here that just mildly disappoints him. mildly.

“where’s your friend?” sae asks otoya, who’s busy typing away at his phone.

his fingers stop, and he cocks a brow at sae’s question, more confused by the fact that sae is bothering to ask such a thing. “she had a thing so she left earlier,” he says, brushing it off. “why? did you need anything? saw her talking to you just now.”

it’s like they both can sense the sudden interest of everyone around the table.

sae shakes his head, leaning back against the chair. “nothing.”

sensing something amiss, oliver leans forward, looking the most interested he’s been all night. “oh? sae of all people asking about a girl? don’t see that often,” he mocks, and sae sighs internally, immediately regretting opening his mouth.

“gotta hand it to you, though,” karasu says, nudging otoya on the elbow. “she’s pretty.”

“isn’t she that girl you said that slapped you so hard back in high school that you cried?” yukimiya joins in, his statement making the guys burst into laughter.

otoya groans, shrinking in his seat. “shut the fuck up. she was being annoying.”

“nah, she was just keeping eita in check after she heard he cheated on his girlfriend,” karasu fills in the gaps for everyone.

sae listens quietly to them divulge bits and pieces of you that they got from otoya back when you were still there with them.

apparently, you’ve known otoya since middle school, and you’ve been friends all the way till university until you drifted apart for some reason (that otoya won’t share). sae thinks it probably has to do with that “we used to fool around” statement of his. at least, unlike any of the girls he fools around with, otoya never entertained lewd questions regarding you.

were you special to him?

“tell us more,” yukimiya taunts, fully enjoying the tinge of red he sees on otoya’s ears.

“she’s just a girl who likes to clear out my fridge all the time. annoying pest i can’t get rid of,” otoya says, though everyone knows that it’s just his sharp tongue at work. he looks like he’s close to malfunctioning, a sight that sae has never seen before, fully earning his intrigue.

thankfully for otoya, oliver shifts the attention (unfortunately) to sae. “no, what i wanna know is, how a girl like y/n managed to catch this guy’s interest,” he says, pointing to sae, a cocky grin on his face. “so spill, are you interested?”

that must mean that you and otoya have nothing going on then? not that he’s curious. and not that he would put it past oliver to suggest that he steal you from someone else.

he’s not even sure why all these thoughts are in his head in the first place. sae puts on his best poker face, raising his brows as if in silent denial. “i’m not.”

oliver’s grin mirrors that of the cheshire cat, and it’s all sae has to see to know that he’s about to suggest something that will earn a ripple in the timeline.

“otoya, phone,” oliver demands, and otoya nonchalantly slides his phone over. a quick few taps of his fingers and he finds your public profile before sliding otoya’s phone over to sae. “there, follow her then, if it’s nothing.”

despite seemingly doing this all for fun, oliver is betting on much more than that. if he gets to see what the whole big deal is, why not? on the one hand, otoya is refusing to say anything about his real feelings about you. on the other, sae is refusing as well to admit that maybe he’s a little bit charmed by you.

sure, asking sae to follow you is like sending a whole army of girls chasing after a baby with a very prized candy but oliver barely knows you, so it’s fair game where he stands. besides, he’s not forcing sae to do it. he just knows he will—sae never bothers showing interest in anything, let alone a woman. he’s not following any girls either apart from other celebrities, and that’s because they cornered him to it. if he does this, you’re the only comparatively normal girl he’ll follow. sae might not be aware of the implications and whatnot, but oliver sure does. it’ll take a while for it to show, but he’ll wait patiently.

the only reason otoya hasn’t been subjected to that same problem for following you is because his popularity doesn’t come close to sae’s. not even oliver’s comes close. neither are their fans as rabid as his.

and when sae scoffs and takes out his phone to do just what oliver expects him to, oliver’s eyes flick over to look at otoya, a certain unsettled look in his friend’s eyes. neither guys are ever straightforward with their feelings—he leans back and relaxes, waiting for a show.

whoever you are, y/n, whatever you have going on, good luck to you.

extras !

sae and bianca go way back, but so do y/n and eita! the latter more so than the former.

this is y/n’s first time ever attending an event like this in her x years of knowing eita.

sae’s group of friends consist of: oliver, otoya, shidou, karasu, yukimiya and sendou. (sendou has a conflicting schedule so he wasn’t there that night.)

taglist! @yuzurins @raphsimp @mxplesyrvp @lust4rin @saeskiss

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae x y/n #blue lock x you #itoshi sae #blue lock x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #sae fluff #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #૪ aeri’s fics !

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pomefioredove · 1 month

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Saw you took specific requests. Here's mine:

Jamil with a religious reader who gives him a protection talisman.

Fun fact, prayer beads are used in multiple religions as they help count prayers (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc).

So let's say reader comes from a world where magic exists but it's exclusively on religious grounds. Meaning if you wanna do magic you gotta pray to the right god or make a deal with some form of mythological creature.

Reader knows that Jamil's is always in danger due to the constant assassination attempts on Kalim, so they make a set of prayer beads and ask a diety to bless it in order to protect their boyfriend (could be Allah, Indra, Shiva, Buddha, Susanoo, whichever). Jamil accepts it and heads back home appreciating the sentiment but not really believing.

Except any form of danger keeps getting thwarted. Drink/food he's trying is poisoned? Conveniently spills over/has a whole in the bottom. Accident happens? Conveniently pushed out of the way. Someone tries to hurt him/kill him? Struck by lightning and straight up dies.

Not even his own parents are safe. They try to slap him to "discipline him" then they get zapped (lightly tho).

you know!!! I love this prompt so much... I'm a religious studies major so this kinda stuff is so ^w^ to me I get so excited.

summary: giving jamil a protection spell type of post: short fic characters: jamil additional info: reader is gender neutral, the existence of religious beliefs in twst is. confusing. so we're keeping it vague, not proofread, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was because your world was still considered "magicless" by Twisted Wonderland standards, or perhaps Jamil was never superstitious to begin with.

Either way, he wasn't exactly as excited as you'd been hoping for.

"It's nice. Did you make it yourself?" he asks, inspecting the beads. "A bracelet?"

"Prayer beads, actually. And yes, I did,"

"It's well made. What's the purpose?"

You hesitate. The nature of religion in this world is still confusing to you, although you can surmise there's got to be some kind of belief system. It's best not touching on for now.

Besides, Jamil has never been much of a believer in higher powers. For good reason.

"For protection," you explain. "Not that I think you can't handle yourself. But I worry about you over break, you know..."

He's quiet for a moment, inspecting the gift in the palm of his hand. And then he tucks the beads away in his pocket and smiles.

"I'll keep them with me, then. Thank you,"

Even if he's not exactly keen on the idea that these things will make his life any less terrible, they're from you.

And so he keeps his promise, and tucks them away after you part.

By the time he's "home" (back in Kalim's family home) he's all but forgotten about the little blessing at the bottom of his pocket. Not that you can really blame him- "vacation" is more of a title than a reality when he's back.

The first incident happens not even a day after.

The al-Asim summer mansion is certainly nothing to scoff at. Though it's only one of many, this one in particular houses a large sum of physical treasures, line with gold and ivory, stuffed full of spices and all the makings of a feast that could feed thousands, a shining jewel of the desert.

Jamil is not all that impressed.

Especially when it comes to navigating such an ornate building on orders. The polished-to-perfection floors present a challenge when you're carrying three crates worth of grain to the kitchen on the lowest floor.

Damn these stairs.

Though Jamil may not be a religious man, he still asks whatever deity may be up there to smite the slippery spiral staircase he's descending.

His arms strain to uphold the weight of the boxes, and his legs strain to keep a good footing on one of the many long and elaborate and narrow servant passages designed specifically so that the unwanted workers of the family can slip by undetected.

Quiet, diligent, and he has to be quick, too. Kalim is expecting him for a game in one of the many lounges soon.

Another unfortunate "vacation". How he'd much rather be spending it with you...

For a brief moment, Jamil swears he can feel the beads in his pocket warm against him, reminding him of their presence.

And then he slips.

The crates free themselves from his careful grasp and tumble down the stairs, creaking and thudding but mercifully staying intact.

Jamil, however, isn't made of wood. He winces as he feels himself tilting forward- and then... somehow, a strong draft pushes him on his back.

He lands just shy of his tailbone, luckily not hurting anything, except for his pride.

What a turn of luck.

The next happens at dinner.

Jamil keeps his earlier blunder to himself. His pride is damaged enough as it is, after all, and so he tries his best to conceal how shaken up the experience left him by moving swiftly across the kitchen.

"We have a dish ready for you to test," someone shouts.

He sighs. How many more evenings of this will he have to endure?

Though, he reminds himself- this may always be his last.

The thought makes Jamil chuckle as he's handed a hot dish and a clean fork. He can only stop to smell the roses for so long, so there's no chance of savoring such an exquisitely prepared meal before he's off to another part of the kitchen.

Just as the fork digs into the food, the dish slips out of his hand and shatters on the kitchen floor. Everyone falls silent.

His eyes widen. "How- ugh. My apologies,"

Now this is just getting ridiculous. How clumsy can he get in one evening? He's usually much more careful...

"Look," the head chef says, the whole kitchen crowding around the food as it dissolves.

Jamil's stomach lurches. Cyanide. It has to be. If he'd eaten that dish right there and then...

The kitchen is swiftly cleared out, and he's sent back to the lounge.

it only gets stranger from there.

What Jamil initially wrote off as clumsiness and luck seems to become a pattern-

a flying arrow at the archery range just narrowly misses him when he bends down to fix his sandal.

The al-Asim family tiger (because of course they have one) chooses to toy with a visiting prince rather than him in the courtyard.

A strong draft pushes him on his rear end seconds before a sandbag falls from an under-construction part of the mansion.

He would call it fortune if he believed in such a thing.

