#YE KNOW HES BLEEDING OUT? ASSIST!

[barnabyseyelashes]

i may write a bit more about how i feel about all this once ive ruminated but, just wondering,

how did we get from here:

and here,

and here,

to here:

and then just like.. bye!!!!

[animeismyhappyplace]

The Devil's Salvation

Synopsis: Lucifer's heart is hurting due to the recent extermination. In an effort to help shift some of the pain Y/N, his assistant, attempts to distract him with her body.

Set around episode 1 of Hazbin Hotel.

Word Count: 5K (5,930)

Trigger warnings: 18+ only!!!

Boss/employee relationship, power imbalance, biting, marking, hickies, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, brief oral (m.recieving), sex on furniture, cowgirl, dick riding, possessive language, cursing, pet names (sweetheart, baby, sweets, dear), fluffy ending, some Dom/sub/switch undertones, descriptive sex scene, Lucifer is a total cutie, some very minimal angst directed at extermination day rather than the characters.

The sky in Hell is dark and bleeding red as another extermination comes to its gruesome end. 

Lucifer is slumped over his desk with a sour expression on his face as he throws one of his rubber ducks across the room "another year, another fucking blood bath" he grumbles to himself as he hears footsteps coming to his invention room. 

He hears a few knocks as a soft voice breaks the silence "it's over Lucifer, can I come in?" His assistant Y/N asks quietly.

Lucifer's red eyes light up as his mood perks up "of course dear! Come in, come in~" He leans back in his chair, letting loose a small yawn scrunching his nose as he does.

He glances at the rubber duck laying on the ground, and then back at the woman in front of him "what brings you to my office?.." His voice remains soothing as he finally looks at her properly for the first time that day, she's wearing a red dress shirt with a matching striped skirt pretty similar to what he is wearing ‘cute, very cute’ he can't help but think with a small smile. Her dog-like ears flat against her head as she bows to him.

"I wanted to check on you sir, I know extermination days are taxing on your health" she frowns as she takes in his appearance, his hat has been placed on his desk, his staff nowhere to be seen and his eyes have large bags under them.

Lucifer gives out a soft chuckle, before putting one hand to his temple "yes, yes thank you for your concern, my dear. You are right, these kinds of days can be exhausting to say the least" 

He glances at her noticing her ears still firmly pinned to her head so he tries to offer a small smile but it doesn't seem to work very well, she can see right through him. 

"It's reassuring to know that someone cares about me in this shit hole, you're truly the best assistant I could ask for”

A small blush settles on her cheeks and her ears perk up a little as she shakes her head dismissively "it's my job to worry about you sir" she chuckles softly almost under her breath.

"As per usual for this time of year I've cleared your schedule so you have no commitments for the rest of the day" she's smiling as she speaks but Lucifer notices her brow is furrowed ever so slightly.

Lucifer raises his eyebrow, taking notice of the sour look on her face. 

“Your concern is appreciated, and I’m grateful to have you by my side"

He pushes himself forward in his rather large chair and sighs.

"It’s nice that you cleared my schedule for me... I need a rest” 

His tone remains soft with a subtle hint of affection, but his attention is captured by your worried expression.

"What’s wrong?" He asks in a soft tone.

Her eyes slide off to the side focusing on one of the mountains of rubber ducks, she sighs as she collects her thoughts before looking back at his scarlett eyes.

"The head exterminator, Adam, has made contact sir and he wants to meet. Wouldn't tell me why though" her brow furrows again more deeply this time as anxiety sinks into her heart.

Lucifer frowns as he processes the information.

"Adam made contact?" He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. 

"And... he didn't tell you why?" Lucifer's voice has a slight hint of suspicion, and his expression turns more serious as Y/N shakes her head solemnly 

"No, he refused to answer my questions, just said "arrange the meeting bitch" and flew off with the others" her nose crinkles in disgust as she thinks back to the arsehole angel.

Lucifer grunts in frustration as he stands up from his chair.

"That man sure is arrogant... but this is rather suspicious” Lucifer strokes his chin, pondering this sudden event.

"I'll take care of it, no need for you to worry~" Lucifer offers a reassuring smile and a gentle pat to her head, although the frown on his face shows a hint of his frustration.

Y/N starts to speak but thinks better of it as she watches Lucifer pull out his phone while walking into the hallway. 

He comes back a few minutes later and explains that his daughter Charlie will be taking charge of the meeting so she can pitch her hotel to the angels. Y/N nods in understanding as he speaks.

"I'm sure she'll do brilliantly sir" Y/N smiles and Lucifer can't help but smile back at the young assistant, and chuckles at her words.

"Charlie will do great," Lucifer agrees "She's certainly more than capable of handling the meeting"

As Lucifer talks, he starts to pace around the room, his gaze distant as he thinks to himself.

The young woman tilts her head to the side slightly as she watches her boss "what's on your mind sir?" She presses gently, taking note he seems more lost in thought than usual.

Lucifer's eyes trail back to his assistant.

"I'm just thinking, my dear. It's strange that the head exterminator would make contact as opposed to showing up at the doors" Lucifer's brow was still in a puzzled expression. 

Without much detail he continues to speak, sounding more concerned "It's.. not a great sign.. something's wrong, I feel it in my bones..”

Y/N walks towards Lucifer and takes a hold of the cuff of his pearly white jacket gently.

"Please stop worrying sir, I'm sure Charlie will do fabulously at this meeting and you'll know soon enough what Adam's plans are. Please sit and rest" 

She pleads as she gently guides him back to his chair. Lucifer's eyebrows raise at her sudden action, but his eyes warmth and comfort as she urges him to sit back down.

"You're right.. I'm just letting my depression get the better of me HA HA” he tries to fake a laugh but it's hopeless, and walks back to his chair, sitting down.

There is a long stretch of silence, but he gives her a charming smile, offering one last glimpse of comfort.

“Thank you, my dear”

"of course sir, let me get you something to drink" 

She bows as she leaves his study to find something to calm his nerves 

Lucifer leans back into his seat, the tension slowly receding as he waits for her to come back. He glances at the rubber duck still lying on the floor, and rolls his eyes with a small chuckle. Despite his efforts to stay calm, he couldn't help but feel a bit anxious about this whole predicament.

Y/N returns quickly with some tea "this should help soothe some of your worries sir" she smiles as she pours him a cup of the warm beverage. Lucifer nods, his smile growing as he sees the cup in her hands. 

"Thank you, my dear. You know, you're very perceptive of my needs.. I'm quite lucky to have you as my assistant" he says as he takes the cup from you.

She smiles brightly while nodding "I should hope so Lucifer sir, I've been working for you pretty much since I arrived in Hell" 

Y/N clears away some of the papers scattered across his desk, keeping them safely to the side so as to not potentially spill tea on them.

Lucifer chuckles as he takes small sips of the tea, his eyes taking in the details of her movements as she clears up his desk.

"Indeed you have, you've been the best assistant I could ask for.." 

Lucifer's tone is much warmer now, and he takes a big sip before continuing.

"Although I suppose I've never asked, how long have you been here in Hell in total?”

"Only a few years now but I guess it's not so bad down here, especially since I get to work for you" she smiles as she holds the tray the tea was on to her chest waiting for him to finish up. Lucifer's cheeks heat up as smiles, taking a few more sips and finishing up the tea.

"Well... I suppose I can't argue with that, especially when you say it so sweetly" Lucifer chuckles, brushing his hand through his golden hair.

"It's good that you feel right at home here. I'll admit, Hell can be a bit... overwhelming when you first get here”

Y/N clears away his used cup and places it off to the side as she's cleaning up she notices him walking up to a large window, looking down at the carnage left behind by the angels with a deep frown set into his usually delicate features.

"Sir?" She asks softly as she sees his shoulders tense up.

Lucifer pauses at the window, taking in the destruction as the bodies litter the streets.

His mood seems to have shifted dramatically from his previous lightheartedness, as his expression becomes very serious.

He glances back at Y/N, taking notice of her concerned glances.

"Hm?..." Lucifer says, his tone sounding rather calm "oh, it's nothing. Just.. observing, is all.”

Y/N sighs sadly before joining him at the window to see what he's looking at and when she does, she understands.

She can see the devastation left behind, sinners dead bodies piling up, the streets ablaze as overlords fight for new unclaimed territories. She can see the weight it leaves on his heart.

"This was never what I wanted you know all those years ago" he sighs but doesn't look at her, even with his attention fixed outside she can see the hurt swirling in his usually shining eyes. 

Y/N lifts her hand tentatively to Lucifer's back in an effort to comfort him, even if it's only for a moment.

Lucifer turns his focus from the carnage back to the younger woman, and is caught slightly off guard by her sudden and kind gesture.

Lucifer’s red eyes are full of sorrow as he looks back at her, the weight of his burden clearly settling on his soul.

As her hand rests upon his back, he finds himself calming down, almost as if just her touch was enough to soothe some of his suffering.

"you can't blame yourself sir, you couldn't have known what would happen" ears twitching as she frowns at his pained expression, rubbing slow circles against his back.

Lucifer sighs sharply, leaning his back against her hand as she calms him with soft circular motions.

"You're right, I couldn't.. but I still do..." Lucifer mutters, his voice sounding much softer now.

There is a brief moment of silence, where he appears to just absorb the comforting warmth coming from her touch.

"That's a lot of weight to carry... even for a king" her hand stills on his back for a moment as she pulls away moving back towards his desk away from the window.

"I have a feeling things are going to change, very soon sir. Thanks you and your family" Y/N smiles as she rests against the edge of his desk. 

Lucifer’s eyes dart over to her as she steps back and leans on his desk, his smile returning slightly at her optimistic words. 

"Yes, I have that feeling too...." 

Lucifer mutters thoughtfully.

"But regardless of what comes, I hope that you will always be here by my side, helping me carry whatever weight the future holds..." Lucifer says, his voice sounding slightly solemn yet also reassuring.

"You're my king Lucifer, I will be here as long as you desire" as silence slips between them Y/N clears her throat before speaking again "I'd say you use a distraction right about now sir" 

A sweet and genuine smile touches Lucifer's lips as he raises an eyebrow.

"A distraction?.." Lucifer's voice is 

 playful as the gears start turning in his head.

She hums sweetly as her fingers drum anxiously against Lucifer's desk her eyes on his carpeted flooring "well Lilith has been gone for years now, you've been alone all that time" 

Her eyes flit up to look at him "you must have been so lonely sir, you should look into fixing that" she watches for any changes to his body language with a barely hidden smirk. 

Lucifer takes a moment to digest her words letting out a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.

"You're being rather bold my dear..." 

Lucifer smiles softly while shaking his head with his eyebrows raised and a blush spreads across his pale cheeks 

"Ah.. well.. I've not been entirely alone now, have I?..." His tone is playful, but she can feel the flirtatious nature behind them. 

She bites her lip while smiling "you're right Lucifer, I've been right here" 

She bats her eyelashes at him acting as sweetly as she can whilst pushing herself just off the edge of his large desk "and I'll always be right by your side sir" 

As she bats her eyelashes at him he chuckles, a blush deepening his cheeks slightly.

There's a brief pause as his eyes scan over her body, taking notice of the cute way she's leaning on his desk. He speaks coyly back at her.

"Is that so?"

"Tell me dear, if I... needed someone to lean against.. would you be ready?”

Y/N leans forward to grasp his hand gently so he could pull away at any time "haven't I already shown I'm ready to stay by your side?" 

She looks into his eyes as she tugs on his hand prompting him to come closer "I know how much Lilith leaving hurt you but I wouldn't do that ever" 

Lucifer's heart skips a beat as he watches her take his hand, tugging him inches closer.

It takes him a moment, but Lucifer gently pulls her closer, until she is right in front of him, their bodies almost touching.

His breath catches as his eyes stare back at her doe like expression, he can't quite believe how cute she looks right now, her nose almost touching his own. Lucifer pauses, and glances down at her lips. His eyes flicker from her lips, and back to her eyes.

"You really won't, will you..?" Lucifer mutters quietly, sounding a bit breathless.

"The sweetest sinner in all of Hell" he almost whispers with a smile as his hands cup her face, his thumbs rubbing little circles against her cheeks 

His tenderness shocks her though it really shouldn't for how long she's known him and she closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying their closeness and his tender touches 

Her hands sneak up to his red striped dress shirt, pulling him ever closer bridging the gap between their bodies. Her lips stop just short of his own, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath. 

She looks into his eyes and waits for him to decide if he really wants this, wants her.

Lucifer's heart almost stops as she pulls him close, his mind spinning rapidly making him dizzy as he realises how long it's been since he's felt affection like this. His eyes fixate on her cherry red lips, watching as she gets so close he can feel her body heat. He hesitates for a moment as he worries what will happen if things go wrong but he leans forward needing to take this risk.

Lucifer closes his eyes and presses his lips to hers. He kisses her so tenderly as though she'll break the second he lets go, and his hands grip her body tightly, pulling her even closer.

Y/N's hands grip Lucifer's waist as his hands move to pull her face closer, deepening their kiss.

Her chest is heaving slightly as he kisses her with more passion than she's ever felt, leaving her breathless.

Her cheeks are a deep shade of pink when Lucifer finally pulls away, she giggles as he bites his lip red irises watching her intently 

Lucifer's breath is still staggered as he pulls away from her lips, red-faced and blushing. He pulls himself away from her, as a light-hearted grin spreads across his cheeks.

His eyes glance down to her lips, and his brows raise.

"It seems my assistant has gotten a bit too familiar with me~..." Lucifer teases with a playful smirk.

She gasps pushing at his chest playfully while giggling at his teasing words "who in Hell could blame me when my boss looks like this" 

She bites her lip as she intertwines their fingers pulling him towards the lavish chair seated behind his desk, she gestures for him to sit as her hungry eyes rake down his form.

Lucifer chuckles as he allows her to pull him towards the chair. As he sits down comfortably, he notices the way she's looking at him and he smiles, his golden eyebrows raising up in a flirtatious manner. He gives her a playful wink.

"You're a real handful, my dear.. I hope you know that?”

She smirks as she climbs into his lap, licking her lips as he lets out a surprised grunt "oh I'm counting on it sir" 

A sly smile forms on Lucifer's face as he glances up at her.

He lets out a little laugh, amused at her boldness. His hands trail softly up and down her sides, his fingers tracing little circles against her skin as he bites his lip muttering with a grin "fuck sweetheart you're going to be the death of me”

Y/N shifts slightly once in his lap, wiggling her hips as she gets comfortable, looping her hands around his neck as she steals his lips in another kiss.

Her tongue licks over his bottom lip as he hungrily accepts her affections. 

Lucifer's body immediately responds to her touch, his entire frame heating up as she kisses and nibbles softly at his lip.

His fingers tighten around her hips, pulling her closer, and his other hand trails her body from her hips all the way to her neck.

Lucifer pulls back ever so slightly, his breath staggered, feeling as if he might melt from the heat rising between them.

"You're lucky I don't get visitors often sweetheart, who knows what vicious rumors would be spread if you were caught in my lap" Lucifer mumbles in between kisses.

Y/N's kisses trail across Lucifers lips to his rosy cheeks then down to his jaw as she starts nibbling at the delicate flesh "I'm sure you'd find a way to silence them"

Hearing Lucifer's sinful groans, her hips start to gently rock back and forth as her tongue laps at his neck, sucking harshly in the places that make his groans deepen.

Lucifer's breath catches in his throat as his back arches slightly with every gentle kiss. Just the feel of her breathing heavily against his neck drives him crazy, the heat rushing through his body and spreading like a fever.

He bites his lip to prevent himself from letting out any more noises, his head lolling back slightly as she sucks on his neck. A breathy groan escapes him without notice, as his breathing grows more rapid, his cheeks redder. 

"f-fuck I need..." He whines as his hands fly out to grip steady onto her hips, grinding the growing tent in his pants up against her.

Her skirt starts to ride up as his body jolts from the stimulation, her breaths leaving her throat in hiccups as she feels him poking at her inner thighs. 

"L-Luci~" she moans breathlessly, her hips stuttering as he rubs against her clothed core.

Lucifer's jaw muscles tighten as he grips her body tighter, almost going mad listening to her sweet sounds. 

Her voice sounds like a soothing melody to his ears, and he can't hold himself back any longer. He begins to kiss her throat, and even licks the skin between her neck and shoulder biting softly.

Y/N whines as he teases her body, lolling her head back to give him more space to mark her neck and shoulder. 

Lucifer pulls back once he's satisfied with his work eyeing the claim he's laid on her body. Her breath catches in her throat as he lifts her from his lap onto his desk.

"My dear, I dare say you've never looked more divine than you do right now" he bites his lip as she's laid out before him, her chest heaving and her legs spread as he slots himself between her thighs. 

Y/N runs her fingertips along the edge of her skirt before she starts to slowly and teasingly tug it upwards revealing more of her body to her king.

