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sashiavi · 14 days

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no thoughts head empty just riding kaveh's face 😔😔😔 he'd definitely whimper and moan, acting like it's his last meal<3 thrusting his hips in the air to try and get some sort of relief, and ends up cumming untouched<3<3 oh the things I'd do to him

(I'm supposed to be productive rn)

(but kaveh<3<3<3)

Kaveh x Reader - Riding Kaveh's Face Haikaveh x Reader Mentioned

Some Kaveh food ♡

I'm slowly working through a few requests and my own little projects hehe~ thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

Ilysm Kai Ty for sneaking into my ask box hehe~ 💕

“Kaveh.. I don't want to hurt you..” Was the first thing that tumbled from your pretty lips, a kiss of nervousness lingering on the edge of your words. The words he should have seen coming, like an overused opening line to a spicy scene in one of his romance novels, written by some lazy author.. Maybe to you, your concerns were valid, more than reasonable, even, it’s not everyday that he has you on him like this. Any ounce of rationality quickly scatters from him when Kaveh meets your eyes.

Nervous face looking down at him between your legs, eyes already a little bleary, lips tucked into a nervous pout. What a sight. Pretty tits drooping with gravity, framing your abdomen and tummy so well. One hand planted on his chest, the other being nervously nibbled at, tips of your fingers, lips biting into your nails. Kaveh huffs, a puff of a sigh tickling your skin. He had you kneeling on your knees, soft squishable thighs grazing against his ears, skin warm on his cheeks, sucking the metallic cool from the dangling jewelry he always adorned. His hands snake over the back of your thighs squeezing, groping, making an attempt to pull you down.

“K-Kaveh-!” Your squeals make his brain spark. The subtle fight and pull of your hips, his own hands trying to gently combat your squirms, all but makes him more eager- desperate even, for you, for your smell, your taste, to hear those soft whimpers he knows will spill from your lips. Archons, he wants to stuff his face full, dig his nose into your little clit, tongue your pussy with kisses and licks.

“S’ okay- Can take it, honest..” He cranes his neck, chin tilting up, lips managing a soft, wet kiss against your mound, his breath hot against the sensitive skin.

“We've never..” You trail off, looking anywhere but him. It was true, they hadn't ever done something like this, not together at least, but the memory- memories even, of your pretty pussy being tongue fucked by Alhaitham all those times before. Riding on his face, squealing, whimpering, crying. Tugging at the man's silky grey hair, pleading with him, all while knowing he wouldn't stop, grip too tight on your thighs and ass. Gods, Alhaitham, ever the dominant, putting both of you in your places, fucking you too stupid to even lay a finger on one another- one always twitching and out of commission for the rest of the night while he tortured the other with utmost pleasure.

Kaveh's cock flexes in his pants, tip rubbing against the taught material, nearly cracking out his own whimper. This was one of those rare chances, he had to get his own hands on you.

“You ride 'Haitham's face..” Kaveh can't help but whine, his lips visibly pout, head turning, pointed nose nuzzling into the soft fat of your thigh. He resists the urge to kiss, to sink his teeth in, nibble, and leave his own marks on your skin. Gods, he wants you to use him, ride his tongue and choke him with your pussy.

“H-He..” Your voice cracks, laced in something sinful, nervous from heat and embarrassment already taking over your body. The pause is tense, ringing in Kaveh's ears. "He can.. handle it, he's-" Kaveh cuts you off.

“Why can't I handle it? Wanna make you feel good..” He tries again, breathing warm on your core, aiming kisses on your inner thighs, the subtle swell of your tummy and that pretty patch of skin that leads down to your pussy. Just a little lick, a little kiss and he's sure you'd agree.

“He's just.. hnn.. Stronger than you- Ahn~!” Kaveh stops you again, forcing a startled moan from your lips with a harsh nip to your sensitive inner thigh, followed with a slicing glare from his sharp, crimson eyes. He had no right to be jealous- you were his as much as Ahaitham was, the same for the latter and yourself (and every other way, betrothed to each other equally) and yet, that achy feeling sears down his throat. Alhaitham with his high praise, thick biceps and stupid pretty face- Kaveh was pretty too! Stronger? Kaveh can show you stronger. Show you how he can make you feel good. Show you he can take on and bully your pretty pussy with his tongue. Show you he can take all of you.

It starts with a fat lick of his tongue, a thick stripe up your cunt, right over that puffy untouched clit of yours. His chin tilted up to reach you, breath already hot and laboured, fanning over your core, he nearly growls when your hips make an attempt to snip away from him. He reels you in, grip on your hips a little firmer, landing wet hot smooches and kisses on all your most sensitive bits. That look on your face makes his cock twitch, embarrassed, guilty even, chin wobbling with the shaky breath you manage.

“Ahn~ K-Kaveh m’ sorry-” Apologies be damned, you'd started something, a fire in his gut to prove himself, to lap at you like a dog in heat. Gods, his neck already stung, ached with the strain of chasing you, chasing that pretty, drooly cunt- His fingers tighten, squishing the fat of your thighs under them. He feels your muscles tense and ripple, trying their best to keep you upright against his pull. Gods, he wanted you, wanted more, wanted you to sit, hump at his tongue, let him suckle and spit and make a mess.

“Ka-veh-” You start, heat and arousal dripping from your voice, winded and breathless. You squirm again, fingers threading through his hair, gently tugging him back down to the cushioned pillow below. “Haitham’ will be home soon, we- Ah~ Kavehhh!” You're cut off with a squeal. Knocked hard under your knees by a pair of hands, forced to drop down on Kaveh's face. His eyes roll, arms snaking around your ass and lower back, pinning you to himself with a rough hug. No escape now, you were all his. His gorgeous girl and her pretty drooly cunt.

Archons.. Fuck this was what he needed, what he craved. Squishy pussy smushed up on his lips, his pointed nose digging into your tender clit, tongue already fucking into the soft squeeze of your hole. He forces your hips to rock, guiding them with his hands, fingers squished into the fat of your ass and thighs. Gods, he wanted to cry, sob into your pussy and praise it over and over.

He can't help but crane his own hips, feeling the hot burning tension of his pants, the seam and fly digging into his weeping cock. He moans himself, tongue flicking and fluttering against your cunt, forcing his voice to stutter and staccato. You were no better off, soft mewls and whimpers tumbling from your lips when he mouths hot kisses and hard suckles on your clit, warm and wet and sticky.

The fingers in his hair tighten, tugging on the strands oh so deliciously, coaxing him on and on. To keep tongue fucking your cunt, grinding his nose on your clit, squishing your soft thighs with his fingernails. The weight of you felt right on his face, grounding and stern, forcing him into submission - Even if unintentional.

“Kaveh~ KavehKaveh..” you repeat his name like a mantra, voice raising up and up in octave, choked up and wobbly. Your fingers squeeze again, hips wriggling, thighs twitching with a strain. Your breathing elevates, moans oh so breathy. He could tell you were close, little hole squeezing up on his tongue, thighs squishing his head, pretty voice squealing.

“Cummin- cumming, cummingcumminggg~” Archons you were so cute. Thighs flexing, squishing his face as you let go, selfishly riding his face, grinding your wet cunt all over his tongue. Your pussy pulses with your release, forcing another hearty moan out of Kaveh, kissing and lapping at you to guide you through.

Gods he needed more.

Kaveh gives you no time to cool down, two long, pretty fingers plunging into your quivering hole, poking against the spongey little spot inside of you. You cry, telling him to slow down, “s’ too much!” And yet you keen into him, now gripping the headboard for dear life, moaning into your arms. Kaveh wraps his lips against your sensitive clit, suckling, lapping, spitting all over, taking the little bud in and abusing it. Kaveh rocks his own hips, finding a soft friction against the seam of his trousers, rubbing against his leaky cock head just enough.

Gods, he was in heaven. His girl, his pretty girl and her cute cunt, humping his face and fucking back on his fingers, taking and taking all he had to give. Fuck it was wet, so gushy and sticky, soft, yummy squelches from your twitchy hole, wet smooches and sucks from his lips. His eyes roll under his eyelids, peeking up to see that face of yours, eyes bleary, lips parted with huffed breaths. He fucks his fingers in faster, harder, nearly biting into your clit with his teeth to see all those gorgeous reactions of yours.

“Ka.. Kaveh- can't.. gonna-! Gotta stop or- s’ too much! Anh~ ahh ah~!” You babble and cry, he nearly joins you, breathing laboured on your cunt, hips snapping up into nothing, following that brutal pace he had fucking into your cunt. That's it, that's it, thaaats it. Let him treat you, use him, use his face, fuck and hump on him, let him choke and squirm.

“Kaveh!” Is all the warning he gets from you before you gush - cumming hard with a choked sob, squirting in his mouth, down his chin, making a hot sticky mess all on his face. He humps the air, creaming hard in his pants, nearly untouched, hot ropes being wasted in his trousers. He blubbers, an attempt at praise being muffled away by the sweet rocking of your hips, riding out your orgasm on his tongue. Kaveh feels the tight squeeze of your cunt on his fingers, he gently presses into your cunt, slowly coaxing you down, soft and tender. He kisses your thighs tenderly, peppering his lips all around your lower half, palms rubbing over your bare skin.

You manage to lift yourself off of him a smidge, face beat red, looking anywhere but him. Kaveh can't help but stare, a goofy grin slowly edging itself on his face, eyes full, love hearts dancing in his vision.

“Having fun without me?” A voice calls. Kaveh can just imagine the stern raise of an eyebrow, the annoyed arms crossed over a chest. You squeak, and Kaveh sighs blissfully.

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Hi there >v> you k n o w I have to throw Haitham in I can't not it's illegal - I know cause I wrote the law.

I hope you enjoyedddd~ I haven't written for Kaveh in a while </3 I missed my boy

Thank You For Reading ♡

#ʚ•*°SashiAvi Writes°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #genshin impact smut #ʚ•*°sashiavi writes°*•ɞ #kaveh smut #kaveh genshin #genshin impact kaveh #kaveh x reader #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham x reader smut #haikaveh x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #kaveh x reader x alhaitham

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pupyuj · 24 days

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hiiii! I just came across your writing in one of the tags, and I have to say it is AMAZINGG!

I was wondering if you could write a blurb aht this, as I've been having the BIGGEST wonyoung brainrot everrrr:

so, why can I imagine dom g!p wonyoung × sub!fem who gets spoiled rotten by wonyoung, anything that she says she wants, it'll be there the next day! anything she even looks at for more than 5 seconds, she'll have it! Wony spoiling her with not only the things they like, but also with her love, kissing them almost everytime she thinks of them, laying their head in her lap, or even just letting them sit on her lap while she works.

but along with this love comes the need for her baby to be obedient, but you deciding to be a brat, would go make things south! you just suddenly talking back to wonyoung one day, walking away from her and she's just like "??" and she kets it slide a few times, but then she's had enough and drags you to her bed! edging you with her fingers till you aren't sobbing! oh! and! omg! cunt slaps with wonyoung, making you anticipate at which second its gonna happen, but you can never be too sure, with the cool wind grazing your clit, and wonyoungs harsh grip on your thighs, and her stare has you already whimpering!