By the end of the vacation, everyone is absolutely perplexed by his string of good luck. Jamil isn't unfamiliar with how dangerous his family's position in life is, and he's had his fair share of injuries as a result, but this time all he has to show for it is a slightly lesser sense of annoyance than usual.

It's only the end of the trip where he ponders (unfortunately aloud) about the string of coincidences, and the beads in his pocket.

Kalim goes on to babble about Jamil's "good luck charm" to anyone who will listen, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, I want one too! Can you ask them to make me one, too?" he says, folding his hands in a pleading motion. "It's so pretty!"

"It was a gift. But... I suppose I can ask..." he sighs, and then smiles to himself.

Of course you'll come up with some excuse to say no. Because, for once, this charm is all his.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #fun prompt! I liked it #queued

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myfictionaldreams · 1 year

Text

The Haunting Silence // Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha was your soulmate and she had done everything physically possible to keep you hidden and safe. Every day the two of you spoke through your mind using your soulmate connection but, what happens when suddenly Natasha's mind is silent?

Requested by: @southern-goth thank you for the request!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (lots!), fluff, hurt/comfort, head injury, Sense 8 soulmates AU, Crying/Anxiety, threats of violence, protective Natasha, scissoring, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms

Words: 7.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Soulmates: two souls that are deeply connected and once successfully found, can communicate through their minds, no matter how far the location or language that was spoken. They were rare and many people were driven insane with the search to find their one true love but not you, you'd accepted years ago that there may never be the chance of ever finding her until fate was on your side.

It had been a beautifully mundane day. The movies like to show a romantic first meeting between two souls tied together from the depths of time, whether it be colliding in a coffee shop, running through the rain or even the hero saving someone from a villain. This was not anything like the start to your story, in fact, there were many details you couldn't remember.

Was it sunny? A Monday? Were you wearing jeans or leggings? You were completely unsure of any of these details but these were all menial with regard to the bigger picture no matter what day it was; it was the best day of your life as you met your soulmate. One minute your thoughts were your own, always described as 'hauntingly silent' by individuals who had already found their soulmates and thought back to the time before meeting their loved one.

Then the next, as you turned towards the exit of your work, your eyes hadn't even connected with her green eyes, still mesmerised by her lips as another silky voice echoed, "Oh", through your mind. It wasn't just this, as a warmth settled through your chest, not realising how empty you had been surviving through life until you finally found her, Natasha, your soulmate.

Natasha Romanoff had recently joined SHIELD when the two of you met but, she was honest about her alter ego Black Widow, as well as her past as an assassin which quickly helped to decide the dynamic of your relationship: a secret.

You were a nurse in a small hospital in the middle of nowhere, it was a surprise to you that Natasha had even found your workplace with it only being used by the locals. This fact actually aided with you being able to keep the relationship secret, you were a nobody in comparison to Natasha, no one would even look in your direction with suspicions or notice a hooded figure sneaking into your home in the middle of the night with your lack of neighbours.

At first, it had been difficult, you'd just found someone you wanted to spend every waking second with but she had to travel around the world and face dangerous missions constantly. However, thankfully with your soulmate connection, you could talk through your minds as long as you were both awake. Then as aliens attacked Earth and the Avengers were formed, you were happy to still be hidden, knowing that if anyone found out about you, they could use you against Natasha so a long-distance relationship it was.

Every single day, the two of you spoke, her words always feeling like being wrapped in a tight warm hug or when the tone changes, a seductive finger sliding down your spine.

Today, you were 5 hours into your shift at the hospital, finding a spare moment to wander down an empty corridor, hugging a report to your chest as a smile widened across your face.

You aren't lying to me, are you? your words were teasing towards Natasha but had every undertone of seriousness behind them.

Natasha had to hide her smile behind the microphone of the headpiece she wore as she was currently flying the Quinjet on the way back from a mission with the Avengers. Why would I lie to you, Milaya?

Your heartbeat quickened at the use of her nickname for you, Milaya, translating to darling, a name that often had you feeling safe and warm. It was also an easy way for Natasha to distract you from your questioning so you shook your head and tried to remain on track with your mind communication.

Please tell me, you encouraged, trying to find out if your soulmate had earned any injuries on this mission.

I'm fine, it's only a scratch on my wrist. - and bruised ribs to match the deep purple shade forming along her jaw where some asshole managed to punch her in the face, but you didn't need to know about that Natasha decided. You were at work and didn't need the distraction.

Hmm fine, I'll believe you for now but I'm going to see if you're lying when you get here in 2 days' time, you responded trying to sound slightly doubtful, having had this conversation with the red-haired assassin far too many times before.

Natasha's mouth quipped into a soft smile that she didn't bother to hide, eyes softening as she looked across the extensive view of clouds. 2 days seemed like such a long time to you both, her stomach twisting uncomfortably thinking about the wait as she decided, I'll try and visit sooner.

Don't rush baby, I would love to see you but please rest. It had been nearly two weeks since you had been able to hold or kiss Natasha and it was almost like you craved to be with her, needing to smell her hair, stroke her bare skin - you were going insane without her around. However, you couldn't help but feel bad that she felt the need to rush to be with you, she was so busy on these missions, hardly eating, sleeping and having to be at peak physical performance at all times. She was doing the very most and travelling across the country to see you whereas you had to sit pretty and wait for her, yes you worked full-time at the hospital but it was hard to compare your fatigue to Natasha's.

I just want to be with you, Natasha finally admitted, her voice losing the confident tone she had been trying to uphold for your benefit.

Your steps slowed to a stop as you stared at a crack in the concrete floor, I want to be with you too. You sighed out loud, wiping a hand down your face before trying to continue the conversation. Where are you at the moment?

Natasha swallowed the lump forming in her throat, the sudden overwhelming sensation to cry needing to pass as she was still surrounded by her friends in the Quinjet who had no idea she had found her soulmate all of those years ago. Looking at her coordinates, she replied, we are flying over Colorado at the moment.

You smiled slightly as you approached the door you had originally been planning on visiting in the hospital, the happiness felt through the bond that Nat could feel her chest warming. Oh, I've always wanted to visit Colorado, I've heard the--.

Silence.

Not the silence that came with being distracted and losing your train of thought but the sort of quiet that left an empty hole in Natasha's chest as she waited for you to finish your sentence but it never came. The assassin sat up further in her seat, heart beginning to pound violently behind her ribcage as the realisation dawned on her that the emotions she was experiencing were the haunting silence she felt before meeting you before there was ever a soulmate connection.

Milaya? Natasha asked into the void of her mind, but there wasn't any sort of response or emotions felt back. Even when you were asleep, Natasha could feel your calmness and sense of contentment through the bond but it was just...lifeless.

MILAYA?! The red-haired woman was screaming through her mind, frantically pulling off her headset as they felt suddenly claustrophobic, forest green eyes darting wildly around the multitude of buttons laid out before her on the jet's console.

Nat hadn't noticed that in her surge of anxiety to try and get you to respond, she had actually begun verbalising her nickname for you, which caught the attention of Tony who was sitting closest to her.

"Who? I'm not naming the jet that Nat, if- Woah". Tony's words were swiftly cut off as Natasha pushed past him, her mouth was painfully dry, eyes wide and unblinking with fear, the match the tremor that had settled in her hands as she grabbed the touchscreen computer typing in your hospital's location.

Her eyes moved faster across the screen than ever before. There was nothing, no reports of an attack, nothing that would be a reason for your bond to completely disappear. Next, she opened the local police scanners and reports but once more, there was nothing that reverted back to the hospital.

Every second that agonisingly ticked past, she continued to scream a mixture between your name and Milaya, hoping there would be some sort of a response but nothing seemed to come of it.

"Natasha? What is it?", it was Steve who was asking now. Natasha's erratic behaviour was quickly questioned by her colleagues and friends who all approached and watched with confusion as she continued to lose all control.

Clint pushed past the others, grabbing onto his best friend's shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing as a tear slipped from the woman's eye, sliding down her cheek. Looking over her shoulder towards the screen, he recognised the hospital name, him being the only person that Natasha trusted with your whereabouts.

"What is it?" Clint demanded.

"I... I can't hear her", Natasha's voice was quiet and displayed her distraught brokenness.

"Her? Who is her?" Tony asked.

"Tony, not now", it was Bruce this time who spoke up, having never seen Natasha lose her composure like this, something had to be seriously wrong.

Clint's hands moved to cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him, "Nat, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath in for me and tell me what's going on."

Natasha removed herself from Clint's grip after taking one steady breath before turning back towards the computer screen, not bothering to wipe away the tears that she couldn't stop from falling as she attempted to log into the hospital's CCTV. From there, she rewound the feed to a couple of minutes ago and began to search through the corridors.

"Can someone explain what's going on, please?" Steve asked, more sternly than before, trying to find some answers that he wasn't getting.

However, the Black Widow wasn't listening, becoming even more panic-stricken with each passing second as she searched for you on the screen until finally, some air returned to her lungs as she found you walking down a deserted corridor, the footage a minute before the bond suddenly stopped. Natasha nearly smiled at seeing you there, even though she couldn't see the details of your face due to the low-quality cameras.

Tentatively, she, along with the rest of the Avengers, watched you walk down the corridor. Nat's eyes continued to glance at the time, watching it tick down as you approached the door at the end of the corridor, opened it and stepped in and then nothing as it was the time everything became silent. There were no further camera feeds in that room, you were simply there one minute and then something happened in the room and the bond was gone.

Natasha rested her head against the computer, closing her eyes to put all of her effort into shouting your name into the void in her mind but the only thing that responded was the silence and the disrupting shouting from the people around her was distracting.

"Everyone shut up!", she demanded with authority, thinking hard enough that it was beginning to form a migraine.

Glancing towards Clint, who looked just as worried as she felt, he asked, "Nothing? What about here?" he tapped against his chest, directly over his heart.

Natasha shook her head before a red suitcase caught her eye line. Taking a step towards Tony she demanded, "Give me the iron man suit".