Lucifer watches her slowly and teasingly tug your skirt up with interest. His eyes trailing up her body, taking in every inch of her skin as she reveals more of herself to his greedy eyes.

A breathy groan escapes him at the sight as he grips the meat of her thighs tightly. Spreading her legs out as he licks his lips at the damp patch on her underwear a low whimper escapes his throat "you'll surely drive me mad, sweetheart" 

He utters softly, as a blush spreads across his cheeks. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Her cheeks heat up at his sultry words making her whine in embarrassment and hunger "Luci please" 

Her hands reach out to grasp at this forearms, gripping tightly as she tries to wiggle her hips looking for some attention to be paid to her heated skin.

Lucifer's mouth twitches at the pure desperation in her eyes, his hands trailing up and down her legs before moving back to the top of her thighs to her thighs. He gives them both a quick squeeze, drawing her attention back towards him.

His soft whispers carry a hint of playful teasing. 

"Pretty desperate for my attention huh?" Lucifer asks in a low voice as his red eyes watch her reactions carefully.

She nods helplessly as her eyes fog up with unshed tears, his teasing touches pure torture as his fingers leave heat and desire everywhere they touch.

"N-need you to do something, anything... Please baby" she pleads as her arms reach up above her head to grasp at the edge of his desk. 

Lucifer bites his lip, and he can't help just how much her words excite him... her hunger is so apparent, so raw, and the way she begs for what she wants does nothing to help the problem in his pants.

He leans in closer, his eyes darting to her neck and jaw before he quickly dips his head down, his mouth placing a short peck of a kiss just above her collarbone. 

His kisses continue down her body until he reaches the band of her panties. He gives her one firm look, as if to say ‘tell me know if you need to stop’, but she shakes her head and lifts her hips, wiggling them teasingly making him smirk.

"Who knew my soft spoken assistant would be so greedy?" he mutters with a smile as his thumb pushes into the wet spot on her panties making her gasp at the sudden stimulation. Enjoying her reaction he moves his thumb up slightly to rub against her clothed clit, grinning widely when her thighs tremble.

"This is what you wanted right sweetheart? wanted my fingers to play with your cute little pussy?" 

Her head nods aggressively as she bites down on her tongue to stifle the wanton moans waiting to escape. 

She can't help but rock her hips forward against his hand wanting more, needing more as her skin feels like it's been set alight with passion and desire. 

Lucifer chuckles softly as he watches her squirm under his touch, licking his lips as he feels her slick coat his thumb. 

"Ah ah ah, you need to use your big girl words if you want something from me" he grins wickedly.

"Need your fingers Luci" she pouts cutely when he raises his eyebrow at her.

A smirk spreads across his pink cheeks as he pulls her panties down her legs and throws them off to the side, sucking in a breath as he admires her naked body, wetness and need shining across her skin "Yeah? where do you need me hmm?" 

A stray tear streaks down her cheeks as she whines "n-need your fingers in my pussy, fuck please Luci! I-I need-" 

Lucifer grins wickedly as he watches her squirm under his gaze, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the tip of her nose then to her cheek and he even places a soft kiss on her fluffy ears before straightening back up. He smirks at her desperation, sliding his fingers into her dripping pussy and grinning widely as she lets out a shaky moan.

Y/N's head lolls back and her eyes roll as she finally gets the stimulation she needed, whines tumbling out of her strained throat as her hands turn white from her gripping so hard at his desk "f-fuckk..." 

Lucifer watches her closely, his fingers curling inside her wet heat, relishing in the way she squirms and begs for more. 

He leans down once more, his lips brushing against her neck as he murmurs, "Talk to me sweetheart... Tell me how good I make you feel?" 

His fingers curl upwards his thumb swipes across her clit making her almost cry as the pleasure wrecks through her shaking body.

Her thighs shake as sweat starts to pool against her forehead, her hips bucking wildly at the onslaught of pleasure Lucifer is giving her "I- you- fuuck so fucking good, love your t-thick fingers Luci”

Lucifer chuckles softly, pleased by her response as he starts to move his fingers in and out of her wet pussy faster, his thumb continuing to tease her clit with feather-light touches. 

He can't help but lean down to place another kiss on her collarbone. His teeth graze along the soft skin, eliciting a shiver from his lover.

Y/N's sweet moans and the wet squelches of her abused pussy fill the quiet room, a strangled cry leaves her chapped lips as his fingers bump a spongy spot in her tight walls, he almost stops his movements as the realisation hits making him chuckle "Theree it is, that's the spot yeah sweetheart?"

She rocks her hips in time with the thrusts of his fingers as her moans pitch up in volume, she can't help but babble as the pleasure builds "there.... fuck d-don stop" another desperate whine "gonna cum... fuck! fuck! FUCK!”

Lucifer smirks as he watches her lose control, her body arching off the desk in search of more pleasure. His fingers curled deeper inside her, finding that spot again and again as he relished in the power he held over her. 

Her eyes roll back as her walls clamp down on his fingers, his thumb rubbing tight circles over her throbbing clit until her high slowly ends. 

Her breathing is erratic as her high tingles over her limbs before slowly ebbing away leaving her body limp, when her eyes can fully focus she sees Lucifer slurping up the wetness coating his fingers.

The sight alone is so sinful it sends fresh waves of need flooding through her veins as her hands reach out for him.

Lucifer grins mischievously, watching her every move. He licks his fingers clean with a soft moan, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. 

"You're irresistible," he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

She gently guides Lucifer down to sit in the plush chair "your turn baby~" 

Y/N licks her lips as she sinks to her knees before him, running her hands over his strong thighs. Slowly moving her way up until her fingers hit his pristine white belt, she discards it off to the side of the room as she works on pulling down his suit pants, smiling sinfully as she notices the wet spot soaking through his boxers.

Lucifer groans softly as he feels her hands on him, his cock twitching in anticipation. He watches her with hooded eyes, a mix of desire and possession in their depths. Her thumb rubs over the wet spot making his hips jump at the sudden pleasure.

"You like making me cum on your fingers this much Luci?" she grins as she flicks her tongue over the wetness moaning softly at the first taste of his pre.

"I love seeing you so submissive, it drives me wild," he answers, his voice deep and husky. He watches her hungrily, his eyes locked on the sight of her teasing his cock “and those cute little moans you let out? Truly sinful baby” 

She hums to herself as she pulls the suffocating materiel down his legs joining the growing pile on the floor, her eyes widening as she takes in the size of his cock for the first time mumbling more to herself than to him "such a pretty cock”

His eyes squeeze shut tightly as her delicate fingers reach out to explore his body, her pink tongue licks up the length of his cock so suddenly it makes Lucifer suck in a breath as he groans "definitely going to be the death of me sweetheart... f-fuck~" 

His cute reaction makes her smile and raises her confidence. This time she flattens her tongue, rolling it over his slit taking the time to lick up all the precum drooling over his cock head, moaning as it coats her tongue and bottom lip. 

Lucifer's breath hitches at the sensation, his hips jerking forward almost involuntarily. He bites his lip, trying to keep control as she lavishes him with her attention "such a good fucking girl f'me" 

His soft grunts and groans raise in volume as she starts to suck on his swollen heads, flicking her tongue over his slit as her hands pump his length "f-feels too good baby... You gotta stop or I'll cum too quick, wanna cum in your pretty little pussy"

She giggles but concedes giving him one last long lick up the length of his cock following the thick veins she finds before she allows him to lift her onto his lap. 

Once settled she gives him a deep passionate kiss tasting herself on his tongue as his hand dips between their bodies to line himself up, rubbing his cock over her clit once then twice before finally sinking into her tight pussy. 

Lucifer's hands grasp her hips tightly as he feels himself sinking into her wet heat, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He groans deeply into their kiss, his tongue dancing with hers to muffle their sounds of pleasure.

He holds her hips tightly in place as he fills her up fully "y'gotta stay still for me sweets or I'll finish right now 'kay?" 

She nods as she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling on it as she adjusts to his massive size. 

Her body shakes as his thumb rubs on her swollen clit making broken moans slip from her throat as he suddenly thrusts his hips upwards making them both groan " 'kay you can move now, you gonna ride me pretty girl?" 

Her arms loop around his neck as she starts to slowly lift up then sinking back down so he's filling her to the hilt. After a few slow movements her desperation increases, finding a place to steady both of her feet she starts to bounce on his cock, the angle making his head hit her sweet spot with every thrust. 

Sweat starts to coat both of their half naked bodies, pain starting to set into her limbs but the pleasure he's giving her is too good for her to break, her head falls back and his hands grip her waist tight helping her to rock up and down at a steady rhythm.

Lucifer's hands tighten on her waist, one sliding down to the small of her back while the other grips the flesh above her ass cheek as she rides him. 

He groans deeply, watching as his cock sinks into her tight walls with every movement and rocking his hips in time with hers "love this tight little pussy~ could have been fucking you like this for years if I'd known how well you take me sweetheart" 

Y/N preens at his praise, doubting her efforts. Her throat constricts with every moan but if feels so good she couldn't care less "need you to keep fucking me Luci, love your cock sooo much feels too good”

Lucifer's eyes glow a dark red with lust as he looks up at her, one of his hands sliding up to grab her breasts, pinching and rolling the nipples between his fingers the other dripping lower to play with her clit, drilling his hips up into her dripping pussy "I'm not stopping until you cum on my cock sweetheart~”

The pleasure he's giving her is too much for her spent body, her thighs start to shake as the coil tightening in her stomach threatens to snap "yes yes yes Luci baby shit!~ m'close so fucking close" her walls start to calm down on his cock.

"Fuck" he grunts, his thrusts becoming jerkier and harder as he feels her start to tighten around him "Come on sweetheart, let go~ need to feel you cum on my cock~" 

He gives her two more powerful thrusts, mumbling words of encouragement in her ear nibbling on her earlobe.

"that's it pretty~ look how your walls are clamping down on me, I'm fucking you so good your body won't let me pull out" 

Gasps fall from her lips like the most unholy prayers as her body stills the pleasure flooding wildly through her veins, shaky moans tumbling from her lips as she cries his name over and over until she can barely speak any longer. 

Lucifer's thrusts match hers, pounding into her as he feels her walls start to spasm around him. He groans deeply, his own pleasure starting to build as he watches her cum hard on his cock.

He can't help but whine loudly as her orgasm triggers his own, his body shaking as he dumps his load into her quivering walls crying her name as he holds her tight to his body.

Lucifer places soft kisses on each spot of her skin he can reach as she comes down from the high, she returns his affections leaving purple and red blotches down his neck and the along his jaw wanting to show all of Hell her handy work, possessiveness shining in her eyes as she watches his blissed out face.

Lucifer smiles softly at her, his eyes filled with pure adoration. He nuzzles against her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to her collarbone.

He hums lowly in his throat, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin as he leans in to nip at her neck gently. 

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, slowly pulling out of her body and readjusting so they're more comfortable. 

"You're truly mine, aren't you sweetheart?" He whispers, his voice husky with tiredness. 

Her fingers reach upt o cup his face gently as she looks into his eyes "for as long as you'll have me, sir" she winks cheekily at him placing kisses along his jaw hiding her heated cheeks.

Lucifer chuckles softly, his fingers trailing down her sides to soothe her sensitive skin. 

"That's my girl," he breathes out before leaning in to capture her lips in a slow deep kiss, lifting her body into his arms to carry her to his bedroom. 

Beautiful banner by: @/saradika

[tojisun]

WIP: still your passenger (re: deftones)

simon ghost riley x gn reader

!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)

there’s a new medic in the base – a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. she’s beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves. 

you’ve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, there’s really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that you’ve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you can’t really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.

it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.

her name’s erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family she’s got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics. 

“they’re a family of smart nuts,” johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. “can you believe it? she’s pretty and wise.”

you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.

“of course i’ll keep it in!” johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. “i don’t want to anger LT, y’know?”

cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like you’ve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart. 

“oh?” you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. “why would he be angry now?” your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead. 

johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. “why else?”

the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes. 

you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.

because of course.

of course. 

you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered ‘i’m glad you’re safe’ pressed onto each other’s cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break. 

everything with him was just physical – chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches. 

sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning. 

“y’ready to go back to the base?” johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.

—————

ignoring simon was easy. it’s not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like she’s got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache. 

the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didn’t know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin. 

he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.

and it’s not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?

erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyone’s troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isn’t strong, anyway.

erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.

so, again, could you really blame him?

you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences – he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to. 

he’s told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of. 

one you thought you would have shared with him.

but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.

it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.

but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?

[tinycozycomfort]

trust fall

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day two of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: fluid exchange -> read her day two here

summary: This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nice enough.

warnings/tags: pwp!, fluid exchange (come eating/spitting), oral sex (f receiving), anal play, dirty talk, mention of unprotected piv, dom/sub dynamics, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), praise kink, edging

word count: 1.6k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: arguably the filthiest thing i've ever written (nervous) but wow was it great practice. thank you for reading!

main masterlist

“What a mess. Who’s gonna clean all this up, sweetheart?” 

He’s thumbing at the crease of your thigh where it folds into your core, pulling against the bend so that your seam widens. You can feel him looking, each cool swing of his breath fanning over the heat at your center. The slow trickle of where he leaks out of you makes your skin tighten, shrinking uncomfortably over muscle in little welts. 

Joel doesn’t take well to your lack of focus, choosing to demand your attention instead; the press of his thumb turns harder, meeting the end of his pointer to pinch. The pain is instant, but the delay from your haze makes you skip a yelp all together, straight to words like he wants.

“I’ll clean myself.” 

He hums, releasing your flesh, petting the wound where it thrums, “Now how can you reach all the way down here?”

You know this game well—where he means to reduce you to less than incapable, framing it like you’ve lost your way after what he’s just done to you. He wants to act like he can help you, when in reality it’s done to service himself, only further fueling his need to be in control—a role that toes the line between offender and caretaker. He aches to relinquish you of every responsibility, even that of thought.

Joel swipes at the come that refuses to let up where it’s dripping out, making a slow show—one that only he can see and only you can feel—of gathering and pooling and reinserting it, just to watch it slip out again. 

“I-I don’t know. But I need to get clean.” 

He’s smiling something horrible, eyes shining when you gaze down to plead your case for assistance. 

“Oh, poor thing, I know. It’s not your fault,” he dips his thumb into you before trailing up just under the bead of skin above your opening, “There’s just so much. But you’re right, we can’t have you ruining the sheets.” Joel bares his teeth again when you hiss, narrowly missing your clit when you try to maneuver your way into his hand.

You pant, barely able to piece together your cue, “How?” 

“Hard to think after the way I fucked you, hm?” He brushes his free hand across the hill of your cheek, pitiful, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “I guess I could help you, sweetheart. Do you want that?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, please.” 

“There she goes. My polite girl. Same one who begged for all this mess in the first place—isn’t that right?” 

You can’t bear to try and find the words, just letting your head loll to the side so you can nod without the pain of keeping your neck straight. He’s unraveling your grip thread by thread so you can become the soft, helpless thing he needs you to be. 

He shoves himself down, ducks his head to be level with your cunt, the hot vent of air around his face bleeding onto you. He’s worked up—you know it from the delicate shudder in his hands, the uneven half-steps in his breathing—and while he swears he can’t, you wish he’d fuck you again. You wriggle, back flat to the bed and knees spreading instinctively. 

Joel starts at the slip of skin separating your cunt from what sits beneath it, careful to catch what he couldn’t collect on the last sweep. His mouth is warm and his tongue gentle, but the breath it punches out of you is hard—furious.

You’re humming high in your throat, past the point of well-mannered, and he’s delighted, slipping the muscle between his lips inside of you, tilting his head just enough so that his nose can’t touch where you’re throbbing for him most. 

You beg, “Joel. Joel, please,” rolling the knobs of your spine forcefully enough to sting, trying uselessly to make contact. He huffs, forearm mashing haphazardly against the curve of your hip, flustered.

“You don’t need it, honey. Now keep still.” 

You’re full-on whining now, little pieces of sound, reedy and loud and not enough to make him feel bad, apparently. 

He nestles himself back in, the wide flat of his tongue pressing hard enough to breach your hole, spooning out everything you saved for him inside you and you start to seethe, a thin film of sweat breaking out across your chest—boiling. 

The hand you haven’t felt in a while returns to a different place, the tips of his pointer and middle brushing under where he’s eating you, the hole there wet with whatever continues to evade his mouth. 

He circles it and you fidget, begging him for anything more, the slow working of his jaw not enough to bring you to the edge. 

There’s the other half of the game—if you can’t come before he’s deemed you clean, you don’t get to at all. 

A sticky curl of love swells in your belly at how familiar you are now with this routine, how far he’s come—peeling away enough of his distance to show his face, to bring you to this. This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nicely enough. 

Joel’s uncovered desire to see you need him, beg for him, just to make him relent in your favor, was intoxicating. In turn, he continues to make it harder every time for you both, upping the stakes after you barely manage to satisfy his last demand; narrow wins that remind you of just how much power he holds. Always sweet and comforting and protecting, even if from the severity of himself. 