WELL YES EXACTLYSFDHJDD 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 also omfg I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THE G!P PART AND ONLY REMEMBERED IT BY THE TIME I FINISHED WRITING 😭 very sorry anon, but i hope you still enjoyed this 💔💔

we all know wony would just love spoiling her loved ones—it’s her love language! gifts, affection, sweet words whatever it is wony will always be willing to give it to you even without asking 🥺 usually you deserve it anyway.. always listening well to wony and doing whatever it is she asks of you.. things like that is why you’re allowed to ‘bother’ her 👀 ‘bother’ being kissing her neck and grinding on her with a pleading look in your eyes while she’s in the middle of an important phone call (to which she just smirks at you and doesn’t even touch you, making you whine which she likes a lot), discreetly touching her during the gathering and parties she brings you to bcs you needed her to fuck you so bad but she couldn’t be bothered bcs she was talking with her friends.. ofc this was not you being impatient or disrespectful, you were just needy :((

but hey, wonyoung never gets annoyed of it all 🥰 in fact, she’s more than willing to give you what you need when she finally has the time.. bcs at least you weren’t complaining and being a bad girl! but when you are a bad girl though?? wony isn't very nice! she has no patience for that kind of behavior, especially not from her baby who she expects to be good all the time! 😤😤 she understands that you have your own bad days but you were usually just even more cute and cuddly... so imagine her confusion when you just start acting like a huge brat?? unacceptable!

when you gave her a look after she asked you to do one simple thing, she decided that it was the last straw! and so you're dragged you to your shared bedroom by your hair and wony sits you down nicely on the bed with the clear intent to punish you out of that bratty attitude 🫣 tying you up and completely restraining you to the point where you can’t move a single inch :(( hands behind your back, legs spread wide open waiting in fear as you watch wony look through her drawers full of toys… as terrified as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a pinch of excitement course through you! wonyoung doesn’t get why there was that glint of eagerness in your eyes when she approached you with some toys in hand—you usually felt horrible when you were being punished bcs you hated disobeying her,,, but wonyoung isn’t complaining! perhaps she can get used to you being a brat.. but that’s a practice for later bcs you just pissed her off and she needs to set you straight before you start getting brave 🫠🫠

her making you sit on a vibrator while she touches you everywhere but your pussy :(( "what? need your cunt filled up, hon? bad girls have to be punished first..." she whispers while she plays with your tits so excruciatingly gently?? barely pinching your nipples even though you're practically begging her to squeeze and grope and shit like that,, wony finding so much joy in tormenting you by increasing the toy's speed at random times but then slowing it down once she sees that you're having too much fun... it comes to the point where tears squeeze out of your eyes but wony doesn't stop! even when you were close to cumming! it felt shameful, wanting to cum to a vibrator instead of her fingers but she makes you sit on it for such a long time, it was nearly impossible to hold it in! :(( and so you end up cumming... but that was a really terrible idea! 🫢

now.. cunt slapping and wonyoung is literally a match made in heaven idc it's too perfect!! her being so annoyed that you completely disregarded her demand that you 'hold it in' and so she resorts to punishments that inflicted pain?? her hitting your sensitive clit,, every fall of her hand making you flinch and jump when she slaps the hard bud.. your slurred strings of apologies and "please" only fed her anger... "gonna think twice before getting brave at me again, right? gonna be a good girl? answer." she says through gritted teeth.. the one hand keeping your legs apart didn't lack in giving you pain... you felt her long nails pierce your skin, nearly making you bleed and wonyoung's grip tightened every second you spent sobbing instead of talking to her... nods weren't enough! nope, you had to speak 💔💔

"s-s-sorry, mommy... i'm sorry, please..! please, i'll be good.." that took all of your strength and wony was so proud! :(( proud enough that she finally fills you full of her fingers and brings you to that climax you kept begging for! see? all you needed to do was be good 💞 but that was an otherwordly experience so being a brat for no reason just to get wonyoung to be scarier, hotter, and meaner might just be worth it 👀👀

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bellaveux · 1 year

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i adored the soft college au wanda she’s so cute :(( may i request smth along the lines of r and wanda not going public yet because r is nervous but there’s still nat trying to pursue her and wanda gets jelly and clingy ? fluff or hurt/comfort pls ty <3

ALL I NEED TO HEAR | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: when fellow classmate, natasha romanoff, has her eyes set on you, wanda struggles to hide her jealousy.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, college au!, jealous!wanda, soft!wanda, minor natasha romanoff x reader, jealousy, insecurity, kissing

word count: 5.5k

note: do not ask me why this took me a whole month to write!! i’m so so sorry for the long wait but here it is finally! i hope u like it :> (i meant to do fluff along with hurt/comfort but as i was writing it turned more angsty *thumbs up*)

In the bustling college lecture hall, amidst the hum of anticipation and the eager shuffle of notebooks, Wanda couldn't help but steal glances in your direction. Her heart swelled with a tender longing, a yearning she struggled to suppress as she looked at you as you were intently listening to the professor. Each stolen gaze only deepened her appreciation for your beauty, igniting an unspoken fascination that seemed to vibrate through her very core. Every fine detail, from your sculpted cheekbones to the way your lips formed a gentle smile, held an intoxicating allure that effortlessly captivated Wanda's senses. It was a magnetic force, an enchantment that dared Wanda to surrender to her desires. As rays of golden sunlight danced through the tall, arched windows, they gently caressed your countenance, illuminating your flawless features with an otherworldly glow. Wanda, with her heart in awe, marveled at the graceful curve of your delicate jawline, the gentle curve of your supple lips, and the sparkle in your eyes as you keep your attention towards the professor in the front of the room.

Yet, in the face of this consuming temptation, Wanda exercised incredible self-control. She wanted to touch you. To feel you. To kiss you. To show everyone that you were hers, just as she was yours. She fought the urges that surged within her, understanding the sanctity of personal space and the importance of boundaries, being mindful of your decision to keep everything subtle and on the down low. Her hands, adorned with delicate silver rings, just itched to trace the contours of your visage, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath her fingertips.

But Wanda wasn’t the only one who seemed to admire you. No, there was someone else—someone sitting far, multiple seats down the lecture hall, eyes trained on you for much longer than Wanda liked. A hint of uneasiness coursed through her veins. Her captivating gaze was momentarily drawn to a woman named Natasha, who sat in a distant corner of the curved row of the lecture hall, far from your shared space. Natasha, an enigmatic figure with an aura of magnetism, possessed an allure that stirred Wanda's heart, igniting an unwelcome sense of jealousy. Though she knew your loyalty was steadfast, the persistent glances exchanged between Natasha and her beloved fueled a flicker of insecurity within Wanda's soul.

“She’s staring at you,” Wanda whispers quietly, the tips of her fingers softly fiddling with your free hand under the long table.

You shake your head slightly, all too familiar with Wanda’s regular signs of jealousy. You pull your hand away to write on the blank sticky note sticking onto your of her notebook saying: ‘ignore her.’ Wanda sighs in return and rolls her eyes at the piece of paper. After a beat, she huffs and leans back into her seat, beginning to nibble lightly on her bottom lip as her patience wore thin.

“Kind of hard not to,” she replied, tone laced with bitterness.

Wanda subtly places a hand on your thigh, close to your knee, underneath the table, wanting to touch in some way—almost as if she was reminding herself that you were hers, and if Natasha could see, that would be even better.

The pout that shows up on her face doesn’t go unnoticed as you move her hand away from you with a shy smile, “Wanda, they’ll see.”

“Sorry,” she sighed again, putting her head down against her arm on the desk as she glanced over at the other redhead who did nothing but keep her eyes on you. “It’s just annoying to me… that she’s staring.”

You chose to tune out Wanda’s jealous complaints, paying attention to the professor at the front of the room. As the professor's words flowed through the lecture hall like a gentle breeze, your unwavering focus became a testament to your dedication. Your nimble fingers gracefully danced across the pages of your notebook, capturing the essence of each scholarly utterance in a tapestry of meticulous notes. Meanwhile, Wanda, sitting still right next to you with an otherworldly charm, exhibited her annoyance by tapping her pen against the wooden surface of the desk.

Wanda seemed to get distracted once again, something she couldn’t quite control all by herself, so you decided to let her sneak soft touches of her hand on your thigh, tender and elusive, spoke a language only you could decipher—a language of intimacy and shared understanding. Her fingertips, grazed the softness of your thighs, traveling up towards the hem of your skirt—the one you decided to wear was especially pretty on you that not touching you became an impossible task. It almost didn’t feel fair, for her to hide the fact that this pretty woman, you, were not hers. She’d shout it to the world when she could, when you’d let her, whenever you were ready to.

After a while, the final bell resounds throughout the room, marking the end of another day of intellectual exploration, your delicate features transform with an unmistakable sense of serenity. The waning rays of sunlight, filtering through the slats of the partially drawn blinds, dance upon the mahogany desk, illuminating the array of meticulously arranged notebooks and pens that have been your steadfast companions throughout your entire academic voyage. With deliberate grace, Wanda watched as you reach out, your nimble fingers gathering your supplies and shoving them into your bag.

You were so pretty in everything you did that Wanda would never tire herself as she watched you. She was glad to call you hers, even though the people around her didn’t know it yet. To everyone else, the two of you were best friends, glued to each other, roommates sharing the same apartment, but nothing more. And Wanda continued to wait for the day when you would be ready to show everyone.

As Wanda sat still and poised in her chair while students squeezed themselves out of the door to head to their next classes, her eyes caught a flicker of unease. With an air of intrigue and curiosity, her gaze fixated on the elegant figure that graced the space, coming closer and closer to where the two of you were sitting. As Natasha began a deliberate stride, weaving through the sea of desks and students, Wanda's eyes narrowed—a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her, a potent concoction of jealousy, apprehension, and a burning desire to unravel Natasha's intentions. What does she want now? A tremor of uncertainty danced upon Wanda's delicate features.

“Hey, (y/n), you look beautiful today… like always,” she smiled that charming smile of hers, an action that would usually have others swooning for her. “Just wanted to check in. We still on for later?”

You ignored the compliment, one of many, and took a quick glance at Natasha, offering her a tiny, friendly smile as you packed your things, “Uh, yeah, 4:30, right?”

“Yeah, at the library,” she nodded before looking past you for a brief moment to smirk at the other redhead who had been eyeing her since class started. “Wanda.”

“Natasha,” your girlfriend greeted bitterly.

After a beat, Natasha cleared her throat and put her eyes on you once more, “Alright, well, I’ll see you, hon.”