Tony scoffed, "What? Not until you explain what's happening- wait what the fuck?!"

"GIVE ME THE SUIT!", Natasha had lost all composure, not thinking clearly, only thinking about you as a priority as she reached into her holster and within half a second, had her gun pointed towards Tony's head.

"Natasha, put the gun down, NOW.", Steve demanded, taking a step towards the billionaire like he was going to stand in front of the gun for his friend.

Nat began to cry, still mumbling, "Give me the suit Tony", the hand holding the gun still visibly shaking. Clin stepped directly in the path between the gun and Tony before Steve could, he held up his hands for good measure to show he didn't mean any harm.

"Nat listen to me", his voice was calm and low as he spoke, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "Even if you wear his iron man suit, I don't think you're in the right mindset to be by yourself so this is what's going to happen. You're going to lose the gun and I'm going to sit in the pilot seat and fly us to her, we'll be there in a couple of hours but you need to calm down right now, this jet is too small to be firing guns and you know it".

She knew he was right, thankful that she had a friend to talk some sense into her as she lowered the gun, nodding her head towards Clint who rushed to the seat she was just sitting in, placing the headset over his head. Returning the gun back into her holster and watching as Clint increased the speed of the jet, she suddenly jumped as Bruce began talking to her.

"How long has it been since you found her?" he offered her a warm drink that she hadn't noticed him pour for her. Of course, Bruce was the first to suss out what was going on. Nat held the warm drink in her hands and forced herself to drink it, even though the nausea she felt was overwhelming, she needed to try and keep calm.

"Before I knew any of you...except for Clint", Natasha admitted quietly, sitting in one of the seats surrounding the edge of the Quinjet.

Steve sighed heavily, sitting next to her, now understanding just what was going on.

"Wait, so you've had a soulmate this entire time and you didn't tell any of us?" Tony asked, sounding slightly disheartened by the news.

"I had...I NEEDED to keep her safe Tony. Do you really think our jobs don't come without any repercussions?" Tony shivered at Nat's words, thinking about the number of times his soulmate Pepper had been caught in the crossfire due to him being Iron Man. "Exactly. I can't lose her, she's... the only person I have and the only one I let get close to me, she's my only one and now, she's not answering my calls, something is wrong, I know it is".

The Avengers all nodded their head solemnly, understanding why she had reacted the way that she did. Tony sat opposite Nat, eyes full of remorse, "So is her name Milaya? That's what I heard you say earlier".

Natasha released a half-assed chuckle beneath her breath, "No that's just a nickname, her name is y/n", she allowed herself to smile for a split second, thinking about the first time she'd called you Milaya and how fond you were of it.

Then realisation dawned on her that this was really happening. Not only were you potentially in danger but now the Avengers also knew about you, could this potentially mean you didn't need to hide anymore? Shaking her head she left that thought for another time, needing to make sure you were ok first.

"Everyone strap in", Clint shouted over his shoulder, the jet beginning to reach it's maximum speed. Natasha attached the buckles around herself tightly, dropping her head back and continued to try and shout down the bond.

Clint landed in the near-empty car park in record timing much to Natasha's relief, who hardly waited for the doors to fully open before jumping down onto the tarmac. Even though the car park was bare for vehicles, there was still a scattering of people gathered around, visiting people in the hospital or using the facilities which meant, as the Avengers were suddenly in this forgotten-about town, it caught their attention quickly, shouts and whispers from every direction.

This didn't stop the group however as they followed Natasha into the building, her footsteps fierce and confident, face full of determination, all tears gone as anger replaced those feelings. There wasn't any immediate sigh of distress as they entered the building, and no sign of an attack still or police presence.

The reception lay straight ahead, and immediately, Natasha knew that it was the receptionist Bonnie behind the counter, someone you had talked about with affection on many occasions and it dawned on the assassin that she probably knew every professional in this small building.

Trying to not sound too aggressive but still holding the urgent tone, Natasha stopped before the counter, staring at Bonnie who looked up with comically wide eyes, glancing at each of the Avengers before looking back at Black Widow as she began speaking, "Y/N, where is she?"

Bonnie frowned in bewilderment, "Nurse Y/N? But how did you know-"

Natasha's heart dropped painfully as the receptionist seemed to confirm that something had happened. Beginning to lose her composure once more, her voice raised in noise level as she demanded, "Where is she? Is she even here? Did someone take her? Is she dead-?"

Bonnie quickly cut off Natasha's rant, standing from her seat with raised hands, "No! No she's not dead but something did happen earlier, let me take you to her".

She directed the group down a corridor, half running with how fast Natasha was trying to walk in front of her, ignoring the stares from the other patients and professionals. As they approached a series of windowed rooms, Bonnie began to explain what had happened.

"A ... a guy came in earlier, we think he snuck through the basement but he was caught stealing meds which were where Nurse Y/N was stationed and...she found him in the cupboard and he hit her hard across the head, by the time we found her, the guy was gone and she was unconscious on the floor. The doctors are still waiting for her to wake up was the last update that I had".

Natasha was reeling from the information, knees momentarily buckling but Clint was right behind her, hand under her arm to keep her upright and moving. You were alive, that was the information that alarmed through her mind, you were unconscious that was why she couldn't feel the concentration, it wasn't like you were asleep and could wake at any time, you'd been forcibly put to sleep, your body healing and cold.

Then there was the fact that someone had actually hurt and injured HER soulmate, right now, you were her priority but the second you were feeling better, nothing and no law would stop Natasha from hunting this guy down.

Suddenly Bonnie stopped in front of a large window that looked into a private room that had light filtering through the blinds causing an orange hue to shift across where you lay in the hospital bed in the centre of the room. There were a few machines scattered around that were monitoring your observations and a nurse recording the results standing next to the bed.

Natasha had to use every part of her training to try and hold back the audible sob that threatened to explode from her mouth as she didn't wait for permission to walk into the room. However, no one seemed to have the courage to even question the Avenger, all looking confused between her and the other heroes, nurses and healthcare assistants gathering to see what all the commotion was about.

The nurse turned, hearing someone else entering to room, her eyes widening just as exaggeratedly as Bonnie's and Natasha was quick to read his name tag, Chris. Internally she smiled knowing you were in good hands, Chris had a reputation at the hospital for his quality of care and that you and he were close friends, it must have been hard for him to then stay professional and give care for his friends.

"Is...Is she ok?" Natasha finally found her tongue to ask the Nurse, her green eyes wandering over every inch of your body. You looked almost peaceful, except for the fact that you were still in your Nurse tunic and there was a bandage plastered to your forehead.

A wave of nauseous anger rushed through Nat's body but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Chris's full attention was now on the Avenger as he answered her question with a surprisingly sturdy tone considering he was talking to one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. "She's had several stitches to close the injury, we found a metal pole next to her covered in blood so she took a strong hit. Thankfully there's no internal damage shown in the scans and she's yet to wake up but her observations have remained stable. Even if she wakes, she'll need to stay for a day or so to fully assess the damage."

The red-haired woman nodded, feeling somewhat relieved hearing this.

"Natasha?" Clint asked from the doorway having heard what Chris had said, waiting until the assassin turned towards him before continuing. "You good? We'll get out of here to give you some space just... keep in touch, will you? Let us know when she wakes up and-", his voice lowered dangerously low, "we'll find the guy".

Natasha nodded thankfully, even though she wanted to find whoever did this, the promising look in Clint's eyes she knew to trust that he had it covered. The rest of the Avengers shuffled back down the corridor, waving at the onlookers, thankfully taking the spotlight off of Natasha for a second as she attempted to step closer to you.

With no one there to hold her up, her knees buckled once more with overwhelming relief pulsing through her heart as she reached for your hand, her eyes filling with tears at the warm skin of your hand against yours, finally feeling grounded and connected to you.

Chris was quick to provide a chair for the Assassin, leaving the two of you and ushering away the spectators through the window, Natasha decided she would find him later to thank him for this.

"Oh Milaya," Natasha sighed as her face searched yours, hand gripping yours before stroking the back with his thumb.

The movement seemed to stir something with you as your fingers twitched in her grasp, a moan releasing from your mouth, eyes flicking beneath your still-closed eyelids. It almost felt like instinct for you to turn your head towards Natasha, feeling her presence there as the further you stirred, the mouth the empty hole in Natasha's chest filled with your bond.

"Natasha?" you whispered, voice thick and slurring slightly.

Nat brushed her other hand across your cheek, leaning down to lightly kiss the part of your temple that wasn't covered in bandages, mumbling "I'm here, baby". For this once, she absolutely didn't care who could see the two of you, Natasha allowed herself to be vulnerable for a moment, she thought she'd lost you, there was no way she was wasting another moment again.

A further hour passed before you moved again, sucking in a deep breath to properly fill your lungs and frowning, feeling something was off but not sure what. Blinking open your eyes, you flinched at the bright light that sent pain sparking across your head.

"Milaya?", Natasha whispered, careful to keep the noise down to not affect your sensitive senses. Her thumb brushed across your soft cheek, trying to help you arouse so she could see your pretty eyes.

"Nat?" you asked again, voice still sounding just as slurred and thick as before, "Am I dreaming?".

Eventually, your eyes opened, squinting against the orange light still pouring through the outside window. Even though the doctors had been giving you pain relief through your IV that was attached to the back of your hand that Natasha wasn't holding, you were still sensitive to the lingering concussion.

"There are those pretty eyes", Natasha praised as you looked at her hovering over you. "You aren't dreaming, you're ok, you're safe".

"What- What's going on?" you asked, feeling like something was wrong but not quite understanding just yet. You were confused and dazed still. Attempting to sit up, you frowned as your soulmate pushed against your shoulders, keeping you lying but you were only attempting to be closer to her.