Your stomach clenches, trying frantically to pace your breaths, to focus on the feeling of every too-long pass that has him nudging the underside of your clit, the way his fingers tease against your asshole. He hums in warning, almost done, and you knock a fist against the bed in frustration. 

He pulls away suddenly and your shoulders cave, upset by his unwarned finish, and you’re ready to apologize within an inch of your life when he pipes up. 

“Am I not enough for you, honey? You liked my cock, plenty. Why can’t you do it for my mouth, too?”

“Joel. Joel, you are—you’re enough. I just– right now I need more.” 

“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you again. Now—” he uses the hand not already playing with you to dig into the meat of your thigh, nails drawn, maybe a little upset by how many words you’ve managed despite his ministrations, “Make me happy.” 

He sways low again, the return of his mouth against-underneath-inside of you making your hands curl, a warm buzz floating up through your legs and forearms to meet together in the middle. He’s fervent, determined to prove you wrong now that you’ve challenged his ability and you’re squealing, so light-headed from the effort to breathe that you’re close to stopping all together. 

Joel feeds his lip between his teeth against you reflexively, like he’s trying to hold himself back for a moment, and the idea that he’s gearing up for a long night makes you heave. 

He tries to hide his tell, taking the quickest pause to spit onto his fingers, prodding at your asshole to divert your attention, hardly sliding in as to not give you more than you’ve earned, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Haven’t worked for much of anything yet.”

“But–”

“Show me you can be good, first. Shouldn’t be so hard for you, honey, c’mon.” He inches closer once more, breathing out against you, alternating between little puffs of cold exhales and firm pants of hot air.

You writhe, so pent up you feel restricted by your own body, like climbing out from a pool fully-clothed—heavy and sopping and always tipping back with resistance. Your face is on fire, fingers twisting to try and take the brunt of your need to move. 

Joel is ecstatic—you can hear the wet slide of his grin—and you’re right at the cusp of giving in when he breaks the gap, hot mouth latching onto your clit and you’re gone. You can feel it spread the length of your core first, filling out quickly to everywhere else and you jolt, legs snapping together fast enough that your knees knock above his head. 

He repositions his hands, squeezing between them to pry you open. You wedge a wrist behind you, trying to lift yourself in an effort to stop him but when you peer down, the look on his face is serene, pleading. An exercise in trust maybe—that he’s acquainted enough with your body to know your limit. 

You let yourself rest again and inhale deep, letting him work you down to a stop, the feeling of overstimulation falling into a wash of fuzzy static . Only after you unfold does Joel remove himself, pressing light kisses to the peak of your hip bone on his way up—proud. 

He leans over your torso, his chest parallel, the damp rub of your skin setting your heart off as you breathe in tandem. Selfishly, you scrabble a bit, wanting desperately to have more claim on his body. 

“Hey, hey. Shh. No need to do all that. I’m right here for you.” Joel gathers up your palm between his fingers, sliding your limp knuckles over his cheeks, the little curve of his lip. A moment passes and you reclaim ownership of it, caressing the underside of his jaw faintly. 

“Was I good?” you whisper.

“So good. See, I knew you could do it.” 

He nudges at the band of rib under your breast, “Maybe even a little too good—looking very empty now, sweetheart. What do you think we oughta do about that?”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

TOWER OF BABEL (VII)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VIII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, intense stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death/injury, toxic modeling standards/expectations, dark implications, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scar descriptions, etc. (Series 18+)

A/N: This is where some of the more serious/dark aspects come into the story involving Seraph's job and the pressures that are put on her. It's only implied in this chapter, but in the next, it'll be talked about more. Just to let you all know.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The day after your meeting, your gifted clothes came to the lobby of the penthouse. 

You’d gone down with Nikto and picked up what you could, bags and bags of designer goods including purses, makeup, and jewelry. It was excessive—like Fedorov was trying to buy your silence; buy your affection so you’d cozy up into bed with him. 

This job tried you every day, but that was a line you would never cross. Never.

Still, the items needed to be taken and packed for the trip regardless. Eyes would be on you from the moment this adventure from hell started until it ended in what hopefully was a peaceful fashion. 

But you severely doubted it would be anything close to peaceful. 

You take another gray dress and slip it into the garment cover, legs folded on the floor of your living room as you hum under your breath. Music wafts out from your record player, and you’re desperately trying to focus on the task at hand. Nikto reads from the couch. 

“Have they called you yet?” You ask, not looking up as you slide the cover’s zipper, missing it once as your hand shakes unexpectedly. 

The Russian responds with a slow and even, “Нет. No calls.”

You sigh, licking your lips. 

No one had been telling you what was in that last gift at AMA—not even your mother. Aly had said it was probably nothing when she’d been briefly over to assist with the clothes, on a tight break in her schedule, but you weren’t too sure of that. 

Pale eyes blink slowly, and a page turns. “No use thinking. Pack.”

“You make it sound like it’s that easy,” you huff, body leaning back and spine resting against your various rugs. The penthouse was warmer today, and you wear comfortable loungewear; shorts, and a dark baggy t-shirt. Your head shifts, arms out beside you. “How are you so calm about everything? My heart feels like it’s constantly going to break out of my chest.” 

Your phone goes off on the coffee table, a short buzz that has to be either your mom or Alyona. Rubbing a palm into your right eye, you hear the bear grunt and close whatever he was reading, finding it pointless to try and focus if you continue to speak to him.

He stares for a moment, hidden face a mystery you long to solve. With a tap of his finger on his thigh, he explains.

“Training,” you blink, intrigued. Nikto seems to notice, tilting his head and looking down at you. “You are scared, Woman, yes?”

“Of course.” You had no trouble admitting it. “Anyone would be.”

“In military,” the air of the penthouse moves with the weight of his broken words, the rough bleed of vocals. You really did like his accent—it just added so much to his already intimidating form. Just a stack of bricks being constantly grated against one another. “We were taught how to become used to it—the adrenaline. Fear. In the end, it held little over many; failure was the only fear that never left.” 

Your brows furrow, lips frowning. “You fear failure, Nikto?”

You expected a blunt refusal, quick words. But the man had been softening to you over the time you’d known him—if that was your own doing, or something more, you can’t quite tell anymore. Any talk on soulmates has feld you like a rabbit in a dark wood to shy away from the looming presence of something bigger; parties and scorned maniacs.

You still wonder if ignoring the gifts was the right thing to do. Would that make it worse? You think you’d read about that somewhere. 

A trigger. But the stalker had already pushed one of those, hadn't he? What could he do that was worse than killing three men? Mutilating animals?

Nikto surprises you. 

The man blinks, not looking away from your pleasing eyes—even now, your pupils were small with anxiety; he’d noticed how you adamantly avoided social media and the news, plastered with your pictures and the case. The window had never been opened fully since he’d been here, only a creak of natural light slipping from the crack of the half-risen blinds. 

For a gruff beast of action, his eyes missed nothing.

“Yes,” he grumbles, blinking away for a moment before his attention returns. “But it is…lesser than what you feel. Незначительный. Minor.” 

A small smile flickers your lips, skull to the ground even as it aches slightly. 

“I like it when you speak to me—it helps,” you mumble honestly. It wasn’t flirting, not really. 

The Russian looks slightly confused at your sentence, but that doesn’t stop his shoulders from minutely tightening. You chuckle, shifting your head to the ceiling where your little bits of painted glass hang. 

“Nikto,” you point upwards. “That one—the bird. What color is it?”

This was a game you’d taken a fast liking to. You’d point and ask the color; Nikto would answer. 

“Red,” is his monotone reply after a glance. Eyes from behind his mask shrouded in dark paint. You doubted the face grease could come off anymore, the chemicals already bone deep. 

“I thought it was orange,” you sigh. “I still can’t tell the difference.” 

“Obviously,” is the dryly amused response, with you glaring without venom and putting your hands to the ground to help push you back up. 

“Hey,” you try to hide your teasing smirk. “I’m getting better at it—”

Your voice is strangled off as a sharp inhale, eyes blinking rapidly, and your vision blurs in a moment of ricocheting pain flaring in the base of your skull. Snapping one hand to the back of your head, you strangle down a small scream, reducing it to a whimper of utter agony. 

Neck bending forward, your mouth fills with saliva as your spine pulls in, yet you can’t even focus on that. You feel like if you even have a single thought, your brain will explode out of the back of your head. 

Nikto startles, eyes widening, but he doesn’t waste time on shock. Feet already rush over at the slighted change in the air, a hand grasping the base of your neck tightly, attention snapping into place. Your breath puffs as your frantically moving face tenses and eyelids twitch. Your nerves were on fire. 

The Russian watches, confusion and a certain unease striking him through his pounding heart. What had happened? One second you were speaking and the next your body was so steel-like it shook harder than he’d ever seen it. 

“Seraph,” he barks, face close to your head, looking at the spot you grasp at with your visible knuckles, the sound of your gasping pants leaving his throat echoing with reverberations of unease. 

Nikto pulls at the skin of your wrist, peeling your hand back before you draw blood, trying to assess what to do. He only sees it then.

It’s a rabid-looking thing, the scar. With your hair as such, your fingers stuck in the knots, they’re pulled back just perfectly to see it. Pale blue eyes stare unabashedly, struck dumb for a moment in their concerned sheen.

It spans from the base of your skull upward, a jagged bulge of healed tissue and fissures—the shade of skin is different there, hyperpigmentation just as Nikto had. Halfway up the back, the rough line breaks into two places, creating a ‘Y’ with the one nearest to the right stopping sooner than the other. 

But it was deep. Deadly-like. An indent lives at the middle point.

For someone so in tune with the ways of the body, Nikto was horrified and fascinated at the very implication; how had you…survived this? Your entire skull might have been broken open from the force of whatever had happened, judging by the strength needed to achieve such brutality. Was this the injury that you’d been speaking about? 

An overwhelming emotion takes him by the lungs. 

Your body had scars just like his did.

Form curling even farther forward, your legs pull into you, and Nikto finds that at the moment, none of that even matters. 

“Seraph,” he orders again, equally as urgent but noticed less sharp. His thumb curls your wrist to trap itself at your pounding pulse; running as if being chased by whatever nightmares he hears you whine from in your sleep.

You swallow down your bile with a clicking of your throat and a small cough, eyes stinging. 

“Burns,” your lips whisper, lids closing firmly. “God, my head burns.” 

It’s a brief thought—a small moment of slip-second thinking that had saved his life many times. 

A chilled palm spreads itself over the back of your head, directly over the broken fracture of flesh, without an utterance of a word. The effects aren’t immediate; you don’t just calm down and stop panicking. But it helps. Like a light in the dark, it helps. 

After a minute, the chill seeps into your bones. It goes deeper and deeper, the large grip of Nikto’s fingers stuck into your hair perhaps a little harder than they needed to be, but you weren’t about to complain at the pressure. After two minutes, your panting slows to a small ragged wheeze—feeling like a sick duck as your beady eyes finally open. You see the unblinking pale orbs directly to your right almost immediately after the abyssal dots go back to wherever it was they came from. 

He doesn’t speak; you didn’t expect him to. Nikto was arrogant, prideful, but he never spoke unless he knew he had something he needed to say. A blunt hound who never hesitated to bark, but only when he could see something was up in the tree. 

When you’ve seemed to calm down, the hand on your wrist leaves with a brush of rough gloves to the skin, making you shiver. You notice the hastily tossed material of the matching product, belonging to the other limb, near your knee. 

Cold fingers. Cold hands. A corpse would be jealous, but you’d never felt so thankful. 

Nikto studies your face rapidly, and your raspy voice levels out a meek, “Sorry.”

Barely visible brows furrow tightly, almost disgusted. You perhaps misinterpreted that expression the wrong way, because just as you’re about to rush into a wild explanation as to why, how, and every excuse you can give, you’re once more taken off guard today. 

Bulky arms circle your waist and under your vibrating knees. 

With a sluggish reaction, you blink rapidly as you’re settled against the hard Kevlar of his chest—kept firm in his grip. Your legs hang, hand stabilizing yourself on Nikto’s pec. 

“What did I say?” He asks heavily, looking down at you as your shock bleeds away to focus on how to calm your heart. “Seraph?” Nikto prompts, his fingers digging into your clothes. 

You try to think, stuttering, “You don’t like it when I apologize.”

“So do not,” the Russian grunts, clenching his jaw out of sight. His words are low, and he rolls his shoulders. “That is the end of it.”

He sets you down on the couch, sinking into the multiple plush pillows. You feel weak—limp. Not looking into the man’s eyes, you curl your hands around your waist, leaning back and being careful to not hit your head on the back. 

Nikto watches with hidden concern. 

“Explain,” he utters, not moving an inch from in front of you. It’s a minute or so before you can find the words. All the Russian does in that time is shift his arms over his chest—fix the stance of his feet. You can feel his eyes like a knife, but you can’t feel how his brain is on high alert; vigilant to any pain that may be hidden from him. 

“Happens sometimes,” you whisper, one vibrating hand coming up to lightly run over the back of your skull. You trace the scar softly, feeling the pulse underneath. “It’s just… sensitive.”

Nikto’s eyes narrow. 

After a pause, where it’s obvious you feel some sort of embarrassment judging by your avoiding gaze, the great beast sighs long. A slow blink makes his dark lashes up and down. 

He hated how he despised that look on your face.

Moving, Nikto sits beside you, leaning back with a grunt and extending an arm behind you on the hardwood of the couch’s frame. 

“Tell me. I want to know.” You side-eye him, knees pulled up to your chest. It has a distance to it, your focus. Everything feels like it’s underwater. 

“It’s not a good story,” you force a broken huff, smiling wobbly. Numb eyes don’t waver over the lines of your face. 

“No,” Nikto bluntly says. “I did not expect it to be. Nonetheless…” he trails. “I am asking if you are willing to answer.” 

It wasn’t like you were against saying what had transpired, but there was a lot of history there—so much. The event had happened when you were young, so many years had passed to a point where the mental pain of it had dimmed to all except the consequences. The aftermath. 

This was a give and a take; you consider yourself a fair person. 

“How did you lose part of your finger?” You turn it around, licking your lips and staring at his neck. The man’s body stills at the question. 

Nikto slowly loosens a grumbled scoff. But it isn’t a feral thing. Perhaps he was even impressed that you had the forethought to gain something of his story when you’d already told so much of yours. 

He reminds himself once more, not dumb. 

“Very well,” Nikto’s head tilts like a wolf, his knee hitting the place where your feet hang over the edge of the cushion. He looks you up and down as his finger taps the wood behind your head. “Second year with PMC. Operation in far-off country—we do not care to remember which anymore.” You listen, heart calming with every scrape of vocal cords. Nikto explains slowly, thinking over every word carefully as his vision trails to rest at your nose. “Hostile hiding under floorboards.” The Russian rolls his shoulders. “I was reaching down to grab at the hatch; it confused me because it was partially open.” 

Your body lightly turns his way, the side of your skull meeting the hard build off the inside of his forearm. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, getting everything under control again one second at a time. As if a book, you turn the pages of Nikto, painting a picture of his tale, oblivious to the way his eyes are stuck on your face. His arm stays completely still for you.

He longs to look at that scar again, and he can’t understand why.

“...Large knife came up through the wood. Cut it off and damaged the others near it. It is numb most days. Barely can tell I still have finger. Very inopportune, but all was not lost.”

“What wasn’t lost?” You hum, sighing, and open your eyes again. The Russian’s gaze darts away. 

“I killed him,” he says numb-like, a vicious smirk in his voice. “In the end, it was only us who could tell the story, yes?”

“Does it hurt?” You change the subject back to his scars, liking how his forearm acted as your pillow. You could feel his tendons as they pulled.

“Sometimes,” Nikto shrugs at your quiet question, thighs over the couch cushions. “Like all the others. Natural.”

He doesn’t need to ask if yours do.

You dwell on what he insinuates about his body—the scars you already thought he’d have; why he wears that mask. 

“I fell,” you share, not letting a long silence linger. Nikto’s feet shuffle on the floor, but otherwise, like a waiting cat, he was completely beholden to your soft voice. “Far. Cracked my head open on a rock.”

There’s so much more to it—but this is the version you always tell everyone. It’s less…complicated. Gets you less looks of pity, even if you’re not sure Nikto is the type to do that. 

The large man hums, nodding. He wants to know more; he’d have to look into it further on his own. “You are lucky to be alive after an injury like that.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, lips twisting. “Lucky.” 

Your skull pulses. 

“But, anyways,” you wave a hand, locking gazes. “Thank you.”

Nikto’s knees crack as he stands, moving away; his heat leaves. Hands situating themselves at the collar of his vest, the Russian’s throat rolls with a noise of acceptance. 

“It is my job. Do you require anything?” 

“I think I’m okay,” you admit, feet delicately moving to the rug on the floor. It’s back to packing, pushing this to the back of your mind just as you do the remembrance of his fingers tight in your hair; tight at your wrist. Nikto’s hard voice in your ear, saying your angelic title. 