Wanda glared at her as she walked away, biting the inside of her cheek as annoyance fueled in her chest. It was in those ephemeral moments that a tempest brews and Wanda finds herself grappling with the tumultuous waves of jealousy. Like a veil, thin and delicate, but bearing an invisible weight, her discontent unfolds, entwining her thoughts with insecurities.

Natasha and her had never really been close—not when they both fancied the same girl. It was always a fight for your attention, and now, a fight to keep the third party away from you.

“I don’t know if I feel good about you going later,” Wanda mutters so quietly under her breath, you almost didn’t catch it.

You give her a soft look, hoping to reassure her somewhat with a light smile, “It won’t be long, Wanda. And I won’t be the only one there, remember?”

“I know. That’s not what I’m worried about. I just…” Wanda paused and looked into your eyes for a moment, practically using all of her strength to keep herself from leaning into your touch. “Just text me later. I’ll pick you up.”

Wanda watches you nod, bringing your hand up to give your shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze. You want so badly to kiss her, to remind her how much you love her, if only you weren’t too scared to show everyone your relationship with her.

As the time reached about almost forty minutes past four, you found yourself enveloped in a quiet study session, diligently engaged with a select group of classmates, immersed in a collective pursuit of finishing this class project. The light of the setting sun delicately filtered through the grand windows, casting a warm glow upon the diligent scholars. Textbooks, notebooks, and scattered papers adorned the table, bearing witness to their ardent quest for knowledge. As the ethereal scent of books permeated the air, your focus was unyielding, your mind attuned to the intricacies of the project at hand.

But within the depths of your intellectual fervor, a gentle longing tugged at your heart. You can’t help but think of her, Wanda, tiptoeing through your mind, like a melody echoing in your soul. In your mind's eye, you yearned for Wanda's presence, her soothing embrace, and the way her eyes sparkled with encouragement. You envisioned Wanda's tender touch as if it were the guiding light that fueled your fire. And while you wanted to get the work done as soon as possible, you couldn’t help but think of her.

You wondered what she was up to right now. Maybe, in your shared apartment, she was napping, studying on her own, watering her plants, or cooking dinner… Whatever she did, it always put a smile on your face.

“Hey, why are you smiling?”

It was a small whisper that only you could hear, coming from your right. You cleared your throat and took in your surroundings once more, noticing that Natasha was sitting next to you, doing some research on her laptop for anything useful to add to the project you worked together on for another class with a couple of other students.

You shake your head and whispered back, “I’m not smiling.”

Natasha scoffed playfully, “Well, smiling or not… You look pretty.”

The compliment didn’t phase you one bit. Instead, you turned your head to look at Natasha, who sported a smug smile as she looked at you. You were accustomed to the delicate dance of adoration orchestrated by Natasha, whose flattery and flirtatious overtures had become as predictable as the sun's rise. Yet, within your eyes lay a quiet strength, a spirit unyielding to the allure of superficial charm. Though Natasha's words, like sweet melodies, danced upon your ears, they fell upon a heart unmoved, resilient in its pursuit of genuine connection. It didn’t mean anything—not when you were loved by the woman you adored the most, when you had the most caring girlfriend waiting for you at home.

Natasha's advances, though flattering to the world's eye, did little to stir your heart, as it was already enveloped in a love so pure and profound that it painted every fiber of your being with colors of contentment. You, ever graceful and empathetic, offered Natasha kindness and friendship, cherishing the genuine connection you two shared, but resolutely protecting the love you held so dear. Wanda.

“Finish your work, Nat,” you say simply before turning your head away from her.

You could feel the redhead smiling in defeat, returning back to her laptop, the sounds of her fingers typing away on her keyboard filled the room.

As you delved deep into your project at the library, your once zealous spirit began to wane, and weariness settled in your bones. The weight of countless hours spent pouring over research and refining ideas bore down on you, urging you to seek solace beyond the confines of the library. Restlessness tugged at your thoughts as you yearned for the comfort of home and the embrace of your girlfriend.

She had been texting you quite a lot while you were here. And, “a lot” was practically an understatement.

She texted you minutes before you got to the library, then again after you sat down at a table, and again when you took your supplies out, and even more when you began working, up until now, right when you began to pack everything up. She kept telling you that she misses you so much and asked how long you were going to be there. She also went on about telling you to tell her if Natasha was doing anything to make you uncomfortable, checking to make sure you were okay, and asking quite a number of times if she should pick you up now.

And, you understood why. You understood her eagerness to talk to you as she was never good at hiding her jealousy which led to her clinging onto you in any way, whether it was texting you, talking to you, holding you, or touching you. Anything.

The vibrant colors of the library's surroundings dulled in your eyes as your focus shifted from the intellectual pursuit to the emotional embrace you craved. Thoughts of Wanda wrapped around your weary mind like a comforting shawl, igniting a renewed sense of purpose and drive. You sent her a quick text as soon as you were finished, telling her you were ready for her to pick you up, to which she replied that she was on her way almost immediately.

Your group of classmates walked out of the library, right into the chilly air, bidding their farewells and wishing each other luck for the presentation that was due in a couple of days time. They each left one by one until it was just you and Natasha left standing by the entrance doors.

“It’s a little cold out. I can take you home if you’d like,” Natasha says, shoving her hands into her jacket’s pocket.

You adjusted the bag hanging off your shoulder reluctantly, glancing over to the redhead, “Uh, Wanda’s already on her way, so… but, thanks, Natasha.”

“Right,” she says quickly, almost as if she knew what you were going to say.

She was quiet now. Uncharacteristically quiet. A mixture of excitement and apprehension coursed through Natasha’s veins as if every nerve in her body had suddenly been awakened. Despite her usual confidence, Natasha couldn't help but feel an unexpected wave of unease wash over her. Just as she was clueless about your relationship with Wanda, she found it hard to fight for your attention against her. Any of her words crashed into brick walls as she tried to flirt with you and it only made her want to have you more, even when you had told her that you weren’t interested. She didn’t know why, but she liked to think you’d end up liking her eventually.

“There’s… There’s this new Italian restaurant that opened. In downtown, by the bridge,” she starts, watching you closely for you your reaction. “Would you like to go try it with me sometime?”

You see Wanda’s car turning into the lot up ahead as she said those words. A sigh escapes your lips before you turn slightly to look at Natasha, “As friends?”

Natasha chuckles and drops her head down in defeat, knowing very well what your answer would be, after countless attempts and rejections. Her eyes lock onto Wanda’s car as well after bringing her head back up slowly.

“Your chariot awaits,” Natasha nods her head towards the car that pulls up right in front of the two of you.

You give Natasha a small smile before beginning your walk, “Have a good night, Nat. Drive safe.”

Natasha smiles in return, watching you step away. You get into Wanda’s car smoothly, greeting your girlfriend as a sense of relief washes over you.

As you settled comfortably into the passenger seat, your eyes met Wanda's, but instead of the warm welcome you expected, you noticed a flicker of annoyance and jealousy. Wanda's features, usually so radiant and full of affection, were clouded with a hint of unease. Your heart sank as you realized the source of Wanda's distress—Natasha, the persistent pursuer. A tumultuous mixture of guilt and longing swirled within your chest as you searched for the right words to soothe Wanda's troubled heart.

“Baby, let’s go home,” you say softly, your hand subtly ghosting over hers over the heartsick. “I’m tired.”

Wanda blinks and her eyes dart from Natasha, who stood still by the library doors waiting for the two of you to leave, over to you. Her eyes soften as soon as she looked at you.

“Okay,” she nods softly, before turning her head to the front, starting her drive back to your shared apartment.

As Wanda gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white with tension, an unusual silence enveloped the car. The soft hum of the engine provided a gentle backdrop to the muffled thoughts swirling in her mind. Casting a quick glance towards you, she noticed her girlfriend's serene expression, unaware of the storm brewing within Wanda's heart. Determined to shield you from her internal turmoil, Wanda reached out, intertwining her fingers with yours, seeking solace in your touch.

Wanda didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the drive home. She kept her hand locked in yours right over your lap, occasionally using her thumb to smooth over your thigh so gently that you wanted to kiss her right then and there.

The drive didn’t last long as Wanda made it her task to rush home where the two of you would finally be alone, where she could have you all to yourself.

With the click of the front door, you stepped into the serene refuge of your shared apartment, an oasis of tranquility and familiarity. A palpable sense of relief washed over you, permeating the air as you shed the weight of the outside world from your shoulders. The soft glow of warm lamplight in your living room enveloped the space, casting a gentle ambiance that mirrored your contentment. As the two of you kicked off your shoes, a collective sigh escaped your lips, releasing the tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

You went about the evening as usual. Wanda made dinner before picking you up and you ate together. As the meal drew to a close, your determined gaze shifted to the pile of books and papers scattered across a nearby desk. With a sense of purpose, you excused herself and retreated to your work, placing a small kiss on the top of Wanda’s head, leaving her to her own devices. You told her you had to check up on some of your work just in case, not wanting to leave any mistakes on your part of the project. She watched you for a bit as you went to work before turning the television on to watch that cute old sitcom she loved so much.

Wanda's eyes occasionally flickered towards you, filled with admiration and understanding. She reveled in the sight of your unwavering dedication, recognizing the passion that fueled your late-night endeavors. At the same time, she wanted to pull you away from your work, keep you all to herself, kiss you all night long. Their cozy apartment was awash in the warm glow of lamplight, casting a soft ambiance upon the room. Wanda, feeling a sense of contentment, nestled herself on the plush couch, watching her show, patiently awaiting you to finish.

When you do finish, you excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to refresh before bed. Sensing a subtle ache in her heart, Wanda couldn't bear the thought of being separated, even for a moment. With a surge of affection and longing, she quietly followed you into the bathroom, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew her towards you.

Inside the bathroom, the air was filled with the soothing scent of lavender, creating an atmosphere of tranquility. You stood by the sink, ready to wash off your face and brush your teeth. Wanda, unable to contain her yearning any longer, approached you, her eyes reflecting a deep longing. Your gazes met in the mirror, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. Without wasting another second, Wanda's arms found their way around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace. The warmth radiated through your bodies, your closeness a source of comfort and reassurance.

“Hey,” you smiled at her through the mirror, listening to her breathe against your neck. Although, your smile faded slowly as she didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda shook her head slightly, tightening her hold around your waist, “Nothing.”

“Wanda.”

“I just…” Wanda sighed and pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, then one at the side of your neck, “I missed you a lot. That’s all.”

The words, gentle and delicate, struck a chord deep within your heart. A tingling sensation radiated through your being, as if every nerve ending had come alive, attuned to Wanda's every touch and breath. The weight of Wanda's absence had been temporarily lifted, only to be replaced by the overwhelming yearning that surged through your veins.