"Hey it's ok, you don't need to get up, you need to rest", Nat encouraged, watching as you looked down at your body, observing the leads attached to various areas to monitor your observations, the cannula in your hand to the heavy feeling in your head, lifting said hand to brush over the soft material of the bandage on your head. Natasha cupped your hand and pulled it away from your injury, "Be careful my love, you've been hurt, don't touch it".

"I've been hurt?" you asked with confusion but the slur was very much still evident, you still need to rest and recover.

"Yeah, do you ... remember anything that's happened? Do you know what day it is?" Natasha asked, staring down worriedly at you.

You tried to think hard about today but your mind continued to be blank with delirium. "Uh... I don't remember anything. I feel like I'm floating through space", you admitted but then something dawned on you, even though you couldn't name what day it was, you knew you were at work, having been in this particular room hundreds of times and Natasha was definitely next to you right now, still dressed in her Black Widow uniform. Eyes flicking over her shoulder to the indoor window, you could see some of your colleagues walking around. "You're here! In front of everyone, they'll see you, Natasha!"

Natasha's eyes softened, hands coming up to cradle your face, "Shhh Milaya, I don't care that they've seen me. Baby, I thought you were dead." Her eyes dropped from yours to stare at your name tag that was clipped to your tunic, willing the heavy emotions to remain at bay, you needed to rest and she didn't want to make you more upset. "We were talking and then you were silent but usually, I can feel you even when you're asleep but there was nothing and I couldn't... I had to come here, I thought you were in danger, I mean, you were in danger! Apparently, some asshole was stealing med and you found him so he hit you with a metal bar".

"I'm sorry I scared you", you responded, feeling overwhelming guilt over the situation but still feeling completely dazed and out of it. "Will you stay?" you asked hopefully, reaching up to touch her cheek gently.

"I'm not leaving your side", Natasha confirmed.

"Good". The two of you stayed silent for a few minutes as the assassin returned to sitting in her seat, lifting your hand to place it back against her cheek so she could nuzzle into it. You smiled at her softness, something she didn't often like to display before something else caught your eye, your fingers nimbly grasping her chin to turn her head away from you so you could look at her chin, seeing the painful bruise there, "I thought it was just a scratch you got on this mission?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, so you do remember somethings", Natasha smirked, referring to the conversation the two of you were having before you were attacked.

"Oh little bits," you admitted, "I bet we look like a right pair", you joked, eyes closing with heaviness suddenly exhausted.

"Get some sleep Milaya", Natasha muttered against the palm of your hand.

I love you, you spoke into the mind connection, feeling heat spreading across your chest with love.

Natasha had never heard such beautiful words before, sighing and leaning over before she could stop herself to kiss your lips softly, audibly whispering, "I love you too".

Thankfully, 24 hours later you were discharged and finally bombarded by your friends and colleagues that were swiftly brushed away by Natasha as she led you towards the exit, but she quickly admitted that her phone had been going off constantly from the Avengers, wanting to invite you over soon to be introduced.

It took Clint three hours to find the man responsible for the attack and had been keeping him in a secret holding for Natasha, not that the woman was rushing to leave your side any time soon.

The days passed by and you were forced to rest by both the Doctor and Natasha, who was quick to do anything and everything for you and you were more than thankful, the symptoms of the concussion taking longer than you'd anticipated to wear off.

Finally, you felt strong enough to climb out of bed, the smell of food being cooked coming from the kitchen had your stomach growling in hunger as you quickly had a shower, still careful of the plaster over your stitches but the massive bandage had been removed thankfully.

After dressing in only an oversized top and shorts, you smiled lovingly at the sight of Natasha in the kitchen, standing in dark joggers and a thin grey vest, her hands moving skillfully over the food that was cooking, toast popping up in the toaster.

You began to move forward with the plan to help her by buttering the toast, greeting her with a "Hello beautiful", and reaching for the knife and butter. However, your attempts were futile as Natasha snatched away the utensil.

"Nope, I'm doing that, go and sit down please", she began moving away from you, to continue with her cooking.

Rolling your eyes, you simply found another butter knife from the drawer and moved back to the toast, "I'm fine! I can butter my own toast, Natasha".

Once again, she simply removed the knife from your hand, shaking her head with a throaty laugh, "I'm looking after you so go and sit down".

"You have looked after me and I'm feeling almost normal except for the stitches", you admitted, pulling the toast over from the toaster and placing it onto the plate, moving closer to Nat to try and snatch the knives out of her hand but she held it at arm's length, still smirking. "You're relentless you know that?" you finally admit defeat, hand dropping to your side.

You watched her move for a moment, not planning on sitting down at all before stepping behind her as she stirred something in one of the pans. Your hands rested against her waist, fingers teasing along the hem of her vest to finally slip beneath and feel her warm, soft skin as your lips kissed along her exposed shoulder. You smiled against her, hearing the relaxed sigh escape her mouth.

"Hmm... and you are good at distractions", Natasha quipped over her shoulder, leaning into your touch.

"I've missed you," you admitted thoroughly, even though the two of you had been together for the last few days, due to you resting, you hadn't been able to be intimate and you missed her, especially being away for so long before the attack.

I've missed you too, Milaya. Natasha spoke through your mind, hands moving to rest over yours before turning slightly towards you. "But- I need you to eat first, your stomach growling woke me up this morning and I'd feel much more content knowing your belly as full before I take your clothes off".

You swallowed harshly at the end of her sentence, thankful that she wasn't fighting you on being intimate and you could deal with the request, kissing her mouth quickly before stepping back towards the table that was already set for the two of you to eat.

Sitting down, you watched mesmerised as she cooked, it looking almost like she was dancing around the kitchen, you knew you could never be as graceful as her but she also had extensive training which aided with her movements. Your core clenched though as her vest continued to ride up on her hips, exposing more of her stomach and you wanted nothing more than to lick the area.

"Having fun over there?" Natasha asked with a wicked smirk plastered on her beautiful face as she observed your wandering eyes and the shifting you were doing on the chair with your obvious arousal.

You bite your lip to hide your grin at being caught, not quite finding the words to respond that wasn't a request to take her clothes off so you distracted yourself by drinking the glass of water that was already placed on the table.

The two of you ate and chatted about Natasha's teammates, especially Tony who had sent about 50 invitations to you to join the numerous events that were coming up that the Avengers had to attend, hoping you would accept one so he could bombard you with questions.

You both had decided that you'd attend one eventually, increasing the security would be easier now as you didn't need to hide away. This new found freedom was exhilarating and you couldn't wait to walk down the street, holding her hand and showing everyone that she was yours.

Scrapping the plate clean and moaning at how good the food tasted, you stood to wash up the plates but once again, Natasha was grabbing the plates from your hands, moving over to the sink and placing them into the warm water.

"We can do that later", she informed, extending her slender hand for you to take and leading the way towards the bedroom. The two of you lay in the centre of the bed, your eyes were already heavy, you hadn't realised just how tired you were, with a full stomach and it had been the most you'd moved in days and had exhausted you quickly.

You felt bad having teased her and attempted to reach for her but she easily held down your arms, pulling your body against hers, fingers moving delicately across your scalp in a calming manner. "Get some sleep baby, I'll be here when you wake up".

When you finally woke, you were greeted with the peaceful sight of Natasha also sleeping, her features completely relaxed. Watching her for a moment, you carefully lifted your hand, attempting to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear but in a blink, your hand was stopped in midair as Natasha gripped your wrist.

You grinned as she opened her eyes, "It's really creepy when you do that".

Natasha's plump lips tilted into a smirk, her eyes flicking across your face as she bought your wrist up to her mouth, kissing the sensitive skin on the inside that sent a shiver through your spine. "You love how quick I am, really", she teased, her voice completely sultry to match the darkening look in her eyes.

"I love everything about you", you countered, leaning closer, finally closing the gap between your lips. Both of you released a heavy sigh, breaths fanning across each other's faces at finally touching. Your skin burned instantly, feeling like there were tiny electric pulses coming from wherever your skin met and it always felt like that when it was with your soulmate, intense and powerful.

Natasha broke the kiss first but only to move down your cheek, on her own journey to reach your lobe, nibbling the sensitive flesh between her teeth that caused a deep moan to vibrate in your chest as your fingers reached for the thin straps on her shoulders, efficiently pushing them down.

"My Milaya", Natasha whispered against your ear, her fingers, pushing underneath your shirt to do their own exploration. Just before the tips of your fingers began to graze over her now exposed breasts, she pushed you fully onto your back, easily rolling on top, straddling over your abdomen her shoulder-length hair falling and framing her face as she leaned over you. "Let me make you feel good".

You mewled in response, admiring the beauty that she was, the way her lips parted and shined in the light, the straps dropped off of her shoulder that allowed for her vest to drop and reveal her perked breasts that were desperate to be touched. A finger slid under your chin as she looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You're so beautiful Natalia", you praised, hoping your eyes showed as much affection as your words did. Natasha's shoulders visibly dropped with love at the use of her birth name before she was leaning over you and kissing you fiercely, desperately moving, tongue pushing and flicking against your own, both moaning as you could taste each other.

Your hips lifted trying to find some friction but ended up grinding against Nat who groaned at the contact, her fingers suddenly reaching to grasp the edges of her vest, pausing the kiss for a second so she could remove the offensive material before moving back down to your mouth.

It felt so good to have her chest naked, rubbing against your t-shirt, that she was willing to be so bare before you. Your fingers caressed down her spine first before pulling around to the front, grazing over her scars and careful of her still healing bruised ribs that didn't seem to phase Nat anymore as you finally cupped her tits.

You felt the weight of them against your palm, squishing the beautiful flesh before tweaking her pretty nipples, earning a grind down from Nat's hips on your abdomen. Smiling against her mouth, you knew she had ultra-sensitive nipples which only made it more fun to play with them, hearing the desperate little moans she would release.

Suddenly, you were left cold and reaching for more as Nat sat up, pushing her hair out of her face as she looked down at you, "take off your clothes", she demanded whilst climbing off of your lap to remove her joggers speedily. You did as instructed, first removing your shirt and then your underwear before lying back down and Nat was straight away straddling your body again.