Your throat clears itself, blinking, as you stand. 

The man takes it as lightheadedness, one foot moving closer. Your hand raises, and he stops. A small chuckle moves out of your mouth, side-eyeing him with a crinkle to your lids.

“I’m okay, Nikto. Trust me, please.”

He sighs, fingers twitching. But he doesn’t grumble any blunt vitriol, he just watches. Always watching. 

Your spirits are lightened by his presence. 

Brushing down your t-shirt, you close your eyes and shove away the memories, tiny tingles of pain still present as they go up and down your spine. 

“Now, we have to get to work,” you brush past the episode, used to them. “It would be helpful if you lent a hand, Big Guy.” 

Your joke leads to a huff, fingers taking back their book from the table—all in Russian script, so you didn’t know what it was—and a roll of eyes.

“That is not my problem. Your clothes, your parties.”

“The parties you’re going to have to go with me too,” you smirk, eyes glimmering as you grasp your phone, flipping it over to turn it on and look at the text you’d received. “I hope you like suits.”

Pale eyes widen before a growled Russian sentence wafts over the music from the recorder. You laugh, already knowing the contents of curses and refusals. He was so much like a child sometimes it takes you aback. A brute, utterly refusing what was in front of him and owning a short fuse. 

“Oh, calm down,” you blink, signing into your phone. “I’m good at finding clothes as long as you tell me colors and shades. You’re in the best hands in the business, Nikto.”

“Do not say it like that,” he barks, eyes narrowed and his body moving forward to pass you, most likely to go back to your bookshelf and return the book, seeing as he’d get nowhere with it now. “I do not want your hands, Whelp.” 

“You’re saying that now,” you tease, pointing with your free finger. “Everyone says that before they have a taste of—”

“Quiet.” 

You laugh, spine lightly bending forward, and Nikto’s back turned to you to where you can’t see his face soften at the sound. His body unconsciously loosens, orbs gaining a distance that has nothing to do with his condition. Your existence is a curse to him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s only after you’re able to calm down, the Russian putting his book away with a large hand, when you finally look down at the text you’d gotten. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘I sent you a gift and you didn’t even open it?’

Your face freezes mid-smile.

 ‘I’m giving you everything you wanted—you didn’t open the letter I gave you in the grocery store, either, did you? I waited for hours for you to show up! Hours for you! I’ve waited YEARS to be near you! I love you more than anything in my life and you’re ignoring me? How can you do that when I’ve risked so much? Please, Seraph, I love you but you’re breaking my heart—I’m trying so hard to be kind to you. Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Это любовь с первого взгляда! Я не могу жить без тебя! 

I’m trying to forgive you, my Сладкая, I promise. I’ll always forgive you, but let me show you how much you mean to me.’ 

Images pop through, scent quickly as your glee stiffly drops like glass to the floor. You’d never felt yourself go so still as when you’re halfway through the block of text and you see yourself at the grocery store, alone, and Nikto’s shadow disappearing around the aisle. More—so much more. You in AMA...in…in the photoshoot wearing nothing but the lingerie, skin on full display.

Your eyes flood with tears, jaw open.

He had been in that fucking room. He’d been there when your manager had brought in the dead birds—he, he had…

He’d been right there.

You can’t speak, you’re only looking down at the continuing barrage of photos. 

Outside of the Consulate building, walking down the street, talking with Aly on a girls outing from months ago. Your phone vibrates with every one, quivering hands already moving but now more so. Like a rabbit being hunted down. It shows an escalation—the more you see the closer this freak was getting in each, slowly slinking with vile intentions until the last. 

An image of the direct back of your head, a hand reaching, and almost touching, exactly where your scar lives.

You’re going to vomit.

The entire device is snatched by gloved fingers.

Nikto glares in confusion, ears twitching at every buzz of your phone. “What is wrong with—”

The man is suddenly more wound up than a dog under a noose.

Rushing past, you only reach the kitchen trash can two seconds before your bile rocketed from your mouth, heaving what little you’d managed to eat of Nikto’s cooking into the bottom with a tight sob. 

Nikto’s hand holds the thing—reading, looking, with dead eyes. Dead eyes that gradually become enraged with a certain type of anger that breeds in silence. The skim, a ruthless finger tapping the screen and dragging the conversation back to the top before he stares. He stares and stares and stares at the pictures. At you. 

The way you live your life, oblivious to the threat right behind you. Stalking closer.

Nikto can’t remember a time he’s felt so angry at an enemy before. Not just an enemy, no, an animal. This wasn’t like the rules of war, this was for pleasure; for a selfish need. He knew how to keep himself separate—had to for his sanity—but this was something no one could not get wrathful at. Even him.

He hears you wretch, vomiting into the trash just below the island where he’d made the both of you lunch, the choke of your sobbing breaths. The sounds make his hands tighten over the phone, to smash it to pieces like a toddler with a block castle. 

And then the device buzzes one more time as Nikto silently finishes reading the first text you’d been sent. 

‘Don’t worry about the bodyguard, Seraph, I can take care of him, too. We can finally be together, just like it’s supposed to be.’

Nikto is hitting the call button before his brain catches up to his finger.

Slotting it to his covered ear, he breathes like an afflicted hound, eye buggy and chest rattling with air. Panting echoed from behind his mask, the hot breath moving back to warm his slashed and burned flesh. 

It picks up on the second ring, but nothing is said. No words from the other end. 

In the corner of his eye, Nikto sees you hyperventilating. The former soldier speaks entirely in Russian, slipping back into his native tongue as easily as he slips into violence—it is nothing more than a slide of sandpaper.

“I am going to watch the life bleed from your eyes,” he grinds out. “And then I’m going to make your corpse wish it had been set on fire instead.” 

Nikto hangs up, tossing the phone to the coffee table and making a mental note to get Yaromir and Galina to trace the number. Stomping over to you, your body was away from the trash now, hand to your mouth. 

“I’m okay,” you say hurriedly, tears tracking your cheeks. “I’m okay.”

“You are not,” Nikto wishes he could go to the shooting range—wishes he could spar and slam someone down to a wrestling mat. He needs flesh under his fingertips. 

The Russian’s chest is wide and rising with the pulse of untamed lungs. The bulge of his pecs stuttered over their course and the old scars he carries itch under the barrier of his gear. 

Growling, the man clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head to the side firmly. 

But there was something about the implication of you being threatened that made Nikto need to feel the weight of his service weapon in his grip. To feel the recoil of a bullet being sent into someone. A nameless figure; a silent phone call. 

Nikto scoffs, rolling his neck and shoulders. 

Thinking like this was making him reckless. 

“I guess I should have told you about the letters, then,” you taste bile on your tongue, images swirling in your head—paranoia was firm. Suddenly, every memory was tainted. You gag on your saliva, coughing. 

Nikto doesn’t respond to the self-deprecating comment. 

Once more today, hands move to touch you, pulling at the space under your arms and lifting. Blinking, you’re moving around when your feet are flat on the ground—hands going to rest on the edge of the counter behind you.

Nikto’s hands stay stuck at the meat of your limbs, great head tilted. Eyes lock on the tear tracks spreading down your skin, and he pauses. 

A thumb slowly pushes at them, spreading the liquid along your flesh as your blurry vision stays at his neck. With a shuddering inhale at the unneeded attention, your head lightly sags forward—connecting with Nikto’s chest. 

He tenses, looking down at you from the corner of his eye.

After a minute, his nose releases an unheard sigh, and his arms lower to his sides.

Nikto lets you rest there as long as you need.

—

You’re in the bath tonight, and Nikto listens to the water sloshing as he pushes the envelopes around from inside the lockbox. 

It was safe to say you hadn’t gone back to packing.

That woman, Alyona, was here—she’d made a big fuss about the texts before she’d taken you with her and led you into the bathroom to clean yourself up. You were both in there now—talking. Nikto wasn’t going to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping; he didn’t care if your friend or you knew it. It was mostly about the parties, the talk, and the Russian could understand that Alyona was trying to occupy your mind. 

His mission was more important. 

You’d passed him the box and watched as Nikto had retrieved the letter from your coat pocket. The former soldier had already called the investigators and promptly told them to arrest Sergi, or they would have him to deal with—there hadn’t been time to respond before he’d hung up and smashed his phone to the nightstand of your rented room. The resounding echo had made both parties in the bathroom go silent for a minute before hesitantly starting back up.

And now, there was the scratchy English script of a stalker in his hands. He felt disgusting even touching them; he was glad he’d put his gloves back on. A permanent sneer was stuck to his hidden face like a curse, eyes narrowed.

Standing, the man trades weight from his thighs as he reads the letter that had been stuck in your jacket. 

‘My Сладкая, 

This is the one-hundredth letter I’ve written to you, though you haven’t been sent all of them yet. I’m still waiting for you to notice me, and I’ve grown disquieted by your response to the way I disposed of your three guards. Was that not what you wanted every time you looked at me?’

Nikto’s hand comes up to rub at the fabric over his neck, digging until he feels the bulge of his scar against his fingertips.

‘I thought you would be thankful, but now you have that man following you everywhere. He took your doves from you—the doves that were supposed to make up for the misunderstanding about the dead men. You looked beautiful with the red fire moving over your face that day, you know? It caught every curve and the softness of your skin perfectly. Here—I even took a picture for you to enjoy as I thoroughly have. I hope it brings you the pleasure it brought me to run my lips over your holy image.”

Fingers crumble the side of the letter, creasing it. Not once do they delve into the envelope to look for that picture. If he had the choice, Nikto would rip this entire thing into little bits.

‘I think it’s time that we meet—alone, Сладкая. I’ll be waiting tonight at the café for you, so we can run away together. And start this life together. I think it’s time. Yes. I will ravage you with all of the beautiful things in life; jewelry, dresses, makeup, my body. It is mine, isn’t it? You? You’ve told me with your eyes, so why are you still ignoring me? You look at me every day. I look back—you love me! I know you do! Why are you still being such a—’

It falls off into nothing but rabid script; illegible even to Nikto’s best abilities. The letter is saturated with something—spots of the paper pulling in on itself with droplets off…

Nikto stills, disgust and insult moving in his gut. There wasn’t any DNA on the box, but they certainly had some here.

Dropping the letter into the lockbox on the nightstand, the man takes the top and rams it shut with a rattle of the nesting dolls on the upper shelf. Nikto removes his gloves and tosses them into the garbage bin. 

Stalking to the bathroom door, he moves on instinct. Ever the animal. 

Knuckles rasp to the wood. Conversations halt once more.

“Seraph,” he eases, accent tight. “You are well?”

A bead of silence, the moving of water. 

“Yes, Nikto,” your voice is still shaky, but it comes out from under the door. 

Nikto stares at his feet, blinking. With a grunt, his feet shift and he forces out, “Good. You will call if you need us.”

It wasn’t a question.

Moving back, he nods to himself firmly, shaking out his right hand—he can’t seem to stop being on edge. Every creak, every shadow of your decorations moving, made his eyes dart to them, honing in as if behind the scope of a rifle.  

Nikto brought his hands to the side of his skull, pushing in. You were messing with his head, he tells himself again. The moments of dissociation were becoming more frequent as of late, and he could feel it in the back of his mind even now. A glaze over his brain that made everything feel like it was worlds away from him—it was sharp and sure of itself. Words jumbled, ‘I’s came out as ‘We’s, things were lapsed from his brain; important things. Moments of confusion—aggression. Leaving you behind in a grocery store at the flip of a coin. Snapping at you in real anger when you were just curious. 

He can’t do that. He can’t lose his grip. 

From inside the bathroom, your eyes stay locked on the door, your head resting on the wall behind you as your skin soaks in the claw-footed tub. 

“I don’t know if this is good for me, Aly,” you confess lowly, eyes shifting back to the wall ahead of you, a little black and white ceramic fish on a shelf. Candles let off the scent of linen and pine. 

Alyona sits on the stool a few feet away, watching your face worriedly. 

“Солнышко,” she starts slowly, “we both know it isn’t. It’s going to pass—I can’t hope for more than that.”

It’s like a repeating record—It’ll be okay, just keep strong, push through.

It wasn’t Aly’s fault; she’s involved in this too. 

“Is Nikifor worried about you?” The woman’s head perks, her lips twitching as the orbs inside of her head soften.

“Seraph, you don’t have to change the subject—”

“Truly,” you move a hand up from the water and rub at your face. “Really, Aly, I need a distraction. Please, just…talk. You know I love to hear about the two of you.” 

She sighs, looking to the wall. After a moment, she chuckles, head tilting down. “Yes, he’s worried. He worries about you as well. You have a home with us, little Солнышко—I want you to know that, yes?” Alyona brings a hand to your cheek, pinching in good nature. 

You shuffle away in mock annoyance, lips twitching. 

“...I know, Aly.”

“Good,” she huffs. “I would not be a good friend if you didn’t. At least that brute is taking care of you, it seems.”

“He’s a good cook,” you ease out. “You should try it sometime.”

Gray eyes blink at you, shocked. “He got you to eat a meal?” 

“You’re saying it like I never do,” you chuckle, eyebrows pulling in as the dimmed overhead light shines down on your avoidance of the problem at hand. 

“No, it’s not that,” Aly’s eyes rove with unseen emotion, her concerned heart gaining a smidge of affection for the man outside of the door, whose shadowed feet can still be seen pacing. “I am…glad, Seraph. Food is always the way to someone’s senses, eh?”

Your lips twitch, but the weight on your chest remains. A tense pause grabs the both of you.

“I wish you were coming with,” you have to admit on a stiff tongue. “Ever since I first got here, you’ve been with me for all of it—the parties especially.” Your open mouth stutters. “Aly, I don’t think I can do it again by myself. All of those people; what some of them expect from me, it…it’s just…” Getting choked up, you move a hand to your mouth, covering it. From behind the flesh, you mutter, “I can’t do it again, it’s just the same as staying here, as a matter of fact, I think staying would be better.”

“You need to think rationally,” Aly shakes her head, getting closer to take your hand in both of hers. She squeezes, her top shiny in the light as it moves. “Nothing is worse than staying in this city. The man outside the door agrees. It is the safest option for you, even if,” Alyona closes her eyes, looking away as she opens them. She never finishes her sentence. 

“I don’t want to,” you fight a whimper. “Aly, we tried so hard to get out of them sending us like meat.” 

But there’s nothing that the woman can do to you when you say it like that, and even her expression gets far away. Alyona’s eyes blink fast, getting glossy before they avoid your eyes for the rest of the night. 

“I’m sorry, My Seraph. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And that’s all that can be said.

When night comes, you don’t think you sleep at all, and by Nikto’s pacing of his room, the occasional pause to peek his head through your doorway, neither does he. 

—

The time to leave came far quicker than you could anticipate as the days blended. Chelyabinsk was nearly a three-hour drive if you went the fastest route, and in the time before it, you and Nikto hadn’t spoken much about the letters. They’d been taken by the investigators the next day, along with your phone, for testing and tracking. While you’d been given a new device, it was a tiny thing that died more times than not; you had three contacts—Alyona, Nikto, and your mom.

You’d been assigned a driver by AMA for the trip, and thus, the all-black vehicle had arrived in the small hours of the morning as you had finished a hurried call to your matriarch. 

“I’ll be back soon, Mom,” you’d explained. “Business. I’ll keep me busy.”

She had said it was a good idea like everyone else. Aly and you were the only ones to know the truth. Dread was a fishhook in your throat, but the fear of staying here was just as prominent. Those pictures haunted your mind.

“Nikto,” you ask, grabbing one of your suitcases on the street with a grunt. “Can you…?” The item is taken and easily lifted into the trunk. “Thank you,” your voice breathes out a sigh into the early morning air.

You hadn’t been to Chelyabinsk in a long time. Your brain knew that it would be most of the same—you needed to be careful of who you spoke to and how you did it. While regular crime was only moderate, corruption and bribery was your main problem when entering the place. You were on Allurement’s payroll, would your CEO’s influence be enough to stop anyone from trying anything with you? 

If you stuck to where you were told to go, you should be fine. 

Along with yourself and Nikto, photographers and media know-hows would be tagging along; makeup artists and stylists. A team of people who mostly refuse to look at you at all, only a few familiar faces among them. 

But, thankfully, only you and your guard would be in this car. 

“You can get in,” Nikto comments, blinking at you in the dark street, the lights of the car and the penthouse behind you all you have to differentiate between shades of black and gray. Your eyes had been constantly narrowed so you could try and see better. “I will load the rest.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” you smile sheepishly, “I’d like to stay out until we leave. I get fidgety when I’m in the car for too long.”

His shoulders shrug, taking another of your bags from the ground. “Very well. You will eat on the way there, then.”

Your eyes blink, attention pulled back from the shadow of a man walking across the street, raising hair on your arms. 

“What was that?” You tilt your head.