After a moment, you gently moved Wanda’s arms from your waist to turn around to face her. Wanda immediately put her arms around your frame once again as you wrapped yours around her neck. You saw her eyes flicker down to your lips, and it almost made you smile, knowing that she wanted to kiss you, but the undeniable fact that something else was bothering her interrupted your thoughts.

“What else?” you ask softly, bringing a hand up to h run your hand through her red hair. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes—your hand in her hair, massaging her scalp relaxed her in ways nothing and no one else could.

“There’s nothing else,” she says nonchalantly, not giving in to your gentle touches that would usually urge her to do whatever you asked her to.

You pull your hand back and give her a look, a serious one that told her that you weren’t buying every bit of what she was saying.

“I’m not jealous,” she said quickly as if she could read your mind, knowing very well that that question was floating around in your head somewhere, begging to be asked.

You shook your head, “I didn’t say you were.”

You watch as Wanda sighed and dropped her head down to your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to her body, pressing you slightly against the counter.

In an instinctive response to the relief flooding her soul, Wanda nestled her head into the crook of your neck, seeking the familiar scent and the soothing rhythm of your heartbeat. Wanda's fingertips traced gentle patterns on your back, her hands under your shirt, drinking in the sensation of skin against skin, reveling in the closeness that had been sorely missed. Wanda's heart found respite, the ache gradually dissipating with each passing second. With a profound sense of gratitude, she clung to you, her body pressed against yours.

It took a few more moments of silence before you asked her another question.

“Is this about Natasha?” You knew the answer when Wanda didn’t move or say anything.

The air held a moment of silence as Wanda's heart wrestled with conflicting emotions. With a heavy sigh, she found herself caught between her desire for transparency and her fear of burdening you with her insecurities. A battle raged within her, but she summoned a fragile smile to her lips, masking the jealousy that had woven itself tightly around her heart.

“A little bit,” Wanda whispered reluctantly against your shoulder.

It was. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it’s been bugging her the whole day. She wished Natasha would back off. She wished she could tell her to back off. She wished she could show her that you belonged to her, just as she belonged to you. And Wanda wanted to tell you. She wanted to voice this constant struggle of jealousy that she had been going through each time when the two of you were in the public eye, but she had to wait for you.

And she’d wait for as long as you need her to.

A heavy sense of guilt weighed upon your heart as you observed Wanda's pained expression. Though you knew you should have revealed your relationship to the world, fear had tightened its grip around you, preventing you from openly embracing your love.

Each time Wanda's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of insecurity and longing, your own heart ached with remorse. In the confines of your mind, you fervently wished for the courage to proclaim your love, to shield Wanda from the torment of doubt and protectiveness. Yet, the words remained lodged in your throat, locked away by apprehension and uncertainty.

“I’m scared of losing you to someone else,” she confessed, rubbing circles against the small of your back.

As you watched Wanda battle her internal turmoil, your desire to ease your girlfriend's worries intensified. With each passing moment, your resolve strengthened, your determination to overcome your own fears deepening. You knew that the time would come when you could no longer keep your love hidden away, for the pain inflicted upon Wanda by you and her clandestine existence was a stark reminder that love thrived when it was allowed to bloom openly, casting its vibrant hues upon the world.

“Listen to me carefully, please.” You brought both your hands up to cup Wanda’s face gently in your palms, your eyes filled with empathy and understanding, “I’m not ever leaving you. I love you, Wanda, so much. And… I know it’s hard not to, but don’t listen or think about Natasha or anyone else. She doesn’t have me… And she won’t ever have me. Only you. I belong to you.”

I have you. Your words repeated in her head.

Wanda's expression softened as she leaned into your touch, finding comfort in the warmth of your palms, “I have you.”

You smiled softly as did Wanda, “I don’t belong to anybody else.”

And as if relief washed over her worries, Wanda smiled smugly, knowing no one else has you the way she did. The heaviness that had settled in her heart dissipated like morning mist under the warm rays of the sun. Your words, spoken with tenderness and understanding, had acted as a balm to Wanda's troubled soul. With every gentle stroke of your hands against her cheek, Wanda felt the lingering tendrils of jealousy and insecurity unravel.

She saw the sincerity in your eyes, a mirror of her own love and devotion. The weight that had burdened her heart had transformed into a newfound lightness, replaced by an unwavering trust and a sense of security that only you could provide.

“I love you so much,” she said with a smile, placing a tender kiss against your forehead.

However, Wanda's smile faltered as her gaze met your tearful eyes. In that fleeting moment, the air seemed to still, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. Wanda's heart ached at the sight of your glistening tears, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant warmth that emanated from your expressive eyes. A mix of concern and tenderness etched itself onto Wanda's face as she reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against your cheek. She yearned to understand the depth of your sorrow, to offer solace and support in any way she could, just as you did for her just a second ago.

No, no, no. Wanda started to panic as your eyes got glossier by the second, tears threatening to fall any moment now. If there was absolutely one thing Wanda hated to see, it was you crying. And if she was the reason behind your tears, she’d do everything in her power to make it right.

“Hey, hey, talk to me, baby,” Wanda pleaded, leaning down to get a closer look at your face, trying to figure it out somehow on her own. “(Y/n)… Don’t cry—I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Sorry, I– I don't– I can’t– I can’t—“

Tears streamed down your face, their cascading path tracing the contours of your anguish. Each sob that wracked your body seemed to tear through the tranquility of the room, filling the air with a symphony of heartache.

Wanda stood frozen, her heart sinking as she witnessed your tear-streaked face, overcome with a depth of sorrow she had never seen before. Wanda's chest tightened with an overwhelming surge of emotions, her own eyes welling up with unshed tears. The sight of your vulnerability shook Wanda to her core.

As your cries grew louder, Wanda's immediate thought was to provide solace, to offer a safe haven within her arms. Without hesitation, she pulled you close once more, holding you with unwavering strength and tenderness. Your sobs found refuge in the curve of Wanda's neck, the soft fabric of Wanda's shirt absorbing your tears as her hand smoothed over the back of your head repeatedly. Wanda whispered soothing words, her voice a gentle balm to your wounded spirit, assuring you that you were not alone, that you would weather the storm together. Always.

When your sobs died down to soft labored breathing, Wanda moved to place soft kisses down against your temple, then over to your tear-stained cheeks, wiping her thumb over them in the process.

“I’m sorry,” she heard you say.

“For what, baby?”

“For being too afraid… to tell everyone. I know you’ve been waiting and that it hurts to wait. And watch, and hide. But, I’m… I’m still…” You found it hard to breathe as you spoke, not exactly meeting Wanda in her eyes, scared of what she might say.

“I know. It’s okay,” she didn’t let you finish. She already knew. Wanda’s heart ached when you still didn’t move to meet her eyes, so she repeated her words. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Wanda's touch became an anchor of solace, her fingertips tracing soothing paths along your back. With each delicate caress, Wanda poured her love and compassion into her gestures, whispering soft reassurances that echoed like a soothing lullaby. The warmth of her connection enveloped you, creating a haven where vulnerability was met with understanding and acceptance. In this intimate moment, Wanda's touch spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that words alone could not capture.

“Everything will be okay,” Wanda told you, kissing your temple once again. “I will be patient. I’ll wait a day, a week, a month, a year, a decade… a century. Whenever you’re ready to. I’ll be there. You have me, too, (Y/n). I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda used her hands to turn your face towards her, forcing you to look at her.

As you gazed into her eyes, you found yourself captivated by the depth and intensity within them. The windows to Wanda's soul revealed a profound sincerity and unwavering devotion that surpasses any spoken words. In the gentle flicker of candlelight, you witness a kaleidoscope of emotions reflected in Wanda's eyes—love, adoration, and an unspoken promise of a lifetime together.

“Did you hear me?” Wanda asked, using her finger to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you smiled softly, sniffling cutely as you moved to lay your head against her chest. “I love you.”

Wanda smiled again, hands moving downwards to your waist, as a surge of overwhelming love cascaded through her being, filling every inch of her being with a profound sense of warmth and contentment. In that tender embrace, time seemed to stand still, and the outside world faded into insignificance. The soft curve of your back molded perfectly against Wanda's chest, as if you were two puzzle pieces destined to fit together. The steady rise and fall of your breath against her own served as a rhythmic reminder of their intimate connection. Wanda moved to bury her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, a scent that held the essence of home. She felt the steady beat of your heart beneath her fingertips, a steady cadence that echoed the unwavering love that bound them.

“I can kiss you now, right?” Wanda mumbled into your neck. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your girlfriend couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on her face as your lips turned up into a smile as well, “Kiss me, then.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a smirk, hands running up and down your waist, feeling you in her hands.

And she did. In that timeless space between breaths, Wanda leaned in, capturing your soft, quivering lips with her own. The world seemed to stand still as your mouths fused in a passionate dance of love and understanding. The taste of your tears mingled, but it was the sweetness of your love that prevailed, a balm that soothed both your souls. As you lingered in the embrace, your lips locked, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound beauty of your love.

She loved you forever. And she made sure to prove it to you the whole night, and many more nights to come.

— navigation!

#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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norrisleclercf1 · 10 months

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Hey, could you maybe write something and the reader being a driver on the grid and maybe either drying the drivers parade or interviews where she is surrounded by the boys ( Lando, charles, George, idm who else ) and maybe she starts to feel unwell and faints so the boys look after her. Hope this is okay x

It's not that it was a particularly hot day, but the constant changing weather of the track was giving you a hard time. The constant pressure changes of cold then hot, then humid to raining was getting to you. Something your team was well aware of when you got every chance to sit down with your head between your legs.

"Drink some water, come on." Max urges crouching in front of your chair handing you the water bottle. You say nothing, fingers tingly as you grab the water, taking slow sips. Max's fingers go to the back of your neck rubbing a pressure point. "Feels good." You mumble the fog in your brain lifting but not enough.

"Guys, the driver's parade is about to start." Christian stops, seeing the state your in. "Hey, you don't have to go." Pushing you back down, you shake it off. "No, no. If I can't attend the driver's parade, then I can't race. I'm fine." Both Max and Christian knew you weren't telling the truth.

"Watch her closely, I'd rather she not races then kill herself." Max nods, sent off with a pat on the back as you pull yourself together. Walking to towards the large bed truck you climb out, shaking out your fingers. The tingling feeling was slowly starting to grow, but you knew it was just a pinched nerve. "You alright?" Max whispers, hand on your back to stop your slight tittering.

"Of course, stop being a mother hen." Moving you head down the truck getting to where Lando, Oscar, Charles, Carlos, and Pierre were. Max was close behind you slotting in next to Lando. You lean against the railing, doing that you feel the world go forward yet you blink it away everything going back to normal.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Oscar's concerned voice has you looking up, all the drivers looking at you worried. "Yes," You groan exhausted of people asking if you're okay. "I'm just tired that's it, I can't be tired?" You snap, patience wear thin. "Hey, he's just worried. You don't need to snap at him." Lando glares, nodding at Oscar that it's okay.