With no layers of material between the two of you, her bare, noticeably wet cunt now lay against your abdomen. Your hands went to her hips to grind her hips further against you, making her rock her body against yours as she leaned down once more to kiss you, your breasts rubbing together as her pussy rolled against your stomach.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good", Nat whispered breathlessly against your neck of which she had moved to leave open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin.

You chuckled, releasing her hip with one hand to reach between your bodies to play with her nipple again, feeling the vibration of her moan melt into where your chests touched. "You are making me feel good", you responded just as breathlessly, rubbing your thighs together and feeling how wet you were.

The assassin suddenly moved, half climbing down your body and moving one of your legs over her hip, lowering her hips and then her cunt was stroking against yours. The two of you moaned, and your eyes flicked between her now swollen parted lips and where her hips began rolling against yours, your clit brushing against yours, both of your juices mixing together.

You matched her movements, gripping onto the leg that she had positioned over yours still, your hips rolling with hers, both gasping and mewling as your clits were rubbed and swiped against each other.

"Feel so good baby", Natasha praised, her hand coming up to cup against your breast, massaging the flesh slowly to match the thrusting of her hips. Your head flung back as she tweaked your pebbled nipples as she pressed especially hard against your clit. "Do you like when I rub on you Milaya?" she asked you, feeling her cunt pulse with arousal at seeing you experience such pleasure.

"Yes, feel so so good", you groaned, also reaching up to play with her tits, before sitting up slightly and pulling her face down, kissing her desperately as you both chased your highs, clits still sliding against one another with how wet you both were.

You were so close, your core beginning to tighten as you began to chant her name like a prayer, needing and wanting her, begging not to stop as Natasha was responding with just as much desperation.

Your cunt then started fluttering as you came, hands gripping onto Natasha hard enough that you were sure to leave bruises but it just felt so good that you couldn't stop. Natasha continued her movements for a few further minutes, finding her own release with a beautiful gasp.

You had planned for her to catch her breath but she was moving before you could comprehend that she was, your legs being pushed back against your chest to expose your soaked cunt to her as she lay down on her stomach, eyes connecting with yours as her mouth dropped to your pussy.

She began by licking up everything you had spilt, moaning at the taste of yours and her juices, tongue pushing through your folds before teasing your hole that was still twitching to be filled. Your hands replaced hers with holding up your leg, of which she gave a long lick up your entire middle as a reward, now freeing up her hands. With one, she spread you open, giving her the perfect view of your clit and hole and then she was diving right in, her lips sealing around your clit and sucking whilst two of her powerful fingers pushed inside of you, curling instantly about your special spot.

"Oh my god- Natasha!" you moaned, and you could feel her smiling against your bundle of nerves at your reaction, seeing your eyes closed to concentrate solely on the pleasure that was being given you. This was all you had wanted for weeks, to be with her, spend time touching and pleasuring each other's bodies, feel the bond glowing and strengthening with the time spent together.

Natasha's skilled tongue and fingers drew a toe-curling orgasm out of you, your back arching to try and grind your hips on her face. She had been a master at work, her eyes never leaving your face as she watched you go through all the stages of pleasure.

You were then rolling the two of you over, and you wanted nothing more than repay her with your tongue but you still had to be careful of the stitches on your forehead. So instead, you used your fingers in her soaking cunt and your mouth sucked leisurely on her nipples which had her clenching around your fingers, your thumb stroking against her throbbing clit.

"Milaya, don't stop", Natasha cried out, hands clenching into the sheet below, her thighs shaking around your hand, a pink glow to her cheeks as she watched you move from one breast to the next. You didn't stop, wouldn't stop until she was cuming around you and the way her walls were becoming tighter, her breaths coming out in short bursts you knew it would be soon.

"Cum for me 'Tasha, wanna hear your moans", you encouraged after releasing her nipple for a second and then going straight back to sucking it harshly into the back of your mouth.

"Ah! Yes-!", Nat's eyes rolled back as she began quivering around your fingers and you didn't stop your movements, making sure to draw out every ounce of pleasure that you could, until her hips jolted through overstimulation.

Easing your fingers out of you, you quickly drew them to your mouth, moaning at the sweet taste of her before she was sitting up and kissed your lips. Her tongue stroked against yours and you could taste yourself on her, and you hoped she could do the same taste herself on your mouth.

Then you were both collapsing into the middle of the bed, limbs tangled together facing one another and trying to catch your breaths, sweat glistening off of your bodies. Smiling softly at her beautiful expression, feeling her thumb stroke near to your stitches, you asked, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"I'm just thankful you're here with me, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you", she admitted in nothing more than a whispering volume.

Reaching to take her hand in your own, you kissed her knuckles, feeling the scars beneath your lips, "You don't ever have to worry about that baby".

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha smut #marvel smut #marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow smut #black widow one shot #soulmate au #mine*

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walpu · 3 months

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Hi, it’s me again!! >_<

When I tell you I gobbled that headcannon post up, I went down on two knees and howled /hj

Anyways, do you think you can do some headcannons on Aventurine with Bodyguard! Reader if you have the time? But this time, with a twist :3

See, reader does care for Aven, you truly do, but before that, you were tasked by Everflame mansion and by Duke inferno himself to kill Aventurine. But you can’t bring yourself to, no, not when you’ve fallen head over heels for him.

When reader does become Aven’s bodyguard, you maintain that serious, no nonsense demeanor, but if he looks closely enough, he’ll see the lovestruck puppy hiding under the hardened shell that they’ve put on.

But the guilt catches up. One day, at least a few months after reader’s betrayal to Duke Inferno, you catch sight of an assassin sent to finish the job they couldn’t do. And so, the secret is finally revealed.

Personally, I think Aventurine would be betrayed, like very, how could he not be? He’s always kept people at an arm’s length away, and when he finally lets you in his walls, and starts falling for thier charm, this secret of yours comes out. He fires you almost immediately, but the way he stares after you with misty eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

The next months were absolute hell. Reader found a new job as a barista, and is quite enjoying the quaint and simply life it provides, even if you do miss Aventuirne. He’s probably still seething at you, right?.

Wrong. Because you’ve gone MIA, Aventurine been scouring all over the place, trying so hard to find you. He’s loosing sleep, forgetting to eat, all things that you would chide him about. Aeons, he misses you so much.

And when he does find you, he’s overjoyed, and when the two finally reunite, the first thing you do is to apologize deceiving him. But he forgave your silly ass a long time ago, why else would he have spent the last months trying to find you?

Long story short, it’s a happy ending, Aventurine couldn’t be more grateful he has you to be his bodyguard, his closest confidant, and most importantly, his lover <33

I’m so sorry if I went on a ramble, but this idea’s been plaguing me so bad I literally can’t focus on anything else 😭😭

I'VE BEEN LOOKING FORWAR TO WRITIG FOR THIS REQUEST SINCE THE MOMENT I SAW IT I ADORE YOUR BODYGUARD!READER x AVEN SERIES btw thank you for sharing the c.ai bot

I feel like the only thing I do with each post is apologize for taking so long but right now I like from work trip to work trip so I'm actually really really sorry this madness should end soon 😭😭😭😭 Hope you'll enjoy this post, it was my goal to finish it before version 2.1

bodyguard/assassin!reader x Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes- gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, no beta

It was not a fast prosses for the both of to form a genuine connection. Moreover, you know goddamn well you shouldn't get attached to him.

And at first it seems easy, like yeah another rich playboy, no big deal, you've delt with people like him before, right? Right??????????????

Yeah until suddenly he's not just a rich playboy.

The more you notice how deeply lonely and unhappy he is, the more your heart softens towards him. And the more your heart softens, the more he relaxes around you, seeing behind your cold exterior.

He's not used to people caring about him. And yes, of course he knows it's your job but still, for a man who never had a real friend before, he surely can appreciate having someone who not only won't leave him but also will listen to him and look after him.

And the part about you being paid to do it? Oh well. It's the same guy who offers you to use him as you wish and who's greeting line is "I can play a role of a friend :)"

Mf is FRIENDLESS, LONELY and PATHETIC /affectionally

He'll take what he can get okay.

But goddamn. Don't think he doesn't notice how you started going out of your ways to take care of him. How you make him eat, tend to his small injuries ("my, my, you're my bodyguard, not a doctor. perhaps someone wants a raise, hm?~"), how you drag him out of casino or his office when it's too late.

It drives him crazy. It's not beneficial for you, right? The w h y.

He won't ask. Instead he will watch and slowly fold.

You are probably suffering tho lol. You should just kill him already, you've had so many opportunities to end him. Instead you spoon feed him soup because he claims he has a hangover after a night in the casino. And this little brat looks so smug about it too!!!!

Sometimes he feels like it's too good to be true: you being here, taking care of him, looking after him. The line between professional relationship, friendship and... something more is way too blurry already, and he knows it's dangerous but it just feels so good. Too good.

Duke inferno gets tired eventually. He sends someone to remind you of your mission. To remind you who you really work for.

Well, the duke receives a warning of his own. The dead body of his little messenger.

You know, of course, that the Everflame mansion thugs are not easily intimidated. They will be back. So you better warn Aventurine and tell him everything.

You can't keep lying to him, can you?

Well. It's surprisingly not as easy as you thought. After all, even if they will send someone, you'll just protect Aven like you always do, right? He doesn't have to know. Not about your past, not about your original mission. He keeps his secrets too, so why can't you?

You know goddamn well why tho. You know and yet you still can't bring yourself to tell him the truth.

It goes on like that for several months and Aventurine notices that something is clearly off, something is bothering his darling protector. He tries to pry, to tease, to cling, to pester you. Something to make you open up. Or, at least, get distracted. He can't help but feel anxious. Why are you suddenly so reversed? Do you want to leave his side? Does he not pay you enough? Does he bother you too much? It eats him alive while he tries to mask it by pestering you even more. As if to test you. As if to make sure that it's not the case.