Nikto huffs. “Eat. On the way there.” He raises a brow. “You need breakfast.”

“Oh,” you at your neck slightly. “Sure, yeah. But what about you? Do you want me to turn around or something so I won’t see your face?”

“No need. We ate as you dressed. Packed the remaining for you.” You’re brushed past, the purse around your shoulder connecting with Nikto’s thigh as his boots clop over the concrete. 

Your lips twitch, expression still worried but the tease sneaking out instinctually. “I need to start calling you Mother Bear, Nikto.” 

“It will be the last thing you do, Whelp,” he grumbles, eyes looking over his shoulder as he packs the last suitcase away. Amusement is like liquid stone inside of them. 

So the trip ensued. 

You entertained yourself by staring out of the window as the cityscape rolled back, already missing the sanctity of your penthouse as you fiddled with a small stuffed bird in your grip. 

“I spy…” you mumble twenty minutes in, trying to be normal again. “Something tall and gray—”

“Tree,” Nikto grunts, trying to read one of the books he packed. 

“No,” you say, defensively. “It was,” your mouth opens and closes, scouring the passing scene but finding nothing. “Fine, yes, it was a tree.”

“I spy something blue.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“I believe it was funny. Perhaps you do not have a good sense of humor, Woman.”

You glare, throwing your stuffed bird directly at his forehead and watching it bounce off. Nikto doesn’t even look away from the words on his page, flipping to the next with a deep chuckle in his neck. 

Rolling your eyes, you groan and slouch into your seat.

You had to say, though, that as the city disappeared, so did your anxieties. It felt good to be near dense croppings of trees again—only an open and uncrowded highway and Nikto beside you. His pale eyes would watch you every so often, and you would do the same, studying each other as time passed and a gradual silence fell.

“Can I use you as a pillow?” You ask with only an hour left on the trip. 

Nikto’s halfway through his book, and up until now, you’d kept to yourself, lost in thought. 

“I am not comfortable,” he utters, leg shifting. He glances, but his numb eyes don’t do much until they move back to where they were prior. “And my Kevlar is hard. It will aggravate your head.” 

You had to wonder how fast he caught onto that fact about you. A smile grows on your face, and you shift to grab your jacket, folding it and tossing the item onto Nikto’s thigh. His head darts down right as you move to rest there, body sideways and legs folded against the door. 

“I like it when you worry—it’s cute,” you stifle a yawn, ignoring his digging eyes. “Wake me before we get there?” 

Your ears don’t wait for an answer, your fatigue from missing an entire night of sleep catching up where Nikto’s never would. He watched you rest for the remainder of the ride, hand hovering over your shoulder until it slowly slipped down to rest on it with a grumble of exasperated Russian under his breath. But the man had noticed the bags under your eyes—unable to be hidden by makeup. He found it in himself to let you sleep, even if the infection of your warmth made his head go loose; how your slackened face looked peaceful. 

The knowledge of what you’d just experienced was still with him, even as he linked his feelings together as pointless. This was a waiting game, and everyone else seemed to have time except for you. 

He didn’t like it. There was a nagging in the back of his gut—instinctual understanding as a hired gun who’d gone through many deployments. This was bigger; something was going to happen soon. A tipping point.

Nikto had a feeling you felt it too, as your head nuzzled his thigh in your sleep, shoving yourself into your jacket as tiny grunts moved from your lips; eyebrows furrowing. 

Bad dream, the Russian clocked immediately, his book long placed at his side and his one elbow against the window frame. 

Pale blue eyes watched for a moment, looking at your deep red blouse and the long back skirt that lightly cascaded over the side of the seats. His hand at your shoulder—hard and immobile, twitches as it tries to keep you steady, feeling the muscle under your flesh writhe. 

Only when you can’t seem to calm down does he do anything at all. 

Nikto can easily stamp an expression of annoyance on his face, of bored numbness, but instead, a sliver of something that could be considered softness bleeds from behind his eyes; something that even if he were to look into a mirror, he couldn’t name himself. 

A finger brushes up your neck, scarred and broken, most of a finger missing and the nearest ones fuzzy with nerve damage. It hovers, steady, before his hand moves to massage along the base of your scar. It’s an awkward angle, no mistake. After all, he was practically grabbing the side of your neck to reach, but it was all he could offer short of waking you. 

When he couldn’t sleep, he’d do the same to himself; it helped, he thought, feeling skin on skin—a caress that eases aches. Call it pathetic, but the sensations he was feeling doing the same to you were nothing short of trance-inducing. To understand the pulse of your heart—your breath returns to a slow puff; brows settling back down at only his circling thumb. 

A bit of that infectious pride trickles into his eyes; smug. 

Nikto grunts, and leans back into his chair, continuing his work to settle you, and smirks softly under his mask. 

Only roughly half an hour to go, and then it was back to guard duty. But perhaps he could close his eyes and rest as well. 

You made for quite the distraction.

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[dizzyjaden]

hihihi soooo. I want this to involve Kaeya, Xiao, and Dottore (heheh) if that’s okay. Pick whoever u want if only one ! But anyways

What if you’re a member of the armed forces (a knight of Favonius, a member of the millelith, and a fatui agent respectively). And you get injured on the job. Like, injured enough to warrant a hospital stay. Pretty *badly* hurt. What are those three doing, yknow? How do they react? Are they helping? How so? That type of stuff

✦ GENSHIN MEN WHEN YOU GET HURT ✦

Thank you for asking, let's find out.

Pairings: Kaeya, Xiao, Dottore x gn! Reader

♤ Summary: You got hurt and need medical assistance.

♤ Warnings: Severe injury (abdominal stab wound, broken arm, various bruises and cuts), slight yummy angst, soft Dottore

♤ A/N: I know this isn't exactly a request but I'm treating it like a request because I wanna get stuff posted. I'm also really not the best at Kaeya, so forgive me in advance if he's fugly. Enjoy!

Kaeya:

As a knight, you know that when an issue arises in Mondstadt, you’re going to stand on the frontlines for your city. It’s what is expected of you, and what you have accepted for yourself. You don’t mind it, your city is important to you. Your job is important to you. It’s actually how you met your boyfriend, Kaeya, who is also very important to you. Perhaps that’s why when the two of you were out fighting off abyss mages to protect a group of civilians, you threw yourself right in front of him as a shard of ice, summoned by a cryo abyss mage, was sent flying straight towards his chest. Instead of his chest, it impaled you in your stomach, right beneath your ribcage.

It takes him a moment to process what just happened, in an instant everything pauses and he’s focused entirely on you. Needless to say, when he sees you fall to your knees, holding your stomach in agony, he practically rips the remaining mages apart and hurries to tend to you.

Thankfully the wound is not horrifically deep, the distance between you and the mage prevented it from flying fast enough, but you are still bleeding from your stomach, which is rather alarming. He hides his panic though, not wanting to upset you further when you’re already injured. He ties his belt tightly around the wound and picks you up, you’ve never been stabbed before so obviously you’re quite concerned with your injury, because of this he chooses to gaslight you while he rushes to get you back to the city. “It’s fine, I’ve seen way worse! You worry too much.” 

Kaeya wants to remain by your side when he does finally get you to a doctor, he is quite irritable when he can’t go back with you but ultimately waits, impatiently so. When you’re all patched up he rushes into the room and gives you a tight, slightly painful hug. When you remind him that you’re freshly injured his face falls and a hurried apology leaves his lips.

The two of you spend the rest of the day laughing and teasing each other about the unfortunate incident, Kaeya is glad it’s already something you can laugh about, but he truthfully feels guilty he let that happen to you when it was such an easy fight. He’ll get you whatever you need until you’re fully recovered.

Xiao:

Honestly, Xiao would just prefer if you called his name before you fought anything. Yes, he knows you’re trained. Yes, he knows you’re strong. But he’s an adeptus and he’s willing to protect you. Why won’t you just utilize that and not put yourself at risk? He doesn’t understand. But he doesn’t ask any questions when he’s called by you in your time of need. He teleports straight to your location, where he finds you gravely injured with multiple gashes and bruises on your body, and a small crowd of ruin guards encircling your fallen figure. He quickly stands in front of you, calculates how much time he has based on the severity of your injuries, and then tears them all to shreds. 

As he fights he counts each second that passes, thinking about your blood loss. He manages to defeat them in thirty-one seconds, but he was planning on thirty. He teleports back to you, picks you up, and then teleports you to the nearest hospital. You’re too weak at this point to really register anything so he hands you over to the doctors wordlessly and then leaves you there.

When you’re fixed up and a bit more conscious, you quickly call his name and he meekly appears with a bouquet of flowers he’d gathered while you were getting treated. “For the single second that I let you bleed.” He explains his intention behind the small gift. He’s convinced you’ve probably been irritated at him since you got to the hospital, but you are entirely unsure of what he means. Xiao is such a perfectionist when it comes to keeping you safe, but you’re just grateful he came at all. When you take his gift, you express this and he isn’t sure what to make of it, but he doesn’t wish to make it a bigger deal than he already has so he simply nods and then lectures you for nearly an hour about not calling sooner.

Dottore:

When Dottore hears from an associate that you’ve been injured while out on a mission, he is right on it. He doesn’t ask any questions about your condition, he can figure that out when he finds you. And when he does, he is livid. Whatever opponent you faced completely broke your arm! It doesn’t matter if you were already about to receive treatment, he trusts nobody but himself to help you. As a harbinger, what he says goes so he’s going to take care of it. 

While he’s fixing your arm he’s asking you questions about who did this to you. He’s disappointed to hear you already managed to defeat them. He was hoping to have the opportunity to make their death so much longer than the merciful quick bullet you gave them. But, at least they aren’t alive anymore.

Once that’s out of the way, he gives you gentle kisses and hushed words of comfort to take care of you. Really, it’s not that big of a deal to a fatui soldier like yourself and you find his reaction dramatic, but he likes taking care of you and he just has to smother you right now so, tough luck I guess.

He makes sure you take it easy for a while, not allowing you to do anything strenuous. If you happen to argue with him about it, he’ll simply order you to stay home and rest. He’s a harbinger, remember?

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 08: Adrenaline crash/shock

Simon Riley x gn! reader

Sweat rolls down your brow, stinging your eyes as you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear your vision. The air stinks of gunpowder, smoke and copper. Your tongue darts out to wet your dried lips as you fight to get your breathing back under control. 

Price’s voice crackles over the comms for a status update, your teammates answer one by one and after double checking your enemies are dead you respond too. “All good here, ran into some tangos but I took care of them. Thanks for the assist Soap,” your tone is wry and only a little pissed off as you sledge him for not stepping in. 

“Apologies” he didn’t sound very sorry, “ye looked like ye had it handled.” You can practically hear his smirk in your ear and you huff, flipping him the bird. You’re unsure as to his exact location but you know he sees the gesture from overwatch regardless. 

“See if I ever help you if the roles are reversed.” You grumble, only to get a warning from Ghost to keep the comms clear. There won’t ever be an instance where the roles are reversed, as a small arms specialist you’d never be tasked with overwatch, but it was nice to dream. 

You clean the facility quickly and cleanly, systematically working your way through the hostiles. You were a little embarrassed on their behalf really, their patrols were full of holes and you’d managed to knife your way through too many distracted or sleeping groups. 

Apart from your first encounter, there had been only one more instance where you’d been caught and had to engage in hand-to-hand. You’d never admit to having struggled a little, (the guy was bigger than fucking Ghost), but you’d been saved by the arrival of Gaz and Ghost meeting you in the middle.  

Gaz opens his mouth, no doubt to make some sort of smart-ass comment but apparently thinks better of it when he sees the impotent glare on your face. Ghost simply gives you a once over and a nod but the look he gives you promises more gruelling sparring sessions in the near future. 

Your shoulders slump and you pout dramatically up at him as you go to follow, unaware of the odd look Gaz threw your way after witnessing the silent interaction. 

Your little group of three begins to cut back through the facility for a secondary sweep only for your arm to suddenly be grabbed in a bruising grip by Ghost. “Ghost what?” you startle backwards as his free hand tugs at the bottom of your compression shirt though you don’t escape his grip. 

“Ghost mate-” Gaz tries to intervene in whatever it is is happening, but his voice trails off and your own breath hitches at the sight of the weeping gash that decorates your hip and dips down to your thigh. There’s a flash of white that can only be bone and you almost vomit at the sight. 

“I didn’t even feel-” There’s a reason everyone always tells you not to look, because the second you look, the moment you acknowledge that you’ve received a grievous injury the pain kicks in. Your legs buckle and Ghost is pulling you against his chest, his large gloved hand splayed over as much of the injury he can manage to staunch the bleeding. 

The pressure brings tears to your eyes and you swear loudly alongside Gaz. Ghost presumably alerts Price to your injury and scoops you up in his arms, hustling to the extraction point. You don’t hear any of this though, nor do you even notice the sudden change in scenery until you’re staring at the evening sky. 

Blood pounds in your ears and your hands shake uselessly by your sides, perspiration dripping onto the ground below as a wave of fatigue hits you like a sledgehammer. 

Ghost is speaking, you don’t hear his words but you can tell by the way his chest rumbles against your eardrum. At some point, you’ve been ushered into a helo, packaging stuffed into your hip as your head lays on Ghost’s lap. 

You don’t even bother to try and suppress your tears anymore, your body shaking uncontrollably as fire flows through your veins. You can’t feel your left leg or torso at all, and your left arm is beginning to go numb with agonising pain. 

All of a sudden you can’t breathe, your body is heavy and refuses to cooperate and you can’t breathe. 

Ghost’s hands move to cup your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin in a grounding manner as he forces you to look up at him. He repeats the action a few times before one of his hands grabs your own and places it against his diaphragm. “Look at me. Copy my breathing yeah?” it’s not said like his usual commands but you attempt to follow orders anyway. 

You trust Ghost and for now, nothing else exists outside of his warm brown eyes tinged with concern and the feel of his chest falling and rising. 

Your whimpers slowly die down as you stare up into the depths of his expressive eyes that have crinkled slightly in the corners. Your free hand, significantly less shaky now, reaches up and places itself over his that still occupied your cheek. 

He barely even flinches at the sudden touch though you think you feel him start to shake a little, hunched shoulders dropping just a little as he allows himself to relax minutely at your touch. 

“Thank you.” Your thanks is silent, mouthed up at him in a whisper. His reply was a simple shake of his head and his thumbs continuing their gentle strokes. 

You can practically feel Soap’s incredulous glare from the side, this time when you flip him the bird you know exactly where he is and can hear his uproarious laughter up close.

Though you can't see Ghost's face you know for sure that he's smiling at your actions.

[voxsremotec0ck]

If You're Comfortable With It, Could You Do vox with a reader who's on their period? Nsfw and/or sfw, up to you!

Thank you!

Yes I can! I’m keeping this sfw because personally period sex isn’t for me 😅 *glares at that scene in saltburn*

I’m so sorry but he really gives off the “it can’t be that bad” vibe 😭

So with that in mind

In the beginning of the relationship he deadass just throws midol at you and calls it a day

He does understand if you don’t want to have sex though like he’s not stupid

Obviously you’re uncomfortable and BLEEDING

So he doesn’t press for anything

But yeah he’s very much like

“You do this literally once a month, suck it up.”

It isn’t until Velvette overhears his ignorant comments, beats the shit out of him, and makes him do research that he’ll fully understand

He didn’t know your uterus SHREDDED okay?

He’s from the 50’s he wasn’t taught this shit

Although in hindsight he should’ve questioned why women bleed during their periods more

Anyway now that he’s more aware he’s much more attentive

He’ll design and manufacture a specially designed heating pad just for you

That’s partially to make up for his stupidity

Not only will he give you midol, much more nicely now, he’ll also carry some with him while you’re out in case you need it

Need pads or tampons?? No problem he’ll have his assistant buy you as much as you need of your preferred brand

Craving chocolate or anything?? Don’t worry he’s already stocked the fridge and pantry with every snack you like

He’ll also let you curl up in his lap while he’s working, thinking you’re adorable sleeping with your head resting on his chest like that

All in all, he starts out the absolute worst but becomes very attentive very quickly

Hoped you liked this!!

[gatorlovebot]

continuation of this blurb here. read the rest of king!simon blurbs here.

you had gone to sleep in your our own bed for the first time in weeks, at the absolute horror of your king.

(“what if i start internally bleeding in my sleep and you’re not here?”