"Water." Max nods at the bottle in your hand, shoving it your mouth you take slow sips from the straw but it doesn't help the fuzzy feeling filling your brain or the way you start to get tunnel vision. The truck starts to move, having your stomach lurch you grip the railing tight.

It's halfway through, Charles talking to you, but his voice turned into static about 5 minutes ago. "Fuck, she's going down." Someone curses as your world goes dark, multiple arms and accents fade out.

------------------------

It's embarrassing, passing out during the drivers parade and you were deemed unfit to drive. Having to watch the most chaotic race every instead of being in the middle of it. Max had won, tying with Seb of course no one was happy about it.

Apparently, his monotone celebration was ill-fit for what he's doing. But that's Max, you still remember him going crazy sometimes on the radio. "You should be celebrating." You grumble, looking at the dejected man in red.

"I was doomed the moment I kept going off at turn 1 during practice." Is all Charles says typing away on his phone. "So? You're talented." You argue, a smile pulling at Charles's lips. "The car is shit." You smile biting into a cracker, hating the bland taste in your mouth.

"How's sleeping beauty?" Thick puffy curls pop into the door, a smiling face of Lando before he gets tripped in Max shoving his way in. "Is she drinking enough water? Have you been lightheaded again? What about food?" Max lists off everything as Charles roll his eyes.

"You smell." You gag, the sweat, rain, and champagne was not a good mix. "Oh, I'm sorry." Max steps back, Lando snickers as Oscar, Carlos, and Pierre soon join. The other drivers had to go to interviews, but Oscar said the rest would be visiting you after.

"You don't have to stay with me." You told them later, but they said they weren't leaving until the medic said you were all good. Guess you'll have to deal with the sweaty men in your room.

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jennifer-jeong · 3 months

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Hi there :)

Can I request some headcanons about Xiao and Wanderer (separated) with an old s/o? Like, they've been together for decades, but reader is a mortal and they're not, therefore they don't have many years left to live now that they're in their 80s. I would like something sweet but feel free to add some angst in it.

HI ANON TY FOR YOUR ASK! Ok so I’m literally goiNG TO CRY because I actually purposely make my own self insert immortal because this makes me so depressed but dw I will make it a fluffy happy ending. I would be unwell if I didn’t make it a happy ending LMAO

[Fluff + Slight Angst] [Xiao/Wanderer x Reader] Mortals

CONTENT Fluff, some angst, gender neutral reader, HAPPY ENDING WOO, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

XIAO has been alive for longer than he can genuinely remember and most of it was spent suffering alone. He’s scarred so deeply that even until the end of time, the marks will never fade. He can’t get rid of his past but you came along and he realized he could at least start to heal from the centuries of pain. Your time together has been the best years of his life and it makes his heart ache to think that you’re about to come and go before even living for a fraction of his life. He’s watched your mortal body age but he still thinks knows that you’re the prettiest thing he’ll ever encounter. Xiao has always treated his time with you like it was limited, even when you were younger. He’s been getting desperate recently though, your body has slowed down, and you’re well into your elderly years. He’s always wanted to ask you if he and Zhongli could help you with this, return you to your younger body and help you live forever. But, he thought it would hurt you. Immortality is more of a curse than a blessing and he of all people should know that. But as your health deteriorated, he started to plan how to ask you without pressuring you. Honestly, when he finally brought it up, you giggled at him and said “I didn’t even know you could do that.” He blinked as he realized how much time had passed and how he really had been avoiding it all these years. It was just somewhat unfathomable to a 2000 year old being that all these fun years with you had already been a few decades. He explains why he felt bad suggesting it, but you quickly comforted him and thanked him for even bringing it up. You said you needed some time to think about it but you knew that you wanted more time with your beloved. It’s near impossible for most people to find their soulmate and so since you found yours, you wanted to somewhat selfishly hold onto him as long as you could. Of course he secretly felt the same though. Your time together might end soon as the traveller discovers the underlying mysteries of the world or it could end millenia later. Either way, you knew you’d be able to face it, together.

WANDERER has been through so much over the past few centuries of his life and he’s believed his emotions have been so useless to him as he isn’t even human. His suffering, pain, and desire never made sense because he always lacked a heart. He thought he’d be doomed to this forever until he met you. You breathed life into his mechanical body and into his new anemo vision heart. He felt truly alive with you, it was like he was freshly born as a real man when you came into his life. He took a while to properly warm up to you before he could express himself in a healthy way but you always had the patience for him. The problem was that he couldn’t have the same patience, not because he wasn’t a healthy partner, but because your life had a definite end. He was impatient because he couldn’t lose you and he didn’t know what else to do. He consulted Nahida/his mom about it and she suggested using his body as a template to create a body for you. One that would last forever with him. He was immediately overjoyed to hear that there was hope and he almost forgot to consider that you might not want to live forever. He probably tries to gauge if you would want to by prodding you with small questions but you see straight through him. You know something’s up, and you tell him that you know there’s enough trust between you two for either of you to speak freely. So he does. You take some time to debate it and decide to do it because even if at some point you can’t take it, you’d talk to him about it and come up with a solution (but you doubt that'll come up <3). There was a lot going on in Teyvat at the moment but just knowing that you’d have more time gave both of you peace. He was worried that afterwards you might not be the same, and that you might become emotionally hollow. But you knew that with him there, you’d never feel any less alive. Even without your physical body, you both had your souls, and it was all you’d ever need.

Thank you for reading!

|| MASTERLIST <3 ||

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact fluff #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #xiao angst #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #j's silly ramblings #j's asks

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 2 months

Text

Inked surprises

What's better than getting tattoos? Surprising your wife with them!

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 1.4k • Warnings: vague mention of SH scars This is part of my series where I post small scenes I've written over the years that have never seen the light of day. Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2028

The house was quiet, the bedroom semi-dark. Katya stood at the end of the bed in her pajamas, twisting the cap on the tube of tattoo cream.

Her body vibrated with excitement. Way too much to sleep. The whole afternoon, she'd anticipated showing her wife what she'd really been doing in town today. It was a miracle she didn't blurt it out earlier, especially with the knowledge that Natasha would absolutely love the surprise, but she had an idea in mind and she wanted to execute it exactly the way she imagined. It was cheesy, but romantic, and would make it a million times better than if she were to simply take off her shirt.

Natasha just came out of the bathroom now, tying off the end of her braid. Her face glowed with the moisture of her skincare, and her presence brought along the smell of vanilla. Katya quickly tossed the tube of cream on the bed, trying to act casual as she smiled, but the movement caught Natasha's sharp eye.

She stopped in her tracks. ''Is that…'' Her gaze flickered from the tube, to Katya's smug face, back to the tube, and then back to Katya's even smugger face. Her jaw slowly dropped when realization settled in. "Katariina, you did not."

Katya grinned widely. This wasn't the way she hoped this would go, but the response was exactly right. "I did."

A dozen different emotions flickered behind Natasha's eyes. Playful disappointment, surprise, a hint of lust, but mostly excitement. She loved it when Katya got new tattoos as a surprise. "Show me.''

"Hmm…" Katya hummed in thought, pursing her lips. "No."

"Please?"

"Begging already?" Katya chuckled when Natasha's face fell into an unimpressed stare. She was loving this power play already. Natasha not so much. "I have a riddle for you. Solve it, and it'll be your only hint."

Natasha scoffed. "A riddle? What am I? Four?"

"Fine.'' Katya shrugged, turning away to pick up the tube to toss it in her nightstand. ''No riddle, no tattoos."

Natasha stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest, watching Katya as she walked around the room. "What are you going to do? Hide your naked body from me for the rest of your life?" When it stayed unwaveringly silent, Natasha groaned in defeat. She knew Katya couldn't keep this up forever, but she could keep it up for a long time. And her own patience wasn't that good. "Give it to me."

With an excited smile, Katya abruptly turned back to her. "I am an odd number. Take away a letter and I become even. What number am I?"

She watched Natasha's face closely while she tried to figure it out. The gears visibly turned behind her eyes, searching for the answer. It wasn't too difficult of a riddle, it shouldn't take her smart brain long to get it. Not to Katya's surprise, she lit up quickly, puzzle pieces falling into place.

"You got seven tattoos?" Natasha hissed in disbelief, her arms slipping loose until they dangled by her sides. Her reaction was nearly comical. If this was a cartoon, her eyeballs would jump out of her head. "How small are they?!"

Katya chuckled slyly, slowly closing the distance between them. "Nuh-uh, you got your hint." The front of Natasha's shirt bunched up in her fist when she yanked her forwards into a kiss, catching her off guard again.

It was so disorienting—the kiss and the earlier surprise—that Natasha barely managed to kiss her back, still reeling about seven new tattoos as Katya pulled her on top of her on the bed. They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, years of practice helping Natasha unconsciously sort out this straddling-situation. Only the feeling of Katya's tongue tracing her bottom lip pulled her out of her haze.

With a shake of her head, she pulled back, attempting to regain her composure. "Distracting me is not going to work."

Katya smirked up at her mysteriously, her brown hair a mess around her head. "I'm not trying to distract you, I'm trying to help you. But it won't work if you don't follow your instincts."

Natasha suspiciously narrowed her eyes at her. How was kissing going to help her out? "You are being so vague right now."

"Indulge me."

Defeatedly, Natasha sighed, going back to kissing her. As expected, she quickly lost the battle against her brain as the taste and feel of Katya's lips took over every other thought. She grew more eager, biting Katya's bottom lip playfully to pull the softest of whimpers from her right as her hand began to wander over her body. It came naturally, her movements, her needs guiding her.

Before long, Natasha had forgotten about the tattoos, the lust freely roaming her veins. Katya hooked a leg over her back and used the incredible strength in her thigh to yank her body down until it was flush against hers. A husky grunt flew from Natasha's lips, her heart starting to pound in her chest with anticipation of something more.

Eagerly, she left Katya's lips to trail the kisses up her jaw, nipping at the skin. Her lips followed the same path they always did, in search of that patch of soft skin right below her wife's left ear. A kiss to that place, and Katya—

Natasha froze. It was like someone hit her on the head and slammed out all the arousal that clouded her logical brain. Utterly confused, she snapped her head up, staring at the spot she meant to kiss. Katya's grinning eyes watched her process why the skin felt sticky.

There, directly below Katya's earlobe, sat a tiny heart, about half the size of her pinky's fingernail. It appeared Natasha found one of the tattoos.

She frowned at it, finding the placement quite odd. Her gut told her there was more to it. What did Katya say again? Natasha fought through the haze of lust in her mind to recall her exact words from before.