All the hell breaks loose one day when you discover that Duke inferno has sent another assassin to finish the job.

I you spare the details but yeah, your secret was unraveled. And it wasn't pretty at all.

You have never seen emotions so vivid on Aven's face. Part of you always wanted to see him more vulnerable, more open with you. But not like this. Not this look of utter betrayal.

He collects himself quick enough, hiding behind the mask of mock disappointment.

"Hm, well, I recall mentioning that treachery is just another tool of the trade. But it seems like our little deal is not paying off for me anymore" he says with a cold chuckle, shaking his head a little. "After all, you have very little to offer outside of your dog-like loyalty. But seems like this dog bit both hands that fed it".

You were expecting him to call for your arrest but instead he just fires you. It hurts nevertheless.

What hurts even more is that look he gives you when you part ways. It's like his pretty eyes are even more lifeless now.

At first he feels this overwhelming emptiness. It truly feels like the fate is mocking him. One time, just one time, he allowed himself to relax around someone. Just this one time, with this one person who took care of him, who listened to him, who looked out for him. And this person was supposed to kill him.

Then his stupid brain finds another way to torture him. He keeps thinking about the way you have always protected him, the way you took the hit even during the last attack, when Duke Inferno's new assassin tried to get to him. You were ready to leave your past life behind to stay by his side, weren't you?

As soon as he realizes it he goes frantic. Of course he tries to find you asap but of course someone as competent as you would be able to disappear without a trace in no time. You were an assassin, after all. A skilled one too, since he never even suspected you.

This connection the two of you had, this realization that you really cared enough to betray your client, all of this makes him realize that he needs you so, so much. He needs to feel this care again, he need to look at you again, to know that you're here by his side.

He misses you so much. Your nagging, your reassurance, your touch. He's like an addict who felt what it feels like to love and beloved in return for the first time and now he can't live without it.

He doesn't eat or sleep properly, his head plagued by the thoughts about you. What if you forgot all about him? What if you're wounded? Where are you even? His fingers itch to trace your face and your scars.

He thinks about how you would scold him for not taking proper care of himself and it makes him miss you even more.

Aven finds you after a few months. It was honestly a coincidence, one of his subordinates saw you in the coffee shop you were working at.

He though that finding you will calm him down but seeing you from afar, looking somewhat peaceful and cozy, having a regular job... it's too much. And what if you really don't need him anymore? Maybe you never did? After all, he's painfully aware that he probably needs you much more than you need him.

And yet, he decides to take this risk. He's a gambler, after all.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you're good even at that. How come you have never made me coffee before, hm?"

You literally freeze on the spot after hearing this familiar voice next to you.

When you finally get to talk, you can see he's really trying to look calm and collected but how can he? His hands are shaky and his voice cracks. It breaks your heart.

He doesn't even let you finish your apology, pressing a finger to your lips.

"Hush, darling. All is forgiven. In fact, I even have an interesting proposal. I'm can be a generous man after all".

He can't fool you. Not with this shaky soft voice. And he knows it as well.

Please hug that fool and kiss him. Swear that you won't ever leave him again. Swear that you want to be by his side. As his bodyguard, as his friend, as something more. So much more. That's all he really need to feel like he's at home.

#if the ending feel abrupt i'm sorry tumblr said i'm writing too much #i had to cut it short #thank you so much for this request!!!#and fuск this app for making me cut my words it's not my fault i'm graphomaniac #hsr #honkai star rail #walp's writing #aventurine #hsr aventurine #reader insert #aventurine x reader

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mysicklove-main · 11 months

Text

Uzui Tengen is known for his dramatics. You knew that when you first decided to marry him, and have grown used to it with the years. His flashy appearance and bold words don't even phase you now. That's just who he is and who you came to love.

Until he gets sick. The dramatics pick up to a whole level you've never thought could occur. Of course if other people saw him that we're not you, or his other wives, he would pretend to be fine, grinning and showing off. But he would never let his lovers off the hook like that, it would be not flashy at all.

“I think it's time I say my final goodbye.”

You roll your eyes, placing a damp towel on his forehead. He coughs, and honestly you can't tell if it's fake or not, but you hold out a cup for him to drink a water out of. When he doesn't move, you sigh and press it to his lips, watching with amusement at the way he gulps it down. “Your fever is bound to break soon, maybe if you stopped complaining and rest, you'll feel better.”

He glances at you when you pull the cup away, a small pout on his face. “Hurts so bad, I must be dying. I feel so weak," His voice is horse, and his body is unusually warm.

You can't help but want to dote on him at his words. He's got to be acting just a bit, but he truly does sound broken. But before you could comfort him he says, “Is this how you feel like all the time? This weak?”

You sigh, pinching your brows, but you can't help the smile that creeps on your face. He's so ridiculous, but at least he keeps you on your toes. In his sickly state or not. “Really?”

“Just joking. I know you aren't this weak.” You can see it in his eyes that he wants to boast about his strength again, but your watchful eyes shut it down. You adore how powerful your husband is, but you weren't Suma who fangirls every time he spoke about himself (Of course you did love that side of Suma as well, it was cute seeing her so excited).

You roll your eyes again but smile at him, and adjust the bedsheets, pulling them higher up on his chest. He let's out a throaty complaint, but doesn't fight it. “Hey, where are the others? Can't bare to see me this pathetic?”

“No, “god” of the dramatics.” He frowns at the mock nickname. “You scared the daylights out of Suma, who actually thinks you're going to die. Hinatsura is comforting her outside. And you know Makio, she isn't the one to be near when someone is sick.”

He hums, closing his eyes for the first time in the past hour with a content smile on his face. “So I get you all to myself, huh?”

You grin, puffing up his pillow again before sitting in the chair next to him. “Guess you can say that. Until your fever breaks at least.”

“Nurse Y/N,” He sighs, breathlessly with a grin on his face. His eyes are still shut and by the looks of it he is imagining something lewd.

You shut it down immediately. “No. I'm not a nurse. I'm an assassin.”

He ignores your words. “Why arent you wearing the cute outfit. I'm sickly, please treat me nurse!”

“I'm leaving,” You deadpan, but before you can stand up a hand flies to your wrist. He tilts his head toward you with a small apologetic smile. His cheeks are flushed from the fever and his neck is slightly beaded with sweat.

“Sorry. I'm done, I'm done, promise. Just stay with me? Honestly, I am a little scared about how week I feel." The tone of his voice is solemn, and his hands slightly tremble on your wrist. You grab onto it and set it back down on the bed, and grab the cloth to dab the beads of sweat on his neck.

It's been ages since he has gotten sick. The last time probably in his early teens, so you aren't too surprised he is uncomfortable, but it was surprising for him to admit something like this. “Scared” is not in his vocabulary, or at least he preaches.

So you take pity on him, and smile at him. “Of course, Lord Tengen. Close your eyes and rest, I'll be here when you wake up, promise.”

He glances at you for a final time, and closes his eyes. “Thanks, Nurse Y/N.”

You shake your head slowly, and take in his appearance. Even in his sweaty, weak state he wears his signature smug grin that you've grown to love. You can't be too mad at him.

#another one #i wonder if u guys like when i write drabbles #they r so fun #anyways tags #tengen x reader #uzui x reader #tengen uzui #uzui fluff #tengen fluff #tengen uzui x reader #kny fluff #kny x reader #uzui drabbles #tengen drabbles #x reader #reader insert #kny fanfic #tengen kny #mello.writes

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sorryimananti-romantic · 11 months

Text

Ateez Masterlist - Discography Ver.

Basically ateez's tracklist but with the ffs linked! click on the song and you'll be led to the content which will have a detailed description + warnings of its own. enjoy <3 and special thanks to @eightmakesonebraincell for helping me out with the formatting! (PLAYS = word count, CREDITS = description). P.S: for reactions, requests and headcanons, pls refer to the masterlist here <3

TOTAL STREAMS: 918,290~ (as of 05/06/24)

TREASURE EP.1: All to Zero

# Title

1 Intro: Long Journey

2 해적왕 (Pirate King)

3 Treasure

4 Twilight

5 Stay

YEOSANG (ft. princess!reader) 18,692 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where yeosang is an archer and he replaces your tutor and keeps your secret, joins you in finding some adventure in life and eventually, helps you find true love.

6 My Way

MINGI (ft. princess!reader) 18,619 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where mingi is your bodyguard and you, the princess, travel to the enemy nation to expose the schemes of your betrothed, risking your life when you can't hold back your feelings for your guard anymore.

TREASURE EP.2: ZERO TO ONE

# Title

1 HALA HALA (Hearts Awakened, Live Alive)

MINGI (ft. human!reader) 26,976 PLAYS CREDITS: fantasy au where the shadow demon is cursed to share a body with mingi. mingi encounters you when you run away from home and you decide to stick with him. you start falling for both the demon and mingi but tragic consequences await you as you learn more about the curse.

2 Say My Name

3 Desire

4 Light

5 Promise

YUNHO (ft. princess!reader) 23,068 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where you, princess of eden, find yourself in an arranged marriage with prince yunho of wonderland and find your homelands at war with each other, making you wonder what will become of your marriage esp when you fall for him.

TREASURE EP.3: One To All

# Title

1 Utopia

2 Illusion

3 Crescent

SAN (ft. bodyguard/assassin!reader) 17,274 PLAYS CREDITS: royal/fantasy au where san is the prince and you are hired to be his bodyguard and personal assassin as he travels to eden to uncover secrets and a possible betrayal.

4 Wave

MINGI (ft. teacher!reader) 7,881 PLAYS CREDITS: high school-ish au where you both are teachers and accompany students to a one week trip as per your suggestion, experiencing your own high school romance

5 Aurora

YUNHO (ft. spy!reader) 26,543 PLAYS CREDITS war au where you are a spy/cryptographer in the enemy nation and meet yunho, skilled strategist and cryptographer, win his favour to get on his team so you can eventually get to the medical research department to expose their plans, but fall in love with him in the process, fearing the day he'll learn your true identity.