“well, your highness, the doctor said the risk of complication was almost at zero now. and how would i even be able to tell if you were bleeding internally?”)

it wasn’t an easy conversation, having to put your foot down to your king for the first time in a while. but you felt it was important to go back to your routine. put a little bit of space between the two of you again.

you would be lying if you said the encounter with simon’s new secretary hadn’t stuck with you. he only had to take one look at you to decide that you were nothing more than someone to keep simon’s bed warm. you know that’s not true, you know that your relationship with simon is complex and one based on respect and honor. but you can’t help but let the looks and the harsh words from others eat away at you.

you weren’t excited to start sleeping in your lumpy bed again, but you needed to face the reality that this is your life, your life is not sleeping in simon’s bed every night.

but when you awaken, you awake to a sharp pain across your skull and blurry vision. you had felt fine the previous evening, having walked all the way down to your sleeping quarters with no issues. you had no idea what could possibly be making your head feel this way. you force yourself onto your feet and that seems to make the pain worse, pressure behind your eyes making you want to curl up and cry. you took pride in being by simon’s side everyday but you would be no help to him in this condition.

you make the trek to the grand kitchen, hoping to intercept one of the maids before they bring up simon’s breakfast. usually by now you would be upstairs, picking out simon’s clothes. as he’d dress you’d accept breakfast from a maid at the door and the two of you would eat together. that wouldn’t be happening this morning.

once you make it to the kitchen you squint through all of the light streaming in from the big windows and feel relief when you see the maid who usually brings up simon’s breakfast prepping the trays.

she notices you before you can open your mouth to speak, “oh, it’s you.” she remarks, sounding shocked. “what a sight, to see you outside of the king’s room for once.”

it’s an easy dig, a version you’ve heard many times, but it digs up shame, knowing that sleeping in simon’s bed for the past weeks will make the gossip and teasing even worse for you. but you can’t begin to deal with that now in your stricken state.

“yes, i woke up in my bed this morning with terrible pain in my head.” you begin to explain. you don’t know why you even tell her you were in your bed, she probably won’t even believe you or care. “when you bring up his breakfast, could you please inform him that i won’t be available to assist him today?”

she smirks and if it was any other day you’d give it back to her but right now you feel like you can barely stand on your own feet. you just try to grit your teeth and brace for her response, “i bet the king will be devastated,” she teases, “oh well, maybe i’ll just have to offer the king my own services.”

good luck with that, you think, reflecting on the countless times simon has rebuffed the advances of other female staff. simon wasn’t someone who cared about intimacy or companionship, he’d rather laugh in the face of another handmaiden who tried to seduce him with their big bust size than let them in his bed.

“best of luck with that.” you dig back before turning back to make the walk to your sleeping quarters.

you could cry when you finally reach your room, legs giving out the last few steps to your bed, body so exhausted from the painful assault going on in your head. you curl up under your blanket, using your pillow to cover your eyes to block out any light as you pray for sleep.

you awake to a knocking at your door. letting out expletives as you untangle yourself from your blankets. your head still feels like its being split open, maybe the sleep made it worse. you manage to make it to the door and when you open it reveals the concerned face of one of simon’s guards. simon’s guards were some of the only men on castle grounds that you felt comfortable around as they were always pleasant and kind, wishing you a good morning and a good evening as you came and went from the king’s chambers.

“the king sent for me, he’s concerned about your wellbeing and doesn’t want to continue his day without you.” the guard explains as you squint against the light coming in from the corridor. “he ordered me to bring you up to him, regardless of your condition. or your protests.” he tacks on, with a hint of humor in his voice. the guards are pretty much the only members of simon’s men that understands your true relationship with the king. they hear your inside jokes, the way you talk to the king casually, they understand your friendship to the king unlike anyone else.

“i figured simon would send someone for me.” you sighed, knowing how stubborn simon can be and how little he takes no as an answer. you figured he would want to see you with his own eyes before going on with his day without you. “can i hold onto your arm? i don’t think i can make it up all those stairs on my own.”

the guard wordlessly holds his arm out to you and you loop yours around it, thankful for the kind gesture. you make your way up to the king's chambers, heavily leaning against the guard the entire trip with your eyes squinted against all the light coming into the castle. it’s a relief when you finally reach simon’s door.

the guard leads you inside and presents you to simon, who was stood at the end of his bed looking at pairs of pants strewn across the blankets. “your highness,” the guard announces, “your handmaiden, as requested.”

simon gives you an assessing look before nodding to the guard, “thank you, back to position.” the guard leaves the room and you begin to make your way over to simon’s bed to sit, but he intercepts you before you make it. he places his big hands on your shoulders to halt your movement and gives your face an appraising look. “the maid that brought me my breakfast said you weren’t able to execute your duties today.”

you nod as you squint up at him, “i woke with a terrible pain in my head.” there’s a slight whine in your voice that you would feel embarrassed about if you weren’t consumed by the white, hot pain in your skull.

he raises one of his eyes, “you were just going to suffer by yourself?” he questions, leading you over to his bed and you shamelessly sink into the soft blankets, curling up around his perfectly tailored pants.

“what else was i supposed to do?” you mewl, feeling like a child being scolded by their mother. when you awoke this morning you felt that the best course of action was to allow the pain to pass on your own, you were no use to simon and maybe a day apart would do the both of you some good.

he picks up one of your limp hands and brings it up his face, lips brushing against your palm as he growls out, “you don’t have the choice to hide from me.”

“simon,” you try to counter but he’s already releasing your hand and turning back towards the door. your motivations for staying in your chambers were pure, you couldn't keep up with simon today in your state, but it seems that maybe he had caught on to your little plan of keeping distance between each other. even after all of these years you had no idea why he always needed you when he had a number of other female staff.

“i’m going to call for the doctor, i need you better so you can help me pick out some fucking pants.”

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni.

mild spoilers for the fontaine archon quest. gn!reader, established relationship, reader is referred to as "my dear"

"they say the chief justice had to intervene at today's trial."

neuvillette glances up at you from his files, his hair swaying with the movement, a rippling tide. he comes to his feet when he sees you, skirting around his desk to stand in front of you.

"my assistance was required, yes."

"high drama, then. it will be the talk of the town for days."

he sighs. "i suppose it will."

there’s a cheeky retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you spot the long scratch tracing the edge of his high cheekbone, gleaming crimson in the light. 

"you're hurt," you say, reaching out.

he catches your hand before you can touch him, his thumb settling into the center of your palm. he draws a small circle there, his gloves sliding against your skin, a kiss of cool water.

“neuvillette, you’re bleeding,” you say, trying to shake off his grip, but he holds firm.

he watches you carefully, searching your face for something, though you don't know what. his eyes—the color of the sea, ever-shifting, a violet-blue fathoms deep—are curious.

"such concern," he says, "for such a small thing."

"it’s not small to me."

he tilts his head. "no," he says thoughtfully. "i suppose it is not."

“let me see.”

“it is just a scratch, my dear.”

“then let me see.”

“very well.” 

he lets go of your hand, though he drags his thumb against your skin, tracing the leylines of your palm. the touch lingers like a ghost. you take in a quiet breath.

you reach out and cup his face between your hands; his porcelain skin is cool to the touch. he tilts his head obediently when you turn it towards the light to better see the cut.  

it’s deeper than you thought, gleaming like rubies in the light, but it’s scabbed over, already on its way to healing. you sigh.

“as i said,” neuvillette says, his voice rumbling through the room like a crashing wave. “just a scratch.”

“i’ve never seen you hurt before,” you say quietly. “i don’t like it.”

he pauses at that, his eyes flickering to yours. something passes over his face and for a moment, you don’t know him. you think of the rising tide, of how it consumes the land it laps at. how it swallows down familiar shores.

you blink and the expression is gone.

“then i shall strive to remain uninjured,” he says, bringing up a hand and cupping it over yours. he turns into your touch, brushing his lips against your palm, too light to be called a kiss. 

you can’t help the little smile.

“you’d better.”

[writing-for-marvel]

Quarantine

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 7 | Series Masterlist

Summary: When you get sick at work, Bucky ensures you’re well taken care of.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, reader gets sick at work and collapses, Bucky being worried and an absolute sweetheart while taking care of her

Word count: 1.3k (I know this is just a short one but my plan for the next part is quite long)

A/N: so I’ve been sick in bed all this week with covid and the only thing I’ve wanted is Bucky taking care of me. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky takes the stairs two at a time.

He’s treated many patients in the field who have tripped on steps doing exactly what he is right now, but he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is getting to you.

Bursting out of the stairwell at level two, Bucky searches for the room Wanda quoted to him over the phone. He’s never been to this area of the hospital before, all the corridors and nurses stations look the same, but as soon as he spots her characteristic red hair, he feels respite from the anxious constriction in his chest.

Wanda thanks him for coming so quickly, as if the news that you were ill, collapsed during a shift and now in a hospital bed of your own didn’t send him into a panic and have him rushing here like his life depended on it, before guiding him to where you are.

The room is dark, curtains pulled all the way over the spacious windows, and serenely quiet other than the whizzing mechanical sound coming from the infusion pump connected to the IV inserted in your arm.

You groan when you recognise that it’s Wanda and Bucky who have entered the room.

“Wan, you didn’t have to call him.” Bucky can immediately tell, just by the sound of your unusually hoarse voice, that you’re clearly not well.

“He’s your emergency contact and you are in no state to work nor drive yourself home, so yes, I did have to call him.” Wanda proclaims in a stern, slightly exasperated tone which indicates to Bucky she likely had this same conversation with you multiple times before he arrived.

“Bucky, I’m okay, you don’t have to be here.” You try convincing him, though you’re not very compelling when your sentence ends with a hearty coughing fit.

“If you were fine you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed coughing up your lungs.” Bucky comments as he makes his way over to beside your bed. You look completely fatigued, struggling to even keep your eyes open.

Bucky’s never seen you look weak before, and the clench of his heart at the sight strongly suggests he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I just need a little rest and some IV fluids, then I’ll be fine to go back to work.” Your words almost sound comical with how raspy and fragile your voice is, but Bucky knows your insistence is a testament to your dedication to your job. “There’s really no reason to be worried.”

“I’m always worried about you.” Bucky mentions in a low tone, for your ears only, before placing a gentle kiss to your burning hot forehead. He takes your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Baby you can’t treat patients when you’re like this, you’re at risk of infecting them. Let me take you home.”

You concede as you lift yourself onto your forearms, sitting up in the bed, not without a dry cough being forced from your lungs by the effort. Bucky winces in response to the gravelly sound and the pain twisting in your face.

He wishes he could take it all away. All your suffering, all the sickness. On the job, Bucky is always able to provide assistance - relief from pain, to reduce bleeding, to ease anxiety. But for the one person in this world he cares about the most, he’s subjected to watching her suffer.

“Could you help please?” Holding out your hand where the catheter for your IV is inserted, you look up at him with helpless, wide eyes which makes Bucky smile and his heart flutter in his chest. It’s always nice to be needed.

Sanitising his hands and pulling on latex gloves, he places a sweet kiss to your knuckles before working to remove the IV, aware of your gaze on his every move.

“There you go darling, all done.” Bucky declares with a kiss to your nose, keeping pressure on your hand with his thumb to stop any bleeding before being able to tape a cotton round to it. “Ready to go home?”

“With you, always.”

Bucky protectively keeps his arm around you the entire way down to the staff parking until buckling you in the passenger seat of your own car, cautious knowing you had a moment of lightheadedness earlier today.

You rest your head against the side window, arms curled around yourself as Bucky begins the short drive to your place, turning the heating up to ensure you don’t get cold now that you are out from under the blankets Wanda had acquired for you.

“So… you made me your emergency contact.” Bucky broaches, having previously been unaware of this fact. He contemplated the reason Wanda called him today is because she knows the two of you are in a relationship, but warmth blooms in his chest at the notion you have officially designated him as the person you want to be contacted in a crisis.

“I changed it about a week ago. It was my mom, but she lives out of state… and I thought you’d probably want to know if something terrible happens to me.” It is probably such a minor thing in a normal relationship, just something which sits unutilised in an employee file, but to Bucky, who works in a profession where emergency contacts are critically important, it feels like an honour bestowed upon him to be appointed as yours. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay, darling.” Bucky smiles as the hand he is not using on the steering wheel comes to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently. “If anything happens to you, I wanna be the first to know, good and bad.”

With a snuffle of your nose and the best smile you can muster given your current energy levels, you interlace your hand with his and say “you’re always the first person I want to tell every piece of good news to, Bucky.”

When you arrive home, the first thing Bucky does is lead you straight to bed and tuck you in with two different blankets and the stuffie he won you during your date to the local carnival which visited town last week.

He gathers all the supplies you’ll need for the rest of the afternoon - cold and flu tablets, a water bottle, tissues and throat lozenges, making sure they’re all within reach of your place in bed. Bucky gently washes your feverishly warm face with a cool, damp face cloth, and insists you take a drink of water to prevent from becoming dehydrated.

Then, when you start to say goodbye, for whatever reason thinking Bucky is going to leave you here to be sick on your own, he pulls his Henley off, and climbs into bed behind you.

“No, Bucky…” You whine, feebly attempting to push him away from lying beside you in bed, which is a new and strange experience for Bucky.

“I think the fever has made you delirious, darling.” Bucky chuckles, taking your hand against his bare chest and covering it with his own as he snuggles even closer next to you.

“You’re gonna get sick too if you stay.” Bucky kisses your chapped lips, to prove that he’s not afraid of being with you whilst you're unwell.

“Baby, I had my tongue down your throat last night. If you’re already sick, I’m bound to get sick too.” Even if he weren’t already fated to contract the same illness as you, he’d take that risk just to fall asleep beside you.

You provide no more protest, surrendering to Bucky’s warm embrace and quickly falling into a deep, recuperative sleep. Bucky watches as your chest rises and falls, treasuring every moment he gets to spend by the side of the woman he loves, even if you are slightly sweaty and phlegmy.

When you both wake the following morning, still tangled in each other, you have matching runny noses, sore throats and dry coughs. The following week is destined to be spent curled up in bed together and taking care of one another. At least you don’t have to suffer alone.

Part nine coming soon

Be added to the taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet

[the-atlas-sister]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔸𝕥𝕝𝕒𝕤 (Sully Siblings x Sister!Navi!Fem!Reader)

Warnings!: Blood, explicit language, sassy reader

Being the eldest sister was no easy feat, any of them could tell you that, but you weren’t just any older sister. You were the eldest sister of five. 

If that wasn’t hard enough, you were also the older sister of none other then the Sully siblings.

Ever since you could remember, it had been your job to keep your siblings safe and out of trouble. It had become your main job. Kiri was there to assist your grandmother in the healing and you were there to make sure none of them needed healing. 

***

“They’re back! The war party is back!” Your ears perked at Tuk’s proclamation. You temporarily looked up from the human book Norm had lent you. “Kiri, y/n, come on!” the younger girl said, running to you. She grabbed your arm and yanked on it. “Come on!” 

You chuckled at her antics but obliged, jumping to your feet and allowing your sister to pull you along. You smiled brightly as your eyes landed on your parents and brothers. “Lo’ak! Neteyam!” you cheered, running towards them. Your smile quickly dropped although at the sight of a bloodied Neteyam. “What the hell happened?” 

“Y/n, language,” your father scolded, watching as you fussed over your brother. “But you know, I’m wondering the same thing,” he continued as you rounded Neteyam and Lo’ak, examining every inch of them. “You two were supposed to be scouting! Staying out of the danger!” 

“Dad,” you said, sending your father a harsh look. 

“Dad, I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Neteyam said, hanging his head. You glared at him as you examined Lo’ak, ignoring his dismissive hands. 

“Hell yeah it is,” Jake scolded. “You’re supposed to keep this knucklehead out of trouble.” He nodded at Lo’ak, making him frown. 

“Ma Jake, you’re son is actually bleeding,” Neytiri said, pulling you into a gentle hug as you grew closer to her. 

“It’s fine,” Neteyam mumbled, waving off her statement. 

Jake sighed, his eyes flashing to you. “Alright, go get cleaned up,” he said. “Kiri, help your brother.” Kiri nodded before leading Neteyam away from the group. “And you,” As soon as your other siblings left, Jake turned his attention to Lo’ak. “You almost got your brother killed. Do you understand that?” 

“Yes sir,” he mumbled. 

“Dad,” you said quietly, placing a hand on your youngest brother’s shoulder. 

Jake clenched his jaw but you noticed his eyes soften at your words. “You’re grounded. No flying for a month,” he stated sternly. 

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak repeated. 

“Now get out of here you two. And get that shit off your face.”

You chuckled slightly before pulling Lo’ak towards the healing hut with you. “You okay?” you asked as you walked. 

“I’m fine,” Lo’ak grumbled. You had always been closer to your brothers than your other siblings. Lo’ak you had specifically grown closer with as you grew up. Why? Maybe because you felt the same pressure from your shared father that they did. You loved your sisters but they were often favored by your parents, especially your father. 

“I like the warrior’s paint,” you said, falling into step in front of Lo’ak. “It’s like Dad’s.” 

Lo’ak’s frown deepened. 

“So that’s it,” you mumbled quietly. “Lo’ak the mighty warrior. Great son of Toruk Mato!” you cheered, doing an odd little dance that made Lo’ak crack a very small smile. 

“Stop doing that,” he said, speeding up as to walk ahead of you. 

“Doing what?” 

“Reading my mind and that stupid dance,” the boy scoffed as you entered the hut. 