Her instincts… Katya knew her instincts would bring her here, that her lips would end up going to that spot. Maybe that also meant—

Eager but carefully, Natasha pulled the neckline of Katya's shirt down, smiling to herself when that same outlined heart was tattooed on the top of her left breast, where her living, beating heart resided.

She was onto something.

Wordlessly, Katya sat up to help her remove her shirt all together.

Another heart, right there on the outside of her right shoulder.

Starting to get strangely giddy, Natasha gently twisted Katya's body around to confirm her suspicions on number four, at the very top of her spine, right between her shoulder blades.

She was fully smiling now, tracing the shape with her finger. However, there didn't seem to be any other hearts on Katya's upper body.

Questioningly, Natasha glanced down at Katya's pants, then up at her grinning face again. They both knew she had figured it out by now, but it was fun to have her guess.

The inside of Katya's right knee. The inside of her left thigh, very close to the seam of her underwear. Those made six. But no matter how hard Natasha looked—curiously hooking her finger under the waistband of her underwear before Katya slapped her hand away—she couldn't seem to locate the last one.

"You're missing my favorite," Katya muttered as Natasha hovered over her, playing with the ends of Natasha's braid. That's when the redhead spotted it, on the inside of her wrist. Number seven. "There were many more spots, but then my whole body would be covered."

Natasha couldn't find any words to describe the feelings in her chest or the thoughts in her head. Katya had put a heart on her favorite spots to be kissed. By her.

"Do you like it?" Katya asked softly. It was a stupid question, the emotion was written all over Natasha's face.

"I love them,'' she managed to squeeze out. Gently, she took Katya's hand in her own, kissing the heart on her scarred wrist. Her own heart felt like it was going to explode right out of her chest. ''But you know I don't need a map to know where you like to be kissed."

"You immediately knew where to find them…'' Katya whispered vulnerably, feeling so seen and so loved.

''Of course I did, honey. How can I be your wife and not know all of you?'' Natasha smiled tenderly. This was the single most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Tears burned behind her eyes as she stared deeply into Katya's. ''You want to know my favorite spot?''

Katya nodded, closing her eyes when Natasha leaned in. Her lips were ready to get their kiss, parting in anticipation, but they were never touched.

Her forehead tickled at the brush of a feather-light kiss.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 6 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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tojisun · 1 year

Text

soft daddy jake is so insane i need him desperately :((((

just imagine the way he’d pull you to his lap, your chest facing his, his hand finding purchase on your hip and the other coming up to cup your jaw before his thumb gently swipes just under your eye.

“y’ve got to be more careful, sweetheart.” jake’s voice is tinged with a hint of manic worry. a glance at his tail and you know his agitation is barely concealed, thrumming just underneath his fretting.

“hey,” he says, lightly tapping at your cheek to gain your attention again. “you listenin’ to me?”

you hum, nodding, your eye contact with him wavering at the intensity of his gaze.

he clicks his tongue softly. “use your words, baby. need t’know that y’r paying attention.”

you lick your bottom lip, squirming, still unused to his undivided attention. “i’ll be more careful.” you pause, then, “sorry ma’jake.”

just like that, you feel the tension easing, jake’s shoulder relaxing as he drops his head to rest on your shoulder. your own body sags at feeling jake’s touch and you raise your hands to embrace him back.

“i’m sorry,” you repeat, not knowing what else to do to comfort him.

jake shakes his head from where it’s pressed on your skin before he pulls back, his eyes furrowed as they look at you.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, both of his hands clutching your hips to draw you closer to him. “and i’m sorry f’r being too rough on you.”

“it’s okay, ma’jake,” you reply, nuzzling your cheek on his jaw, feeling his breath stutter at your soft hum.

you huff at his reaction before planting a soft kiss on his neck, smothering a giggle when you feel his throat rumble with a bit-off groan. you smile to yourself, not really sorry for teasing him.

you gasp suddenly, your body jolting on his lap at the feeling of your tail being tugged.

“ma’jake!” you whine when he tugs at it again, pulling your head away from where it’s burrowed at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder, glaring up at him.

“this is what happens when y’r being cheeky, sweetheart,” jake croons, his voice lilting with humour, before nipping your cheek playfully, careful not to sink his fangs too deep into your skin.

you smack his chest in indignation, hissing at him, rubbing at your stinging cheek.

“cute,” is all he says, lightly tugging at your tail once more.

“skxawng!”

———

the way he’d help you put on your tewng in the morning, grumbling to himself in the language of the demons, hissing when the leather wouldn’t knot well.

he is crouched on the floor, hoping that by reducing the height difference between your hips and his hands it’d be easier to tie the cloth but he is still unsuccessful. you still don’t know why he insists on tying it for you.

you giggle quietly, finding him adorable with his thin patience and accented murmurs, pressing your palm to your lips to stifle the sound but jake’s ears swivel and you know that you failed to hide your laughter from him.

“what’s got you gigglin’?” jake asks peering up to look at you, his furrowed brows easing at seeing the unabashed glee on your face. he feels himself relax, responding at the affection bright behind your eyes, and you watch as he breathes in deeply before sighing from his nose.

“nothing,” you say, blinking at him innocently, not wanting to tease him any more.

jake sees through you anyways and he caresses your thighs like a silent reassurance that you can tell him anything (and you do), leaving your skin thrumming with warmth. you wonder if your legs are capable of flushing like your cheeks – you honestly hope they do not.

you feel you tail whirling behind you and you know you don’t have to worry about your blushing legs, not when jake’s eyes flick onto your tail, seeing it wagging happily, making him huff a fond laugh to himself.

“judgin’ y’r old man now, baby?” he teases, pinching the back of your thigh.

instinctively, you smack the top of his head, only to gasp when you hear jake wheeze.

“shoulda’ seen that comin’, actually.”

“oh no, i didn’t mean to, ma’jake!” you assure him, your hands cupping his cheeks and urging him to look back at you.

“i know, sweetheart. s’my fault for teasin’ you.” jake places his hand on top of yours, and your throat goes dry at the way your hand completely disappears under his.

“you always tease,” you mumble, pouting.

jake chuckles, his thumb rubbing along the ridges of your knuckles. “well, with that reaction, who wouldn’t wanna tease you?”

you click your tongue, pulling your arms back and crossing them in front of your chest. “ma’jake, my tewng, please.”

he shakes his head fondly, clearly finding humour at your petulant behaviour. “of course, ma’princess.”

it’s another of his demon nicknames, one that he doesn’t use often, but one that you love the most. you love the way the sound rolls off his tongue; love the way his voice dips every time he murmurs it to you, like it is a shared secret between you two.

and like always, you coo in response, letting go of your crossed arms so you can softly run your fingers across his face, your touch just ghosting and ticklish. usually jake would playfully bite them to coax a hiss out of you but he has not done it today, his eyes remaining focused on securing your tewng around your hips, and so you continue to trace the patterns on his face, your silence heavy with reverence.

when he finishes, just before he rises from crouching down, jake kisses your thigh like always and chuckles at your smothered whimper, still feel so shy even when he’s done this many times now.

#suns.f #dilf jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully x na'vi reader #jake sully fluff #jake sully x you #dilf!jake sully #jake sully #jake sully avatar #atwow fluff #I WANT HIM BEING SO CARING AND PROTECTIVE AND PLAYFUL AND AHHHHHHHHHH #suns

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mingtinys · 1 year

Text

[1:36 a.m.]

pairing : song mingi x gn!reader

angst , hurt / comfort , boxer!mingi

warnings : language , descriptions of wounds & needles , mentions of illegal fighting

word count : 1.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : if you can't tell, the rocky music video still hasn't left my brain

The moment your door swings open, Mingi's aware you're pissed. And not in the "need a moment to cool off" type of pissed. But in the "Mingi might need to hurry up on writing his Will" type of pissed. The unwavering silence that follows only affirms your anger rests specifically with him.

You don't so much as extend a courtesy invite inside. Already having disappeared down the hall in a split second. Not much sense in exchanging pleasantries when you both know why he's here. The purpling bruises and dark crimson stains on his clothes speak for themselves.

He teeters his weight back and forth between his feet, standing awkwardly at your welcome mat. Was he supposed to follow you? You didn't slam the door in his face, but you didn't exactly tell him he could come inside. He hears rustling coming from your kitchen, then the squeak of a faucet being turned on. Ultimately, he decides to seek you out, limping quite pitifully through your quaint apartment.

When he finds you, you're at the sink, lathering antibacterial soap between your palms. The dining table in the corner is already set with various first aid supplies, along with two singular chairs facing each other. Mingi takes a seat in one of them and waits.

The silence grows thicker with each minute that ticks by. Becoming so palpable Mingi can taste the bitterness of it on his tongue. Even as you take the seat in front of him and begin working away at his wounds, albeit rather impetuously, you say nothing. Your hard-set eyes and cold demeanor aren't exactly helping to lighten the atmosphere either.

He makes it through the length it takes for you to disinfect his cuts and rub ointment on his bruises. But another few minutes pass as you thread a needle and that's about all Mingi’s patience can tolerate.

"You haven't said anything since I got here."

"Am I supposed to have something to say?"

Your tone is callous. And there's a preparedness to it that makes Mingi think you were expecting him to be the first to cave from the silence.

"You usually– ow!" Mingi yelps as you push the needle through the already inflamed skin of his shoulder. You barely even react aside from a not-so-subtle roll of your eyes. And that simple action kills all hope he has of garnering any sympathy from you this time around.

"You usually do."

You sigh, tying off the thread and cutting it before starting on the next stitch. "I can sit here and lecture you about how dangerous this is. How much I want you to stop. How much it hurts seeing you like this." You don't as much as spare him a glance as you speak. "But you and I both know that won't matter."

Another two sutures down. It hurts more than usual tonight.

You pull the thinly woven thread through one last time for the fourth and final suture. "So no, Mingi, I don't have anything to say anymore."

The urge to ramble off one of his usual apologies surfaces, but your chair screeches back and you're standing before he can even get the word "sorry" past his lips. "And you can keep your shitty apologies to yourself this time." Okay then, Mingi thinks and pulls his lips into a thin line to avoid pushing your buttons any further. He simply sits there, speechless as you slap a thick white bandage over his newly sutured wound and return to the sink to wash your hands of his blood.

Realistically, Mingi knew it'd be only a matter of time before you finally reached your breaking point with him. In all honesty, he's surprised it didn't happen sooner, and now he wonders if he'd mistakenly taken your kindness for granted all those times before. Back when he'd show up bloodied and bruised beyond repair from a fight and you'd greet him with teary eyes and a gentleness he'd never known possible.

You used to kiss his wounds better and massage the soreness from his muscles. Scold him for being so wreckless in between your pleads for him to stop fighting until you inevitably fell asleep in his arms from the exhaustion of it all. Not just slap a bandaid on and call it a night. Treating him like an inconvenience to your life rather than the man you'd claimed to love.

And the worst part of it all? He really only has himself to blame for it.