6 Dancing Like Butterfly Wings

TREASURE EP.FIN: All To Action

# Title

1 Wonderland

2 Dazzling Light

YEOSANG (ft. human!reader) 26,709 PLAYS CREDITS: fantasy au where yeosang is an angel on his last mission and you, a mere human, messes his mission making him stay for longer than he'd like... until he starts actually liking it (and you) and finds himself in a life-threatening situation.

3 안개 (Mist)

SAN (ft. mediator!oc) 53,807 PLAYS CREDITS: supernatural au where the oc, seohyun, is a mediator- someone who can see and interact with the dead and helps them move on. she befriends san and together, they navigate through a journey of danger and thrill, heartbreak and love, and tragedy that drives them worlds apart.

4 Win

WOOYOUNG (ft. princess/assassin reader) 42,555 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where wooyoung is an envoy from utopia, also undercover, and finds out your identity. a secret shared, you try to prevent utopia from taking your homeland while he helps though you can't help but question his loyalty multiple times- even when you're falling for each other.

5 If Without You

WOOYOUNG (ft. reader) 14,449 PLAYS CREDITS: best friends to lovers au where your childhood friend wooyoung moves in with you as he adjusts to the city and you try to get used to his presence without revealing your romantic feelings for him.

6 친구 (THANK U)

7 Sunrise

SAN (ft. soldier!reader) 29,895 PLAYS CREDITS: you and san are majors in the special forces. you think the idea of romance while being in the military is stupid for a number of reasons, but san thinks otherwise and decides to prove his point, making you question your beliefs.

8 걸어가고 있어 (WITH U)

TREASURE EPILOGUE : Action To Answer

# Title

1 Answer

2 지평선 (Horizon)

SAN (ft. oc) 100,725 PLAYS CREDITS: royal/fantasy au where san, faerie prince of earth, finds gaeul who came back from the dead as a part of a darkling's evil schemes, her magic now unnatural and dark. san realises he might be connected to gaeul in unimaginable ways, the bond they share serving as both their salvation and demise. SPINOFF (TAKE ME HOME)

3 Star 1117

4 Precious

5 Outro: Long Journey

TREASURE EP. Map To Answer

# Title

1 Declaration

2 Better

YEOSANG (ft. reader) 9,302 PLAYS CREDITS: enemies to lovers au where you belong to rival gangs but find yourselves at the mercy of a common enemy and have no choice but to rely on each other and address your confusing feelings for each other.

ZERO : FEVER Part.1

# Title

1 Dear Diary: 2016.07.29

2 FEVER

3 THANXX

4 지평선춤을 춰 (TO THE BEAT)

5 INCEPTION

6 Good Lil Boy

WOOYOUNG (ft. princess!reader) 23,785 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where you meet prince wooyoung, your best friend and your worst enemy, at a retreat in another kingdom and you start to cross personal boundaries with each other in the name of bets, unable to keep your hands off each other.

7 One Day At A Time

YUNHO, SEONGHWA (ft. reader) 18,565 PLAYS CREDITS: royal/war? au where seonghwa and yunho are both the king's trusted guards and best friends. you fell for seonghwa, married and had a daughter with him before losing him forever. later, you fall for yunho- a loving father to your daughter and a husband who gave you enough space and time to grieve and fall for him.

ZERO : FEVER Part.2

# Title

1 불놀이야 Fireworks (I’m the One)

HONGJOONG (ft. reader) 25,903 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where prince hongjoong holds a selection- 30 eligible candidates from the kingdom competing against each other, one of which would be his wife and the future princess. you're only a translator to one of the candidates but you catch his eye.

2 선도부 (The Leaders)

3 Time of Love

JONGHO (ft. reader) 19,800 PLAYS CREDITS: friends to lovers au where jongho is your brother's best friend (yeosang) and the three of you share a living space. you catch up with jongho and your feelings for him resurface with all their might.

4 Take Me Home

SEONGHWA (ft. oc) 155,416 PLAYS CREDITS: royal/fantasy au where yena (oc) with a magical block on her memories goes on a journey to uncover her past, encountering the eight faerie princes and learning her identity and fighting against an evil scheme as she falls for prince seonghwa of dark, a love that transcends the boundaries of time, space and magic.

5 Celebrate

Into the A to Z

# Title

1 Still Here

Dreamers

# Title

1 Dreamers

2 Blue Summer

Season Songs

# Title

1 바다 보러 갈래? (Be My Lover)

2 여름날의 겨울동화 (White Love)

HONGJOONG (ft. fireprincess!reader) 24,832 PLAYS CREDITS: fantasy au where hongjoong is the ice prince and sets a neverending winter in the land and you, the fire princess, find him trapped. as you team up against the threats on your lives, you make unexpected friends and find love.

3 검은 고양이 네로 (The Black Cat Nero)

ZERO : FEVER Part.3

# Title

1 Eternal Sunshine

HONGJOONG (ft. reader) 23,393 PLAYS CREDITS: you and hongjoong meet on the train and instantly connect, becoming friends and more, but you're both plagued by a past that you can't remember, and when you start digging into it you realise that your pasts may be connected and the situation might be graver than you thought.

2 Feeling Like I Do

YUNHO (ft. reader) 4,671 PLAYS CREDITS: you and yunho have been best friends since forever and neighbours for a while, and you find it harder with each passing day to hide your feelings for him.

3 Deja Vu

SEONGHWA (ft. reader) 22,281 PLAYS CREDITS: past life/reincarnation au where seonghwa was hades and you were persephone and in the present, seonghwa is a detective and you are a florist and you meet during his case investigation, your encounters making you relive your memories from your past life.

4 ROCKY

5 All About You

6 Not Too Late (밤하늘)

ZERO : FEVER EPILOGUE

# Title

1 야간비행 (Turbulence)

2 Be With You

SEONGHWA (ft. spy/defector!reader) 23,593 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where you're a spy for the king but he tainted your name and imprisoned you in the enemy nation as a defector, imprisoning your sister as leverage. once you run, you encounter seonghwa- the king's right hand- save his life and use him to get to the castle, wondering if he'll still love you when he learns the truth.

3 The Letter

4 멋 (The Real) (흥 : 興 Heung Ver.)

5 Outro : Over the Horizon

Don't Stop

# Title

1 Don't Stop

BEYOND : ZERO

# Title

1 The King

THE WORLD EP.1 : MOVEMENT

# Title

1 Propaganda

2 Sector 1

3 Cyberpunk

JONGHO (ft. programmer!reader) 23,750 PLAYS CREDITS: you're a programmer in the eden droid project and you find your boyfriend jongho as the droid assigned for you to 'fix'- you wonder if it was just an awful conincidence. you run away with him so you can turn him back to human but it starts going wrong and you find yourself learning shocking truths as you make plans for the downfall of the project.

4 Guerrilla

YUNHO (ft. writer!reader) 27,902 PLAYS CREDITS: he's a doctor, part time serial killer/vigilante. you're a gore crime fiction writer. you move in with him despite the strict and strange rules and somehow, you both end up falling for each other amidst lies, secrets, past traumas and a detective who suspects you.

5 The Ring

6 WDIG (Where Do I Go)

JONGHO (ft. reader) 23,701 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where jongho is hired as your bodyguard under your father's order bc you are a gossip-dealer who owns hotel crescent. with your father as your opposition when you support two different princes of two different nations at war, you wonder where jongho's loyalty lie.

7 New World

HONGJOONG (ft. royalphysician!reader) 27,397 PLAYS CREDITS: royal au where hongjoong is the crown prince and you're the royal physician to the king and you strike a deal with him- you'd kill the king for him to speed up his coronation while he grant you some benefits. you start getting greedy with each other though and things take a dark turn.

THE WORLD EP.PARADIGM

# Title

1 Intro: Siren

YEOSANG (ft. sirenhunter!reader) 27,894 PLAYS CREDITS: enemies to lovers au where yeosang is a siren and you're immune to a siren's call. while you help each other get your respective revenge and overcome a curse that starts turning you into a siren, you find that yeosang isn't the monster you thought all sirens to be.

2 Paradigm

3 Outro: Liberty

SPIN OFF : FROM THE WITNESS

# Title

1 Halazia

2 Outro: Blue Bird

LIMITLESS

# Title

1 Limitless

SAN (ft. queen!reader) 28,912 PLAYS CREDITS: you're the princess of utopia, queen of eden by marriage to the king. for a whole year of marriage, you've taken his abuse but you're planning his downfall and you find an unexpected ally in the king's right hand choi san. he not only helps you plan but also shows you how it is like to be truly loved and wanted.

2 Diamond

#ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez au #ateez reactions #yumi.masterlist

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m1ckeyb3rry · 10 days

Note

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first.

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind.

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first.

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you.

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say.

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways.

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume.

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be.

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say.

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said.

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter.

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky.

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding.

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by.

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say.

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says.

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.”

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently.

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up.

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality.

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized.

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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sam24 · 5 months

Text

Metal Arm Cupid

Summary: Bucky didn't know what to expect in the 21st century. But he definitely didn't expect cute girls to barge into meeting rooms and beat people up.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

*****

Bucky made no attempt to stifle his yawn as he pretended to listen to the debrief (that was looking more like an argument to him) that was going on way too long for his liking, earning a sharp glare from Steve, but Bucky could tell that deep down, Steve wanted to hightail outta there too.

“Stop taking all the credit, Josh. I was the one who stabbed him. You just sat there and watched like an obese cow.”

Josh (Bucky thought his name was Jack until now) scoffed. “That’s Agent 16 to you, Avery.”

“It’s actually Avril, you little-”

“Agents, you better stop this instantly.” Fury narrowed his eyes at the bickering partners.