“My dance is not stupid!” you exclaimed. “As for the mind reading, that just comes with being your elder sister.” 

“Lo’ak’s right, the dance is quite stupid,” your grandmother said, sending you a small smirk as she and Kiri tended to Neteyam’s wounds. 

“Wow, thank you, Gran,” you said sarcastically, making your siblings laugh gently. 

“How is our mighty warrior?” you asked, crouching in front of Neteyam. You ruffled his hair gently, causing him to wave his hand at you. 

“He’s fine, believe it or not,” Kiri answered, standing up with your grandmother. 

“Your brother is strong,” she said, returning the healing supplies to their rightful places. “He now has the wounds of a warrior.” 

“Our mighty warrior,” you chuckled. You looked at Kiri, nodding at the entrance of the hut. She rolled her eyes but begrudgingly exited, your grandmother following close behind. “What the hell were you two thinking!” you scolded as soon as it was you three left in the hut. “You know Dad’s rules!” Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Lo’ak, you’re already on thin ice with Dad.” 

“Y/n, really it was-” 

“No, Neteyam, it was not your fault,” you interrupted. “You’re his older brother, not his father or his keeper.” 

Neteyam stared at you before nodding. 

You sighed gently, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re both okay though?” 

Both boys nodded, avoiding your gaze. 

“How was it?” They now stared at you with a bewildered look. They were often surprised when you went from scolding to quick intrest in their mischief. “Being in the battle field? How was it?” 

You sat down, eyes filled with curiosity. Your father had never allowed you to go into battle, despite your age and training. You often found yourself frustrated seeing your mother go into battle, but not being able to do so yourself. 

“Kind of scary,” Neteyam admitted. 

“We were hardly in battle,” Lo’ak scoffed. 

“I imagine it was still scary,” you said, sending Lo’ak a stern look. “Soon, though, you will fight by our fathers side.” 

“Maybe when I’m eventually not grounded,” Lo’ak joked. You smiled, feeling the tension in the hut drift away.

A/n if you’d like to be tagged in future posts lmk.

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/mooskey/724247343162114048/%F0%9D%95%8B%F0%9D%95%99%F0%9D%95%96-%F0%9D%95%8A%F0%9D%95%9A%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%96%F0%9D%95%A3-%F0%9D%94%B8%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%9D%F0%9D%95%92%F0%9D%95%A4-%F0%9D%95%84%F0%9D%95%92%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%96%F0%9D%95%A3%F0%9D%95%9D%F0%9D%95%9A%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5

[witchyafterdark]

— Sebastian Sallow Headcanons; pt. 1

[None of the images belong to me! All credits to the owners and editors of these images!]

During 6th year, he tried his best to do good throughout the school year, and distract himself from the remnants of the Dark Arts' hold on him. Instead of giving into the temptation of the call to research more about the forbidden spells, he instead busied himself helping people with their academics.

He helps MC most of all, scheduling a constant time and day for tutorials about all the lessons they might have missed out on, in spite of their Field Guide. (And yes, he also gifted Ominis with Braille-engraved ingredient bottles for Potions class).

He extends this help towards underclass students, mostly Slytherin ones... cause you know, he still has that House Cup competitive streak in him.

Bonus: When he's in the library to study and tutor others, he usually leaves his blazer and robes back at the dorms to be more comfortable and laidback. He also started to wear reading glasses more frequently than before, and uses it to push back his messy waves when he doesn't need it. That's when he started to wonder why there seems to be more students, mostly girls, asking for his tutorial and academic assistance all the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

⭆⭆⭆

In the midst of Victorian standards of propriety and social decorum between men and women, Sebastian is actually quite well-versed in taking care of women in his life. When it was socially acceptable for men to opt out of "womanly discussions," Sebastian knows more than the average man, thanks to having been attuned to his twin all his life.

He was literally there when Anne was hunched over her food, in pain, at the Great Hall during their 2nd year. After almost carrying her all the way to the Hospital Wing, he demanded to know what was going on with her... until Nurse Blainey told him she started to have her monthly bleeding.

Instead of shying away from the topic, he took it upon himself to research in the library all there is about women's health and anatomy. When he didn't find what he was looking for, that's when he started to sneak into the restricted section for more information than what was available!

Best believe he was by Anne's side the next morning with a handful of chocolates, sweets, and a pair of enchanted warm, fuzzy socks to ease her period pains. This boy is not afraid of hush-hush women problems. He might even go down to the kitchens to make Anne her favorite soup to keep her warm, full, and cozy for bed.

(Will be the best girl dad)

⭆⭆⭆

I firmly believe that Sebastian would eventually stumble upon the cure for Anne as an adult.

Right after graduating from Hogwarts, he would most likely become a curse breaker; not only because it suits him, but he has a restless and tumultuous relationship with himself. Being buried in work while being in foreign lands serve as a good distraction for him. Sitting too long by himself doing nothing can make him ruminate about his past, and that's no good.

If Anne is still alive by the time he finds her cure, he would most certainly try his best to rekindle a connection with her, finding wherever she currently resides. He might even beg Ominis to tell him where she is, promising that his findings are backed up by other curse breakers or whatnot (even if that may not exactly be true), just so he'd be told of Anne's whereabouts.

Understandably, Anne would be extremely wary of all of this. But Sebastian can be extremely persuasive, and would have to be completely transparent with her about all of the information he found. He will get his sister back, and that was a promise he made to himself all those years ago. He never abandoned that promise.

But if Anne had already passed away, stumbling upon the cure during his work travels would make Sebastian spiral out of control. He will most likely disappear from the face of the earth, and not even Ominis' underground connections will be able to trace him.

Dark wizard and poacher camps can be reported to have been decimated to the ground overnight over a span of months, seamingly by the work of a vigilante. But in reality, Sebastian has been unleashing his rage and anger on those people who were like the wizard who cursed his sister. No one can stop him from this moment of grieving. He needs some sort of justice for what happened to Anne, and this is the only way he can think of in the midst of his grief.

Simultaneously, though, he has been collecting illicit and illegal information about all the curses, hexes, rituals, and dark magic he can get his hands on. He needs to know about all of them to be prepared for the worst in the future, however his future might be. This mission of his makes him compile and bind some sort of a tome of all the cures and solutions to the Dark Arts.

This kind of pattern continues of over the course of a couple of years, writing a letter to Ominis and MC every now and then to let them know he's still alive. Once he is quite satisfied and have come to terms with his grief, only then would he reemerge into society.

⭆⭆⭆

On a more lighthearted note, being a curse breaker is something he doesn't actually see himself doing for the rest of his life as he grows older. During his youth, he reveled in his findings and discoveries, taking pride in his abilities to be quick on his feet in perilous situations. Like most young men, he will maximize the years of his prime, traveling to distant lands and seeking opportunities elsewhere.

But as he falls into a groove, he might also feel the effects of the job on himself. Places and faces can get old to him once he realizes that he's no longer the young man he used to be. Weariness slowly seep into his bones, and he would love nothing more at this point than to be embraced into a warm home, and taking life slowly.

He realizes that time waits for no man, and perhaps this all stemmed from seeing Ominis recently. His old friend looking more at peace with himself, calm and contented with his own found family.

This could be the final push for Sebastian to finally hang the coat, and quietly retire from being a curse breaker. And this is where Professor Sallow comes into the picture.

Going back to Hogwarts, now as a teacher, gives him the sense of relief and comfort he didn't know he was yearning for. It's as if he has been holding his breath for so long, and now, he can breathe easy again. He feels safe now, with a renewed sense of purpose.

All of his learnings and discoveries during his prime will most definitely take their place in the familiar shelves of the Hogwarts library. He might even feel nostalgic over the fact the he now has actual unlimited access to the Restricted Section, with some of his books sitting right next to the ones he used to get into trouble for.

[angelfoxx]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “COULD I…HELP YOU?”

… in which the genshin hybrids maybe, possibly let you help with their heats/ruts

FEATURING: gorou, tighnari, & yae miko.

WARNINGS: afab reader; do you consider eating yae out at the shrine sacrilege because if so then uh. um. scratches my neck awkwardly

NOTE/S: hey! i’m new and i eat requests UP. if u enjoy my work, pls leave a request and i’ll see if i can do it!

— GOROU

✧ He tries not to mention it to you. Key word; tries. More often than not he’s dealt with his…biological problems…during combat, and when you are leading an entire rebellion, getting off probably isn’t your top concern. Is it annoying? Yes. Does it make him irritable and short-tempered and want to commit violent crimes against the nation? Also yes. He goes absolutely apeshit insane during the worst of his cycle and chances are if you happen to be on the front lines with him you’ll see him lose his goddamn mind because while he may be a very high-ranking general he is also a bitch to the biological system and, archons, the frustration he has to otherwise ignore gets fueled into his job. he commits war crimes against the state

✧ That is, of course, until you. You are now a new factor in his life and considering that you’re not only fighting beside him but also more often than not sleeping over in his tent, bringing him food after he returns to camp, or doing who-knows-what-else, you’re bound to find out one way or another. His leading fear is that you’ll have a rather rude awakening to his issue after arriving at his tent a little too late and finding him trying to sleep, trying, because he doesn’t get much of that anymore between war and also hormones, but he’s afraid you’ll be a little too late and instead of him sleeping you’ll find him halfway curled over himself with his tortured dick slick in his hands and fierce red bleeding over his face as he tries to sate the carnal urge seething in his loins.

✧ He eventually tells you, sort of; he brings you in well before his cycle starts and tells you, as calmly as he can manage, that you should stay away from his tent because the coming week is going to be hard for him. You misunderstand, initially, and immediately start reassuring him that if the resistance is running low on supplies or rations or defenses you’ll go out no problem to provide assistance. This then leads to him having to explain that no, this isn’t anything to do with the resistance, it’s a…it’s a biological problem, and it makes me…frustrated, it frustrates me, and I don’t think I could live with myself if you got caught in the crossfire. He’s really trying not to stumble over his words — this is incredibly embarrassing, incredibly, like, tail-trying-to-tuck embarrassing — but he’s doing his best, and what more could you ask?

✧ You’re not stupid. Biological problems making him frustrated to the point of not being able to see you? He’s dancing around the whole core of the thing and so you half-laugh and look at him and his slumping ears and semi-tucked tail and rose-tinted cheeks and ask him, point blank, if he’s trying to explain rut. He seems almost scandalized by you putting it so simply, but with a whiny groan and guiltily-closing eyes he nods and affirms your suspicions. Now he’s trying to excuse himself; it’s not a big deal, I’ll be fine, I just…it would be best for you to stay away, stay away while I’m dealing with it, but you’re not having it. Obviously, he’s used to dealing with his primal side on his own, but now he has you; perhaps your clear-thinking, never-having-dealt-with-a-rut conscience is what makes you wait for him to finish rushing through his panicked monologue before you step forward, take his hand in yours, and ask if it would be a better idea for him to just…get it out of his system. You know, for the efforts of the resistance and all. It can’t be good to have General Top Dog Gorou not completely focused on the fight, right? So maybe he should just…you know, let you spend the night this coming week and just let his biological problem run its course. You know, for the resistance.

At this point, you aren’t sure whether the damp spot under your cheek is from spit or tears. You can’t exactly check either; it’s like your muscles aren’t listening to you anymore. They’re so rigid it hurts, so stiff you can’t move unless you want to lose what little composure you have left. You’re hot, so hot; despite being clothed in what are now torn-up, ragged shreds of fabric, you feel stifled, overheated; it’s not coming from your surroundings, but rather, your gut, from somewhere deep in your gut, the same place that’s making every muscle go stiff and your legs practically vibrate and your eyes roll back and oh, please, the same place that Gorou keeps hitting, blunt tip spearing up against and hammering into overdrive.

The thought swirls hazily in your head for half a second before you feel hard, slick length pull out of you, bump heavily against the back of your thigh before you hear a shuffle and then a hot tongue is prodding at your sobbing hole, carving searing lines through the thick glaze of spit, pre, and arousal coating the hot space between your legs and flooding over to the insides of your thighs. It’s been like this for so long, so long — you’ve lost track of time. You force a rolled-back eye to come forward; you gaze blearily at the ceiling of the tent, try to find the glow of the moon but it’s no use, not when everything is blurred together with tears and the world feels like it’s spinning and—

Gorou whines between your legs, laps up the arousal your cunt is all but drooling out by this point. His face is glued to you; a broken, absent consideration for whatever little things he’s got in here crosses through your mind as you hear the telltale whisk of fur on tent.

You’re leaning your hips back, ready this time when he mounts back up behind you. Both hands grope around your hips, claw at the seams of your thighs and finally find purchase quite literally on the hill of your pelvis. His chest lays up on your back; he’s burning up, skin on fire as his canines latch onto your ear and his breath threatens to burn your cheek. He doesn’t speak; he can’t, you don’t think, vocabulary reduced to a handful of pants, moans, and breathy half-words, slurred “m’gon, m’gonna, hol’n” as his stiff cockhead prods through your slit and nudges back into the sopping warmth of your cunt. Something clatters to the floor; if the rhythmic, quickening thump of his tail furiously hitting the floor in tandem with his pistoning hips, he’s close, again. How many times had he already? Four? Five, maybe? He’s still going at it as hard as he had in the start; the only indicator that his stamina is lessening is how sloppy he’s getting with his motions. He’s constantly groping around for a hold on your slick skin despite having found one immediately when this all first started; his breathing has steadily grown more labored, and you can feel saliva soaking down your neck as his teeth find purchase beside your nape and he bites down, some last effort to anchor himself as his hips twitch and a fresh rope of heat spills out against that spot deep in your gut.

— TIGHNARI

✧ Much unlike the aforementioned general, his methods of dealing with his rut are…indulgent. He knows better than anyone what the rut is and why it does what it does and how to best work with it. The other researches know this; they know that sometimes, for no apparent reason at all, he writes up a whole patrol schedule for the next several days and sends himself out on the further ones; he’ll disappear for days at a time, often excusing himself with reasoning along the lines of studying the forest over a period of days to ensure that the Withering isn’t rearing its head, or that he wants to record the state of certain formerly-affected plants over a longer section of time. Both are rather normal reasons to be excused for so long; plus, Collei’s got home base under control, and his absences aren’t necessarily unusual. So, it works.

✧ If you pry enough — but wait, Tighnari, we might need you, we’ve got this thing we’re doing…how long will you be gone for? — he’ll explain it to you, and he’ll do so rather eloquently which is wild considering that he’s really just talking about how he gets ridiculously, unbearably horny for a week or so at a time and fucks his hands several dozen times over. He explains it scientifically, simply, and comfortably; he’s casual about what he’s talking about and maybe that’s why you have to do a double take and, as he’s walking out to check on Collei and make sure she’s got things covered, you sort of sputter and turn around and ask if he’s going into rut. He just pauses, looks over his shoulder, and blinks — you feel kind of stupid when he just looks at you and dubiously goes “yes?” Somehow, despite him being the one who’s literally distancing himself so he can masturbate in peace, you feel awkward and exposed. In any case, he just walks away, very casually, to check in on Collei, leaving you to realize that oh, oh, that’s…oh.

✧ When you stop him the night before he leaves — he’s packing a satchel of whatever he needs, you’d guess — you’re the one who’s shifting on your feet and hot in the face as you ask if he needs any help. He just blinks at you, asks what you mean, and flicks an ear when you open your mouth to answer and stammer out something about helping to carry something to his temporary campsite. He says he appreciates the offer but he’s got it managed just fine; plus, he adds, you don’t want to be around someone under (what he calls) animalistic instinct. You don’t quite know how to say that uh, well, haha, funny you say that, because I kind of do, and so you just say you’re worried about him going off on his own. He laughs — he finds that quite endearing — and tells you he’ll be fine. He tells you to go get some sleep; if it’ll make you feel better, he’ll bring you some spoils from the jungle when he gets back, so you can look forward to his return for reasons other than the obvious.

✧ Which, of course, doesn’t work. He disappears the next morning, as expected, but thanks to literally scouting the whole fucking jungle a good bit of adventurer’s expertise you stumble across his camp. Camp, consisting of a hollowed-out tree stump and the starts of a nest constructed from underbrush and reeds. It doesn’t take long to find the fox himself; upon seeing you he’s quick to jump into scolding, to which you literally have to cut him off and say that no, no, you know why he’s here and you’ll leave but also you meant it if he wanted help, like you really meant it, and…

Hands balled into fists, crushing willowy reed-stems in your grasp; to say you’re being drilled into is an understatement. The world had smelled initially like the jungle — damp soil, wild flowers, sweet wood — but now it smells hot, rough, almost wild.

And it’s all because of him.

Breath coming in short, thick half-pant, half-grunts, Tighnari’s chasing refuge from the need exploding through his system; it’s evident in the tendons defined down his neck, the blueish veins starting to stick up under his skin, the sheen of sweat painting his skin a glossy golden-cream. His face tips back; quivering under him, you watch as he groans into the hot, enclosed air of his carved-out camp, watch as he swallows, hard, as if to calm himself down.