"Go ahead and get yourself killed in that damn ring if you want. But stop dragging me down with you." Mingi looks up to find you hovering above him, your tired eyes staring back at him expectantly. His gaze falls to your open palm, two ibuprofen in the center of it. You huff when he doesn't move to take them and roughly slap the pills on the dining table.

"Make sure you lock the door when you leave." With that, you're gone. Hurried steps carry you to your room down the hall. Mingi knows he should say something, preferably something that'll soothe your anger. But all his brain can seem to come up with is, "Can I use your shower?"

"Don't care." You call back, and then your door slams shut.

Mingi knows he should leave. He's well aware of just how selfish and unfair what he's about to do is. But he can't stop himself. He wants– no, needs you. Because for as many times as he's dragged himself to your doorstep, it's never been your meticulous medical skills that always make him feel whole again after a fight. No. It's the subsequent hours he spends holding you through the night that heal him. Your warm body curled into his side grounding him to some semblance of a normal, white-picket, life.

No, it's not fair at all. Expecting the same treatment as usual despite having already expressed your desire to have nothing to do with him tonight. Yet still, even as guilt floods his veins and the soreness in his shoulder protests his actions, Mingi grips the handle to your room and pulls.

The cold air hits his damp hair, sending a shiver down his spine. It's dark, and you're already bundled up under the covers. Your face is hidden, so Mingi can't tell if you're awake or not. But you don't immediately tell him to fuck off, so he tiptoes quietly around your room, dodging furniture and other objects concealed by the darkness. Even when the bed dips with his weight and he shuffles under the covers behind you, you say nothing.

Gently, Mingi pulls you into him, back against his chest and his arms hugging your torso tightly. And then he hears it. The tiniest of sniffles that escapes your facade of sleep and buries itself deep within his heart.

He curls around you and his lips delicately press against the feverish skin of your shoulder. A guilt-ridden satisfaction wraps itself around Mingi's airway when you flip yourself around and cling to him. The back of his white cotton shirt bundled up in your fists while you gasp and sob into his chest. Your trembling won't stop, no matter how tightly Mingi seems to hold you.

"I can't keep doing this." You confess. "Please, Mingi."

You don't need to verbalize what you're asking for. You've pleaded with him enough times at this hour for Mingi to fill in the blank himself. And Mingi's given the same answer enough times for both of you to know it's a lie. But he says it anyways, hoping it'll bring enough comfort so you sleep through the night.

"This is the last time, I promise."

#mingi #song mingi #mingi timestamp #song mingi timestamp #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #mingi x you #song mingi x you #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez timestamp #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #mingi imagine #song mingi imagine

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mintymarabell · 1 year

Note

Hello :p

I'm not sure if your taking request's or not but if you are, could you do yandere elder with an S/O who is hesitant to love him?

thank you `(*>﹏<*)′

Yandere elder with a s/o who is hesitant to love him

When it comes to your hesitance, he understand. I mean he did take you from your home.

He will never give you a reason to not trust him.

It had been a few days since he had taken you from your home. Away from your bed that you were sleeping comfortably in until he had decided to sneak through your window and pluck you from your warm satin sheets.

When you had awoken you were in a bed much larger than your queen size. The blankets being mostly furs and an occasional pillow. As he had walked in you scurried to the far end of the bed, he sat down at the edge farthest from you. “I’m sure you’re confused at what is going on.” He spoke, his voice deep and low. You chose to say nothing, opting to just stare at his unusual face. “You have never met me, but I have seen you.” He talked as he explained seeing you in some park and had fallen head over heels. You had long zoned out as he kept talking and talking, his clawed hands even coming up at some point to gesture toward you. “I’m hoping. Praying to paya or whatever god that wants to listen that you can love me. I am willing to wait a millennia if it means I can call you mine and hold you in my arms.” He was now fully turned toward you, his knees on the bed as he leaned down toward you as if he was bowing in some sort.

“This is your home now. Please make yourself comfortable.” Is all he said after what seemed like an hour of him just staring at you waiting for an answer. As he walked out of the room silenced took over the room, save for your racing thoughts.

It had taken you a long time to get up and walk out of the room. The yautja sat comfortably on a very large couch, a tool of some sort rested on his lap as he fiddled with it. He had glanced at you, giving you some lovesick look as he gestured for you to sit with him. You obeyed, scared at the consequences of rejecting him. “I am not going to hurt you..” He went back to swiping a cloth across the alien tool. “How can I be so sure.”

“Because if I had the intentions of doing so I would’ve done it by now.” His hands stilled as he looks over at you, “I’ll be going out on a hunt soon, i have stocked up on enough food to last you till I am back.” He set the cloth down and took a band from the coffee table, from there he took his ‘hair’ and begin tying it up. It looks almost like a task itself with how heavy it looked.

“I trust you will be fine while I am gone?” You didn’t answer, choosing instead to try and disappear into the crevices of the couch, trying to make yourself smaller. “Little ooman, you do not need to be so afraid.” He voice was soft as he spoke, as if he wrapped it in false velvet. His hand came up to try and pet at your head but hesitated when you flinched. His hand dropped as he stood up, “I will see you later.”

At this point, he’s gonna be on his trip thinking of what to do to make you love him.

He lied. He can’t wait no millennia for you to love him. He has horrible patience when it comes to you. He always has.

He wasn’t even supposed to take you till next spring. He just couldn’t help it though. After hearing about your male friend getting closer he didn’t want the chance of the ooman trying to take you from him.

He didn’t really have to leave for so long. He really didn’t even need to go on the hunt, though he has just the right thing to make you some what love him.

He’ll kill the beast he had planned to use as a trophy, taking the alien animals teeth from its jaw he made a necklace that consisted of a quarts type of rock you always had spread around your room and the teeth.

He also took the skull itself so he could put it up as a trophy, maybe even showing you he is a capable mate who can take care of you.

He cut his little “trip” short, slinging the skull on his back in a bag. The necklace in his hand as he imagined how pretty it would look on you. He snapped it onto his belt look as he continued.

Right before he walked into the house he disappeared into the forest next to the house. He took his small knife out and made a long slash at his stomach and then a chunk from his leg. He quickly threw the knife far into the woods and limped off to the house.

If you won’t love him soon he’ll just play your sympathy.

Waddling into the house “hissing in pain” as you walked up to see what was going on. He’ll ask for your help to the couch, enjoying the feeling of your colder skin on his own as you helped him.

He was capable of walking but he wanted you near. Resisting an annoyed groan as you shifted six feet away when he settled down. He pulled the necklace off of his belt and handed it out to you with a “shaky hand” he’ll say he made it for you, thinking it would look good on you. He’ll explain how he killed the beast for the teeth and got injured in the process, making you feel guilty.

He’ll make you love him.

Even if he’s gotta play dirty.

#yautja #elder yautja #yautja x reader #monster #monster boyfriend #so cute #yautja boyfriend #old man yautja #yautja stuff #yautja yes #yandere yautja

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wheeboo · 1 year

Text

seventeen with an older s/o

PAIRING. seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship, headcanons WARNINGS. none WORD COUNT. 1.09k

requested from 🌙 anon: hello! i love LOVE your writing! i wonder if you can write about how svt would be in a relationship with an s/o who's like 3-4 years old older than them? thank you very much.- 🌙

notes: hope u enjoy this anon, i rlly hope it makes sense?? for some reason it was a bit hard to write for some of them. ty for ur patience as well djflksdjfl

choi seungcheol

used to being the Dad™ of 12 chaotic men so he prob want to take advantage of the fact that you are older than him. loves it when you would be the one to initiate things like wanting to cuddle with him, being the one to cook dinner for the night, etc. sometimes he just comes home absolutely exhausted from the day and prefers to be in your safe and comforting presence where you would whisper sweet things in his ears and take care of him

yoon jeonghan

teases you in a playful way ofc. like maybe you both are having a restaurant date or something and by the time it finished, you ask him “can you call the waiter over for the check if you see them?” and then he’s like “well since you are the grown-up, how about YOU call the waiter?” and you just roll your eyes to his remarks. then he’s like “jk” and calls the waiter over. doesn’t admit but he loves it when you baby him cuz it makes him feel so secure

joshua hong

can be another tease but only when the time is right yk. is prob like a mixture of cheol and jeonghan in a way, but he absolutely melts when you treat him like a baby at times w/ your little pet names and it shows in his face when he has that big wide smile and tries to hide it away. cherishes the little moments when you take care of him and he will def treat you back in the same way no matter the age difference

wen junhui

constantly asking for your approval on things, even the smallest kinds. like if he’s out getting groceries he’d text you asking if he should buy this or that, or if it’s fine for him to stop by the nearby bakery to buy something even tho he doesn’t need permission. already gives little spoon energy tbh so he loves the feeling of falling into your open arms and when you run your fingers through his hair, it soothes him a lot

kwon soonyoung

another one who asks for help and approval on stuff. absolutely adores waking up from a nap or in the morning and sees that you already planned an outfit for him laying at the end of the bed. gets so giddy when you call him sweet pet names or when you pat his head or grab his face in your hands. goes to you for a lot of advice for stuff and he becomes sooo attentive when you are talking to him and takes in all your words very carefully. he just admires you a lot heh

jeon wonwoo

doesn’t mind the age gap at all. I think that he is more into an equal relationship where it’s like a “you give me this, I give you back” kind of deal and you both make sure that one of you doesn’t get any less care or attention. but he doesn’t mind at all if you are to swoon over him and ruffle his hair cuz pretty sure he secretly loves it and won’t admit it

lee jihoon

pretends to hate being babied but don’t worry, he secretly loves it. prefers for you to do it when you are both alone together because if you were to do it in front of the other members, he would go all red in the ears and look down at the floor wishing he could sink in it. at rare times when he does want the affection it doesn’t take long for his cold exterior to melt as he allows you to take care of him

xu minghao

another one who doesn’t rlly mind the age difference, but I think since he naturally loves caring for others he might prefer to care after you more as a way to show his respect n love, age difference or not. like if you offer to cook that night he’d be like “don’t worry, just rest up so I can do it”. if you baby him he’d def pretend to despise it in some way, but he likes the balance between maturity and being babied, and loves how he can be open w you

kim mingyu

gosh he loves the feeling of being babied by you, or when you call him pet names or ruffle his hair and all that. even of this man is tall and huge he can’t help but feel so small when he’s around you and he’s whipped and fonding over your care and attentiveness and responsibility. he also makes sure to repay your care and will literally go all out to make sure you are 101% taken care of

lee seokmin

might be used to being treated like a baby his whole life since he has an older sister. is very playful and attentive and takes all your words of advice as something to treasure and cherish for himself, and he def loves to show you off as well. like “guess what y/n treated for me today???” like he is prob livid on the fact that you spoil him sometimes. loves the comfort n reassurance you give him

boo seungkwan

is also used to being babied. absolutely treasures all the advice you give him and the mature perspective you have on things. the type to prob cower behind you and let you take the lead in things as well. also continuously asks for approval and gives you the utmost respect possible. would act cute around you just for you to spoil him in some sorts. he also loves it when you allow him to take care of you back n also won’t shut up abt you to the members

vernon chwe

also doesn’t mind the age difference like it’s not even there for the two of you. you both seem to balance each other out quite equally and your relationship is already laid back as it is. honestly he might treat you like both are the same age. your relationship flows pretty naturally, but he does quietly appreciate the times you give him comfort and reassurance and he makes sure to show his love in subtle ways

lee chan

man already has to suffer with his 12 older brothers so he def doesn’t mind the age gap at all and is used to being babied, teased, and playfully bullied by them and you (save him). cherishes more from you ofc, and he thrives on the opportunity of being babied and taken care of. feels the immediate relief when coming home to you and you already have dinner cooked and a home date prepared

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae

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skz317cb97 · 1 year

Text

Helping Hand

Han Jisung x Female reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis: When Jisung gets hurt he figures out he needs a hand with more than he realized.