“Stop embarrassing me in front of the Avengers, Evelyn, and let me do the talking. Clearly you can’t because of those oversized donkey teeth of yours.” Josh paid no heed to Fury.

The girl (Avril?) gasped and her hand instinctively flew to cover her mouth. “Why you-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” A dangerously calm voice rang through the room.

All eyes flew towards Natasha, you looked like she was going to murder the next person who opened their mouth.

“This is why I don’t go on missions with sensitive baby agents.” She muttered in Russian.

Bucky cracked a smile.

“How come no one listens to me?” Fury grumbled.

“Probably because you aren’t a trained assassin with 20 different weapons hidden on your body, and I bet you also don’t know 5 different ways to kill someone with an oven mitt.” Clint whispered in Fury’s ear.

“It doesn’t matter who stabbed who, it matters what happened in the end. And in the end, I was the one you saved your ungrateful asses, so you can stop arguing like toddlers now.” Natasha growled.

Her eyes narrowed specifically at Josh.

Nobody spoke. Probably because no sane person wanted a bullet from Natasha’s gun in their head.

“You seriously couldn’t have done that 20 minutes ago?”

Of course, though, Tony Stark was far from sane.

“Shut up, Tony.” At least 5 different people said at the same time.

Josh cleared his throat, recovering from his mini paralysis stroke.

“No offense, but-”

Before Josh could get himself killed, loud voices outside of the door made everyone turn.

Honestly, they all probably would’ve turned even to watch a fly so they could ignore Josh’s excuses.

“Miss, I can’t let you-”

“I really don’t care, so move. Now.”

Bruce immediately sat up. “Is that Ace?”

“Oh, thank god.” Tony let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “I’m so bored right now, maybe she’ll make this actually interesting.”

Even though Bucky’s stay at the compound started recently, he had heard plenty of stories about you, the infamous ‘Ace’. To what he’d heard, you worked at the lab with Bruce and Tony, like a daughter to them both. You were an ‘intellectual sage’ (described by Barton), hence the nickname, Ace.

“I said, MOVE!”

“Banner, what is the meaning of this?” Fury ordered.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows and completely ignored him. “What in the world is she doing?”

“Banner!”

“I SAID MOVE, DAMNIT.” A loud thud followed closely and the door was flung open so hard it practically ripped off of its hinges.

“Lord have mercy.” Bruce buried his face into his hands as you barged into the room, pulling along a terrified looking girl behind you.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised with interest as he took in your purple highlights, Converse High-Tops, and Gravity Falls shirt peeking out from under your lab coat.

“Look, missy, in case you haven’t noticed, this is a private meeting. I’m going to give you 5 seconds to leave before I have you escorted out instantly.” Fury demanded.

“Yeah, that’s cool, Patchy the Pirate, just give me a minute.” You weren’t even looking at Fury as you scanned the room.

“Ha! Patchy the Pirate! Laura’s gonna love this!” Clint smacked his hand on the table and leaned his chair back (and almost fell backwards if Steve didn’t catch it, but that’s not the point).

Fury looked like he was seriously contemplating life as you still didn’t spare him a glance, and your narrowed hawk eyes landed on someone behind Bucky.

He followed your gaze to meet Josh, who had raised two fingers in the air cockily to greet you and the girl behind you.

“Josh, you mother fucker.”

And before Steve could say ‘language!’ (yes, Bucky had caught on pretty quickly after Tony would say it every other sentence), you had crossed the room in what felt like just two strides and socked Josh right in the jaw.

The room erupted in chaos.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Steve was up on his feet in a millisecond, his Captain America side taking over.

“That’s it, honey! Do it again!” Tony cheered.

“Is this some kind of Midgardian greeting that I have not yet been informed of?”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on in my own meeting!”

“That was the best thing I’ve seen in my whole life.” Avril grinned.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but her face clearly said ‘girl, me too’.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” Sam chuckled from next to Bucky.

“Same.” Bucky muttered under his breath.

“Whoa hold up, did you just agree with me??”

“Shut up, pigeon brain.”

“Excu-”

The only thing that stopped Sam and Bucky’s cat fight was another punch to Josh’s precious face, this time right in the nose.

Bruce tried to reason with you from across the whole ass room, practically shouting over all the commotion as Steve tried to pull you away from Josh.

“Ace, sweetheart, why don’t you talk it out instead of going straight to violence? Doesn’t that sound like a better idea?”

“Sounds great, Bruce, but that’s not an option anymore!” You shouted back over your shoulder.

“Look, champ, it’s not right to randomly punch people like that!” Steve was still trying to pry you away from Josh.

“Look, Pops,” You mocked. “It’s also not right to cheat on your girlfriend with some random chick you ran into at a bar!”

Everything stopped.

Except Josh’s struggling from your grasp.

“He cheated on you?” Tony broke the silence, looking like he was going to blast Josh into outer space. “Wait, when were you guys even together? And why in the goddamn world would you date that guy?”

“Not me, dimwit, her.” You point your free hand that was not gripped on Josh’s collar at the girl behind you, looking ready to sprint out of there when all eyes landed on her.

“Just leave it, ma moitié, it’s not worth it.” She said quietly, her words coated in a thick french accent.

Bucky recognized her as the nice agent who gave him a coffee last week after Sam ‘accidentally’ knocked over Bucky’s.

“Just leave it? Absolutely not, hun!”

“Listen to her, Ace.” Bruce pleaded.

“No! This sleazy bastard cheated on my best friend! No fucking way! Literally, who the hell would cheat on a cute french girl?”

“Ace, violence isn’t the right way to-”

“Excuse me?” Josh’s voice rang out, sounding like someone was holding his nose closed shut. “Can someone get me an ice pack?”

You whipped around towards him.

“You. Want. An. Ice pack.” You restated, shooting daggers- no, 7 inch sharp kitchen knives at him.

“My nose hurts.” Josh rolled his eyes. “Y’know, after you turned all Crazy Psycho Lady on me and broke it.”

“You know what?” Your smile dripped with bitterness and sarcasm. “How about I punch it again so it’ll go numb and it won’t hurt anymore?”

You reached your arm backwards to land another punch, but Steve rushed to grab you again, and the chaos resumed.

Tony was instructing you to “kick Steve in the balls and resume beating the shit out of Josh”, while Bruce was very strongly vetoing the idea.

Sam and Clint, meanwhile, were placing bets on how much the medical bill was gonna be.

Suddenly, Bruce rushed over to Bucky.

“Look, man, you gotta help me.”

Bucky looked at Bruce with wide eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah! If you tell her to stop, she would in a heartbeat!”

“Why?” Bucky knew where this was going.

“Because of your metal arm!”

Bucky’s heart sank. Of course you were scared of it. Everyone was. They thought it made him a monster.

So did he.

Even though he was so, so grateful to Shuri for trying to help him feel like a new person with a new arm that wasn’t associated with HYDRA, that bloody ruthless murderer that they made him into never seemed to leave.

He would always be him.

No matter how hard he tried, the memories followed him like a lost puppy, attacking at night when he was trying to sleep.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never shake off the imprint HYDRA had left on him.

No matter how hard he tried or how much Steve told him otherwise, Bucky was still a monster.

A cruel, cold-hearted, evil monster who killed the innocent.

Who killed innocent men, women, and children who didn’t deserve to be killed.

He was the one who deserved to be killed.

“She’s absolutely obsessed with it!”

Bucky choked on his spit.

“Wha-w-what?”

“She adores it.” Bruce rushed. “She says it’s, and I quote, the most beautiful and extraordinary thing to ever be made in history.”

Okay, so apparently Bucky did not know where that was going.

“Still not convinced?” Bruce groaned. “She thinks it’s the most amazing thing in the galaxy. She says it’s the ‘peak of engineering’. You can ask Tony if you still don’t believe me.”

Tony wasn’t extremely fond of Bucky, and neither was Bucky of him, so he decided to take Bruce’s word for it, no matter how much it shocked him.

She likes my arm?

Just because she likes your arm doesn’t mean she likes you, idiot.

“Uh, okay? So, um, what do I do?”

“Tell her to stop!” Bruce lightly shoved Bucky forward when he slowly got up out of his seat.

Bucky hesitantly took a step forward, his mind still trying to process everything.

Bucky maneuvered around Steve, tapping you - who was still out to get it for Josh- on the shoulder after a moment of hesitation.

“Bruce, I already told you, it’s too late-” You spun out of Steve’s grip, but your mouth dropped open when you realized it was not Bruce.

You stared at Bucky with wide eyes. But not out of fear.

Out of adoration.

He was struck with a sudden flash of nostalgia of how his mom looked at him when he gave her a card for Mother’s Day when he was 6.

"Oh, Jamie, I love it.” She had said as she read it with a soft smile.

And that same smile was on your face. “Um, hi there.”

He smiled back.

But not one of those fake smiles he put on to make Steve happy. An actual genuine smile.

And it felt good.

You smoothed out your coat, taking in a breath. “Can I help you?”

Steve stared at the two of you, a grin spreading onto his face.

“I’m not surprised. Those psychos are perfect for each other.” Josh rolled his eyes.

Neither of you heard him.

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

“She knows.” Tony groaned.

“Shut up, Tony.” Your eyes never left Bucky’s. “Hi Bucky.”

He saw your eyes light up as they made their way to look at his metal arm.

Bruce cleared his throat loudly.

“So, um, Ace. The arm has been giving me a bit of trouble recently. I was wondering if you could maybe take a look at it?” Bucky glanced at Bruce before looking back at you.

“He means now.” Bruce added.

You looked like you were going to faint out of excitement.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Bruce let out a loud sigh of relief.

“Um, actually.” Bucky started.

Bruce’s head shot up and started mouthing something to Bucky - probably something along the lines of ‘No! Get her out of here before she kills him!’- but he was busy looking at you.

“Maybe you wanna grab a coffee first?”

#marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #crack fic

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