Fat chance of that, you manage to think, lifting your head just a little to try a glance at your hips. Your prostrate hips, flat against the jungle floor, legs split apart to leave room for the sharp-eyed hybrid overhead to thrust up into you.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is surprisingly steady, considering how hard his hips are rutting and how aggressive the slap of skin on skin has gotten. His voice is aimed down at you; he’s looking down, now, watching your expression change with sardonic eyes. Both tall ears sit almost-flat against his head; he finds you funny, right now, funny even though you’re the one he’s been so desperately fucking into. “Helping me move my stuff, huh?”

You open your mouth to answer and can’t. He knows damn well what you’d meant; he knew it then, too, when he said he’d be just fine on his own. A test to see how far you’d go, perhaps, and one that you’d succeeded. Going on a wild hunt through a jungle to go find him is certainly something, he thinks — and what kind of thanks would it be if he didn’t let you give this whole bitch thing a whirl?

Your breathing breaks as his pace grows quicker; he never falters, not even when you grab on around the small of his back snd dig your nails into the smooth planes of his back. “Gonna,” you gasp, almost voiceless; “gonna, gonna, ‘Nari, gonna…”

Black fur curls against your ankle and trails up your thigh. He finds it funny, how quick you are to break under him; but oh, silly you. Silly, silly you. One round…that won’t do. But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you came out here; to ruin yourself, or to let him ruin you. Isn’t it?

— YAE MIKO

WOMEN. WOMEN RRRRRRAUGH THIS IS MOMMY

✧ If you think anyone is gonna know shit when this woman deals with a heat cycle then you’re wrong. Wrong. Yes, it is very frustrating and yes, she’s well aware of that feeling being there and yes, archons, she’s very poignantly aware that you, her little admirer — she’s poignantly aware that whenever you’re around she finds that feeling getting a little stronger and a little harder to ignore because maybe, maybe she’s a little…a little interested in you, and maybe those comments that sound flirty but you’ve always just chalked up to her being her mean a little more than she lets on, but…no, no. She won’t tell you that. It would be embarrassing and also weird; even Ei doesn’t know about it, and Ei knows most things. She knows her rosy-haired, sly-eyed familiar has taken a liking to you, and she’s mentioned it in brief teasing every now and again — in Ei’s mind, she should really just tell you because human life is short and eternity is damn long — but what she doesn’t know is that hr same rosy-haired, sly-eyed familiar finds somewhere, anywhere — hell, half the time it’s at the shrine where she won’t be bothered — and fucks herself with her hand and pretends it’s you, pretends, and she feels more than slightly foul afterward because she’s doing it at a sacred shrine but archons, screw it, she needs to take care of this or she’ll provoke Ei into another bad decision with her attitude.

✧ Speaking of which; it’s after another casual wander through Inazuma with Ei that you head up to visit her foxy familiar. Much unlike the many times you’ve seen her here before, she’s not in front of that sacred tree; no, she’s staring off into the fenced-off pond, and she looks very far away, like her head’s not all here. Upon calling for her, she seems to come back; she finds your eyes, offers you a charming little smile, and shuffles over as if to make room for you despite her current spot already being separated from the main crowd. Internally, she’s cursing herself for how her heart beats a little harder against her ribs and how the warmth between her legs starts to spread up into her gut, twists around her rationale and puts her world in a haze. Being in the depths of a heat cycle, specifically around you, has her almost scattered; she hears all of your questions well after you ask them and she answers even more delayed than that and so maybe that’s why you’re suddenly so close, trying to get closer to her face with your expression wrought and eyes worried as you ask if she’s feeling alright.

✧ She should push you away. She should, really, because you’re so warm, and you smell so nice and sweet and you look so pretty and untouched and — no, no, she should push you away, but she can’t. She’ll hide it under some smooth, late remark — I’m feeling fine; is this just an excuse to get closer to me? — but the little voice in her head is screaming at her to grab you by the nape and drag you off to a quiet, hidden corner and wreck you because you’re hers, hers, her sweet thing, hers…

✧ You don’t look alright. Have you been sleeping enough? Oh, ever-so-innocent, ever-so-sweet you, concerned suddenly that maybe the thin mountain air has gotten her sick as you press your palm to her forehead to see and — you’re burning up, you’re actually burning up, we need…do you have medicine? I’m not sure if familiars carry medicine, but we can head down to the village…no, no, I’ll head down, you stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, or…

✧ She finally manages a no. No, she doesn’t need medicine; trying to manage to keep her voice from dropping, she gives you the simple explanation of this happens sometimes and medicine won’t do anything about it, and you’re kind of confused because does she mean her period? do fox familiars get periods? when fox familiars get periods do they suddenly burn up like they’ve got a bad fever? but then you realize fox and oh, oh, you think you get it now. It must be evident on your face; oh, you say, face going hot, oh, sorry, I…do you need anything? I can leave you alone — sorry, I didn’t know, this is probably a bad time… but she’s just looking at you, now, and you don’t quite know what to do before you feel hot fingers wrap around your wrist and nails poke your skin. She’s trying to keep up the act; are you asking to help? she manages, suave tone just slightly shaky, and you’re sort of left sitting there dealing with the moral question of whether or not fucking the Electro Archon’s familiar is something you’ll get tit-sword’d for but ultimately, looking at slightly-heaving Miko with her eyes almost glowing and her skin starting to burn yours and oh, is that a blush you’re seeing? you decide that maybe getting tit-sword’d is worth it.

For being such a smooth talker, Yae Miko is awfully messy when it comes to sex. At least, this kind of sex. The sex where she’s dragged you rather hurriedly and rather unceremoniously behind one of the buildings atop the shrine, practically shoved you up against the wooden wall and swallowed any complaints or remarks you may have had about the manner between her lips. Dominant, yes — but messy. Messy, in the way her mouth can’t seem to stay on yours and instead slips off, wets the corners of your mouth and down under your jaw when you try and fail to gasp for breath. Messy, in the way that her hands are immediately moving; one raking down your spine, the other digging into your nape, and then both to your sides, and then one up under your blouse to tear apart the buttons and get a handful of your chest. Messy, in the way that despite her heat being at its worst, especially being neglected for so long, she insists on marking you; you don’t know if the Shogun’s eyes see the shrine but oh, oh, you hope they don’t, because you’re pinned to a wall with her familiar licking and biting and sucking on the soft spots under your jaw so hard that you’re heaving and debating on whether or not it’s okay to wrap your arms behind her head and draw her deeper into you because it feels like fire, it feels like fire on your throat…

“On your knees,” she purrs shakily, breath hot on your neck. “On your knees, get on your knees…you said you’d help me, didn’t you? Be good…listen to me, listen…”

And so, you do. And, really, you shouldn’t be surprised but oh, the way she watches you drop weakly to your knees, land softly in the grass with the wooden wall burning up your back — it’s too much, it’s too much, and your eyes have gone drunken before she can even start to move her clothes, move the pretty white silk out of the way and she’s lowering herself, too, but she really doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to, because you’re drunk on desire and maybe that’s what gives you the confidence to touch her, wrap a shaky hand around her thigh and stretch up, duck under her dress guys im so sorry it might be a kimono but i actually do not know and i dont want to use the wrong terminology and sound dumb please help and…oh, she smells so sweet, so warm and sweet and—

She swears she sees stars. The long, pitched-tailed moan she lets out is evidence of it; nails scrape along your nape as you tongue at the heat burning fiercely between her thighs, taste thick, sugared arousal on your tongue and groan as you lap for more. She gives you no instructions, no limits, and so you just go all in; you wrap an arm around her waist to steady yourself as you let go of her thigh, reach up with your now-free hand and spread slick, soaked folds apart to get on the source. Her breathing is labored; you can feel her pulse stuttering when the tip of your tongue finds her pulsing cunt, pushes in only to get tightened on. Something warm and soft brushes the hand behind her back; you’ve seen the ghost of her tail a few times but it sure as fuck feels real now, beating against her thigh as you latch onto the sweet well between her thighs and practically drink the effect of her heat as it dribbles down your chin. Heaven, you’re in heaven, and oh, archons, so is she; the wooden wall behind you groans as she shifts, assumably to rest her weight against it as her thighs steady against your head and close you off to the outside world.

[lowkeycasanova]

swole mouth

plot: luffy gets his wisdom teeth removed

luffy x reader modern au?

just him being all soft while he's high on drugs

word count: 1k

Luffy, normally confident and carefree, was a mess in the days leading up to his appointment. You had to physically pull him out of bed this morning and he mumbled and grumbled about how he didn't wanna go. You coaxed him with the idea of getting food on the way. And he was dumb enough to believe you until you pulled right up to the dental office.

He was mad as hell.

He crossed his arms and wouldn't even look at you while you two sat on the chairs in the waiting room. It was quiet in there. Soft music playing overhead and the only other person there was an older woman a few feet away reading a magazine.

You turned your attention to Luffy. "Hey. This is for your own good. If you don't get them removed, it'll cause pain and your other teeth will get pushed around."

His scowl persisted.

The receptionist called his name and again, you had to drag him. You were met with the dental assistant, a friendly guy in crisp blue scrubs, attemping to ease Luffy's nerves with a reassuring smile.

It wasn’t that Luffy was afraid of the pain. His concern was the drug, nitrous oxide.

‘Laughing gas’, as it was called.

His mind is already loose and he says things with no filter. The thought of speaking nonsense without having control of it was embarassing.

Before going to the room down the hallway, Luffy gives you one last look.

"Don't be mad at me if I say something inappropriate."

**

"Y/N!!!" you hear from your seat mixed with the sound of giggles.

oh boy.

There he is. Barely able to stand on his own two feet while the dentist holds up the majority of his body weight. His arm thrown over the man's shoulder. You stand up and make your way over, biting back a smile at Luffy's giggling.

"Hiiiiii."

He picks up his head, that dopey grin stretched across his swollen cheeks.

"Hey," you laugh. "We gotta get you in the car."

"Okie dokie." he picks up his feet, lazily shuffling them across the floor.

Trying to get him into the car was harder than you thought. It's a mix of limp arms and legs, whining, and he nearly bumped his head. You and the dentist are both out of breath my the time he's situated in the passenger seat.

"Can I drive?"

"No."

Another pout and whine.

You close the door and turn back to the dentist, who gives you a rundown on how the procedure went and hands you a pamphlet on the aftercare and follow up appointment.

"You left me with a handful." you smile.

He laughs. "Luffy's gonna be okay. He'll probably fall asleep and wake up completely fine. Let me know if there's anything that seems abnormal."

You nod and tell him goodbye.

Once you get in the car, Luffy seems out of it. He's leaning his head against the window, staring off into space.

You pat his leg. "Let's get you home."

Getting his attention, he turns to face you. "You're gonna take care of me?" he mumbled. You see the gauze squished in his mouth. It's stained with red near the back, controlling the active bleeding.

You tried not to laugh but you couldn't help but have an adorable smirk tugging at your lips at his expression. As if he really appreciated you being there with him.

**

He nodded off to sleep in the car, only for you to arouse him up when you got back home. He blinks his eyes a few times, all disoriented. You finally get him inside the house and sit him down on the couch.

He slumps into the cushions, eyes half-lidded as you gently remove his shoes.

His eyes suddenly become wide and he reaches up to touch his face. "My wips. I can't feel my wips! They're...they're gone!"

His lips. Still numb from the procedure.

He's franctically touching his face where he knows his lips should be. You stop him because he shouldn't be touching his mouth at all.

"Luffy stop! Your lips aren't gone. They're right here." You use your fingers to gently tug on them.

He goes cross eyed attempting to look.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Yup." you say, then patting his cheek in reassurance.

He copies your action. Patting his right cheek, then his left.

Right.

Left.

Then both at the same time over and over again.

"Hehehehe." he giggles. "It's like a balloon."

"You're right." you chuckled at his antics. "I'll bring you a blanket to make you more comfortable."

You turn from him, going around to the hall closet, pulling a cozy blanket out. With it in your hands, you make your way back over to where he was sitting to find him gone.

Not surprising.

He wouldn’t be able to sit still sober.

There's the sound of whimpering coming from the bathroom around the corner. You follow the sound to find him standing in front of the mirror. He's staring at his relfection, gauze out, mouth agape, and tears about to well up in his eyes.

"My teeth...the dentist...he...he...s-stole them!"

"Luffy, he did not steal them." You breathed in an attempt to not laugh. "He took them out because they were going to cause problems. And you have to keep to gauze in." you tell him, pinching the white material and helping it back into the corners of his mouth.

"But-" he mumbles, convinced he's been robbed and you guide him back to the couch. He gives you a look of confusion, his numbness preventing him from arguing any further. You take a moment to admire his goofy expression before focusing on the task at hand.

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't go anywhere." you tease. Turning back on your heel, you add, “And don’t pull that gauze out again.”

“So hostile.” he mumbled.

Heading to the kitchen, you start to find what soft foods he can have since he can'y have anything solid for a while. Deciding on ice cream, you prepare it in a bowl and return to him.

He's sprawled out underneath the blanket you gave him, eyes closed and a soft snore coming from his mouth. The anesthesia has clearly taken its toll. You smile to yourself and decide not to disturb his much needed sleep.

[jujutsukatsuki]

11 Minutes || Katsuki x Reader || ANGST

{inspired by 11 minutes by Yungblud, Halsey and Travis Barker}

“Hey, I’m eleven minutes away.” Her voice chimed through his phone once he clicked accept.

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for you, I got 45 minutes of my break left.” He said as he checked the clock that hung on the wall of the coffee shop. They said their goodbyes and hung up. He bounced his leg nervously.

His ear piece started to ring, he pressed it and took the call.

“Dynamite.” His voice was gruff as he spoke, annoyed they bothered him during his break.

“We need you on Hiroshi street, there’s been a car accident and you’re the closest person.” One of his many assistants in his agency said.

He growled “On it.” He sent Y/n a text.

‘Got a call, only 11 minutes from here, I’ll be back asap!’

He took off out the coffee shop and used his quirk to propel himself faster. He could see the smoke from where he was.

~

Her head laid on his chest, the room smelt like sex and vanilla scented candles. Her hand was warm as it brushed over his tattoos that lay on his ribs. Y/n’s hair tickled his skin whenever her head would lightly move.

“You’re so pretty.” She whispered and kissed one of the tattoos gently.

“Oh, shut up.” His face flushed a light pink as he looked away, one hand tickled behind his head while the other laid on the small of her back. Their legs were entangled together as the quiet Saturday afternoon felt calming.

~

He arrived on the scene and as he dashed to the car that was on fire and flipped upside down, a man unconscious against the wheel, a women with her head against the dashboard and a baby in his back seat.

He got the three out just in time as the car had lightly exploded. Bakugou made his way to the second car and froze when he saw her, thrown from the windshield, laying on the ground.

“No.. no..” he whispered and rushed to her.

~

“I’m sorry Y/n.” His voice was cold, callus and calm. He packed up his duffel bag of stuff and was about to leave her for good.

“Please.” She sobbed and reached for him. He took a step back and stared off, eyes watering.

“I’m sorry. Being a pro hero is my dream and I can’t do that if I have distractions.” His heart felt like it was snapping. The sounds of her sobs got louder as she sat on the couch, hands in her hair. Katsuki took one last look at her before he left her apartment for the last time.

~

“Please.” He whispered as he held her body in his arms, her chest wasn’t moving. She was bleeding from various places.

“I’m sorry, please, wake up.” He nearly yelled as he rocked her in his arms lightly.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, wake up!” He screamed as more tears fell.

“Please!” He sobbed and held her tight. He shielded her lifeless body as the cars exploded once again. Paramedics came over and tried to take her and he wouldn’t let them.

~

“Run the simulation again.” He barked to the tech in the room.

“Running Simulation 214.” The robotic voice spoke.

Bakugou was once again back in the coffee shop getting the call. The simulation broke when the door opened.

“Dude..” Kirishima sighed quietly

“You couldn’t have changed the outcome.” He walked over to his best friend and partner at the agency.

“Yes I could!” Bakugou barked at him. “Get out!”

Kirishima sighed and left as he shook his head.

“He’s right you know.” Bakugou froze and turned to see her. She looked as beautiful as she did the day he met her.

“There was nothing you could have done.” She walked over and put her warm hand on his cheek.

“Please Kat, don’t forget me but don’t torture yourself.” Bakugou leaned into her touch before it disappeared as quick as it came.

“No.. please..” he whimpered and dropped to his knees.

~

“Katsuki.. katsuki~” a gentle voice spike in his ear, he jolted awake with a scream.

“Y/n!” She jumped at the yell before grabbing his face in her warm hands.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay, what’s wrong? Bad dream?” She hummed softly. Bakugou panted as he looked at the girl of his dreams. He gulped air down a few times as he stared at her eyes.

“Yeah..” he nodded before pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her hands rub his back as she hugged back.

“You’re okay, I got you,” she whispered softly.