A/N: 18+ ONLY! Thank you all for your patience as I slowly get back into the rhythm of things. I hope you enjoyed today's posts! If you like this one give it a reblog, like, comment or jump in my asks! As always warnings and smut below the cut! (I feel like it's been forever since I've written that!)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! Cursing/ strong language, oral (m&f receiving), deep throating, cum eating, protected piv sex, I think that's it. I'm easing back into things guys sorry!

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the cast that went around his hand and up to his elbow. He was a clutz and fell during practice. Somehow, he managed to not only fracture his wrist but his arm as well. He would be on restricted duty now until it was better and since it was his dominant side it also restricted him from other things, like tying his shoes, using chopsticks, fastening his belt, or say, jerking off.

That was the one that was currently bothering Jisung. He was home alone and all he wanted to do was jack off and he couldn’t. It was beyond frustrating. He groaned out loudly and fell back on his bed staring up at the ceiling, his hard dick straining against his shorts.

“Everything okay Jisungie?” He shot up and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard your voice. He didn’t know you were home, he thought you’d gone to dinner with the rest of the guys but you didn’t. You had decided to stay behind with Jisung since he was hurt. When you heard his loud groan you knew he needed something. You hadn’t intended to startle him like that.

“Sorry Sungie, I just heard you and thought you might need help.” He took a deep breath and removed his hand from his chest.

“Oh. Uh. No I’m okay.” He was tense and acting weird.

“Are.... you sure? You don’t seem okay?” His ears were turning red.

“No! I’m fine!” He tried to strategically place his arms in his lap to hide the fact he was sporting wood but the damn cast made it pretty much impossible. When you saw him fidgeting you looked down and that was when you realized what the problem was.

“Oh.” Jisung pushed his fingers into his eyes completely embarrassed.

“Yea uh... sorry it’s just... it will go away.”

“Well it’s nothing to be ashamed of Jisung.” You took another step into his room. You weren’t sure what exactly came over you but Jisung was hot and hard. Your brain went on auto pilot.

“Do you want me to help make it go away?” His head shot up and he looked at your face to see if you were fucking with him or if you really meant it. You were biting your bottom lip flushed. You absolutely meant it.

“You want to?” You walked the rest of the way into the room and shut the door.

“Yes.” Jisung looked a little apprehensive still.

“I’d love that, I mean... if you’re sure.” You walked over and stood between Jisung’s legs. You pushed his hair out of his face and he closed his eyes relishing your touch.

“I’m sure Sungie.” Hearing you call him that made his cock throb. His good hand came up and rested on your hip, his thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin exposed to him.

“I really like it when you call me that. I’ll be happy to return the favor if you’d like.” You chewed at your lip again and nodded eagerly. You started to sink down to your knees and about midway Jisung stopped you, cupping your face and kissing your lips. Your hands rested on either side of his legs as he held you in place and deepened the kiss.

“Full disclosure...” Jisung whispered against your lips.

“I’m kind of crazy about you.” You giggled and kissed his plump lips.

“Me too.” Jisung kissed you one more time and you knelt the rest of the way down in front of him. You ran your hands from his knees up his thighs and felt him tense under your touch.

“Nervous?” You asked.

“Excited.” Jisung chuckled answering. He pushed stray hair away from your face with his good hand as he looked into your eyes.

“You’re so pretty.” Your eyes got big and sparkled as you smiled.

“You’re pretty too Sungie, so pretty.” You leaned up as you pulled him down and kissed him again before grabbing his shorts and boxers and pulling at both. Jisung got the hint and lifted his hips off the bed allowing you to strip him from the waist down, leaving him in only his tank top. You tossed both articles of clothing aside and when you turned and saw Jisung’s throbbing cock your mouth watered. You licked your palm and wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

“It’s so BIG Ji!” He closed his eyes, biting his lip and started blushing at your compliment.

“Heh, thank you.” You giggled.

“I feel like I should be thanking you.” That made Jisung laugh with his whole body.

“Just touching me is thank you enough I think.” You smirked.

“Oh I’m definitely doing more than just touching Sungie.” Before he could think of a single word to say back to that, you leaned forward and took the tip of his cock into your warm wet mouth and started to suck and bob up and down.

“Oh god!” Jisung gripped your hair with his good hand and helped set a rhythm. When the tip hit the back of your throat he hissed.

“SSSssshit that’s good jagi, can you gag on it again?” You could do anything Jisung asked if he called you jagi when asking. You started to deep throat his dick and Jisung was impressed you could take so much.

“Fuck you’re sucking me so well beautiful.” The squelching sound Jisung’s dick made as it entered your throat over and over was wet and loud. Your lips formed a seal and you hummed and Jisung thought he was gonna blow his load right then.

“Ohhh like that do that!” You hummed as you bottomed out on his cock again. Up and down humming louder, louder, louder. Jisung’s grip on your hair tightened and you felt the sweet sting of pins and needles.

“I’m g-gonna cum, you gonna swallow for me jagi?” Jagi. Fuck. You nodded as you continued to suck him off and hum on his cock. The sweet moan that left Jisung right before he flooded your mouth made you reach down and touch yourself over your pants.

“Ohhh fuck yesyes god feels so good, you’re such a good girl. So pretty with a cock in your mouth, so so pretty.” You swallowed the last of Jisung’s cum and popped off him sitting back on your heels feeling a little shy once he had post nut clarity.

“Wow that was... whew...” Jisung’s cheeks, ears and neck were all blushing from his orgasm.

“You taste so good Sungie.” He looked down at you and smiled.

“Bet not half as good as you taste jagiya. Come, climb up on the bed and lay down for me.” He took your hand and helped you off your knees and onto his bed. He watched the shape of your body as you crawled across and then laid back on his pillows.

“Beautiful. It’s okay if I touch you?” You shook your head yes.

“Please. Need you Ji.” He didn’t make you wait. He stripped off his tank top and then as he removed your pants while you worked your shirt and bra off. Once you were naked on his bed Jisung got a little light headed at the sight of you.

“Sorry if I’m staring it's just... this is like a dream come true for me. I never thought I’d have you in my bed, let alone wet and ready for me. Can I taste?”

“Mhmm.” Jisung’s head dipped between your legs and he drug his tongue through your folds.

“Ffffuck!” Jisung hummed in delight.

“I knew you’d taste amazing.” He started to drink you in. Running his tongue from your hole to your clit and back again, gathering as much of your arousal as possible before latching onto your clit and sucking gently.

“JiJiJiJi!! Fuck that, right there yes!” He decided to give you a taste of your own medicine and hummed against your pussy as he continued to devour you. Your legs started to shake and you were trying to clamp them around his head but he was holding them open while he ravaged your cunt. He licked another stripe and his face came away an inch.

“So fucking good damn baby. Cum for me beautiful.” He started going down on you again, his efforts doubled and you went speeding towards your climax.

“Ji... Ji... I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum! Fuck Sungie!” You shook, your orgasm intense and prolonged as Jisung slowly, gently, worked you through it. Once you relaxed into the bed, Jisung propped himself up over you on his one good arm and kissed you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He whispered his question against your lips. You smiled and nodded, taking a deep content breath.

“God please! Please fuck me Jisung.” He quickly grabbed a condom from his nightstand, ripped it open, and rolled it down his cock. You sat up and pushed at his firm chest making him sit back against his head board.

“Mind if I’m on top?” Jisung motioned towards his lap.

“Go right ahead.” You both laughed and you thought you had never had so much fun having sex. You climbed on his lap and Jisung’s laugh turned to a chuckle and when you lined his cock up with your glistening hole he wasn’t laughing at all anymore. No he was chewing on his lip praying he didn’t blow too fast. The moan he let out when you sank down on him was sinful.

“Fuuuuuck jagiya... just a second. Don’t move yet or this is gonna be over before it’s started.” You bit your lip and nodded, waiting for a signal that it was okay to move. After just a minute Jisung gripped your hip gently and nodded.

“Okay we’re out of the danger zone.” You were giggling again. You loved that he could always make you laugh. You leaned down and kissed him as you started to move your hips slowly.

“Mmmm feels good Ji, so big, fills me up so well.” He bit your lip gently.

“Can you take it?” He smirked at you. Oh okay, you thought to yourself. You pecked his lips once more and then braced yourself palms down on his pecs. The look you gave him said he was absolutely fucked in every sense of the word and then you put it down on him. You rolled your hips and bounced up and down on his cock.

“FUCK!” The smirk was effectively wiped from Jisung’s face now his teeth were sank into his own lip. You took him whole and started grinding.

“If you keep going like this I’m gonna cum baby.” You smiled and kept up your brutal pace, your own orgasm approaching quickly with the added stimulation to your clit rubbing against the firm muscle above his pelvis.

“Cum for me Jisung.” You rolled your hips again and your walls started to flutter around Jisung’s cock as you came hard.

“Fffuck! Mmmm Jisung!” He gripped your hip with his good hand and started fucking into you from below.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK! YESYES OH MY FUCKING GOD!” The best orgasm of your life is how you would describe your climax.

“I’m gonna cum jagi fuck! I’m gonna...” He let out another loud moan when he filled the condom inside you and Jisung’s moans were the prettiest sounds you had ever heard. He sat up wrapping his arms around you, his cast making it difficult, and buried his face in your chest, breathing you in as he came down. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the long hair covering his nape, longer than usual for him. Your head resting on top of his.

“You good?” You asked as he sat there trembling a little.

“So good. Fuck. You?” You smiled when he pulled away and looked up at you.

“Perfect.”

“Good. You know if I’d have known breaking my arm would get you to fuck me I’d have broken it ages ago.” You laughed and smacked his shoulder and he acted as though you broke his other arm before tackling you onto the bed and assaulting you with kisses.

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