#the frown lines on my face today probably came from that

[avocado62524]

[entirelysein-e]

『 Good boy 』

☼ synopsis: Choso is a needy puppy in heat who gets caught jerking off with your panties

☼ character: Choso Kamo

☼ wc: 1.9k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, switch!reader, dog hybrid Choso, masturbation, cum eating, handjob, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, knotting

☼ Kinktober Masterlist

Choso was always a good boy, making sure the house is well guarded as well as cleaned while you went to work, eagerly greeting you at the door the second you came back home. “You're back! Finally!” He said happy, immediately taking your bag and your jacket from you, trying to help you unwind the second you stepped inside your home. “Have you been a good boy today?” You asked amused, able to smell your favorite dinner in the oven already. Choso only nodded, waiting for his daily headpats from you and you giggled at the sight, head tilted downwards and his tail wagging so fast it became a blurred line. “My good boy,” you praised and ruffled through his black hair, making the little ears that adorned his head flop slightly.

It filled you with pride and joy seeing your little puppy so happy and comfortable around you, remembering the time when you just got him. He was in a terrible shape, not taken care of well by his previous owners and fresh wounds covered his body that was already littered with scars - and yet he was trusting and friendly, cautious of course but he still tried to see the positive things in everything. This trait is probably what made you keep him, the way he was so selfless and really wanted to take care of you without expecting anything in return from you but you gave him an endless amount of love these past few months he has been with you.

By the time you finished your dinner, you noticed something was off, Choso was whimpering slightly and his ears were laid back against his head. “Hey… are you okay? What's wrong?” You asked concerned, feeling his forehead gently and frowning when he was burning up a little.

“Let's get you to bed early, should I hold you?” You asked caring but he shook his head, moving away from your touch, which you weren't used to. You just figured that he didn't like to be touched when sick or that he didn't want to risk getting you sick as well, so you let him trail off to bed alone before joining him hours later.

The entire night you kept your distance instead of cuddling up close for warmth and comfort like you two usually do and the way he even whimpered in his sleep made your heart ache.

Morning came fast despite the rough night both of you had and Choso found himself glued to your side, legs wrapped around yours and his arms clinging to your torso.

“Please don't leave… stay home today… I need you,” he whined but you only cupped his face, a pout appearing on his handsome face as he leaned into your touch. “I can't, baby… I have that important meeting in the morning but I promise I’ll come home right after” you promised, your heart threatening to burst at the crushed expression he wore now but he understood - you probably didn't know what was going on anyways, never having owned a puppy hybrid before so he couldn't blame you and let you get up, wanting to take care of it himself.

He watched you leave like he did every morning, trying to behave normal and trying to act like he just felt a little sick over night and needed some extra cuddles that day which you gladly provided, even leaving work early just to take care of your beloved puppy.

This wasn't exactly the case but he didn't have the heart to tell you that he was in a rut, needing to bury himself inside of you and filling you up repeatedly but he could take care of himself… or at least so he thought. His little ears didn't pick up the sound of your keys turning, neither did he hear your worried calls for him. His whimpers of your name almost drowned out the slick sound of his own cum aiding as lube while stroking his achingly hard cock, overly sensitive from all the times he made himself cum already, a small puddle on the floor and some of it dripping off his torso. Even if his ears were occupied, he should have at least noticed your smell filling his senses but his nose was buried in a pair of your panties that he stole out of the laundry, the scent of your cunt so intense and addicting to him.

“Choso?” You asked in a soft voice, unsure if you were concerned or shocked by the scene playing out in front of you. Your little puppy perked his head up, the collar jingling with the sudden movement and his cum shooting all over the floor in front of him. He wished he could disappear in that moment, shying away from you but you were able to stop him before he entirely died from embarrassment. Your palm on his arm made him shudder, a burning sensation spreading through his entire body and the embarrassment was forgotten, big eyes looked up at you “help… please,” he whimpered, dick twitching again already without ever letting him catch a break.

The mess he made of the floor and himself let you figure that he's been at this for hours, probably since you left in the morning and you felt so bad for him, giving him a warm smile and kneeling down to him. “Are you in a rut?” You asked bold, making him blush further as he nodded affirmatively.

“I read about that when I educated myself about owning a puppy hybrid… it's okay baby boy, you're my good boy, aren't you?” You asked with a soft voice as your hand traveled from his strong biceps towards his chest, smearing a few pearls of his cum over his pebbled nipples which made him shudder and goosebumps formed over his entire body.

“But you've been such a naughty boy, stealing my underwear… Do you think I should punish you for that?” You asked, a smirk growing on your lips when he pouted but he nodded, knowing he's not allowed to steal your panties. A little yelp escaped his pouting lips when you pinched his sensitive nipples before tugging his face close to the floor by the collar he wore - something he wanted to do, proud of being your good boy.

“Clean up the mess you just made,” you ordered, trying to sound stern when all you wanted was to help him feel better but he wanted to be punished first, letting him lap at the spurts of cum on the floor while you fondled his tight balls, so pretty on display with his ass in the air like that.

Once he was done you gave a small slap to each of his butt cheeks and allowed him to sit up again “Look at you, my good boy,” you cooed as you reached for his aching length, making him cry out in pleasure from how sensitive he was after all these orgasms. “P-please… I need you,” he begged, gently fucking your hand and you allowed him, pumping his shaft and wrapping your lips around the tip to reward him for good behavior. The cum he used as lube tasted bitter on your tongue but it didn't taste bad, craving to taste some more of him as your tongue teased the little slit on top of his tip and Choso didn't mean to but he pushed your head down on his length, no longer gently fucking your hands, now pumping himself into your warm mouth but you didn't protest.

You knew how much he needed this and he waited the entire day for you without a single complaint so you let him fuck your mouth with utmost care, his sweet moans and whimpers rising in pitch the closer he got. To say it was sloppy was an understatement, your saliva dribbling down his balls and your nose nestled into the small bush at the base. What finally sent him over the edge was your hands fondling his balls, smearing them with your spit and gently squeezing them just the way he liked it. Your name echoed off the walls in a lewd scream, his cum shooting down your throat before he pulled himself out of your mouth, kissing you hungry. Little thank you’s were whispered between kisses and tears threatening to spill from his eyes letting you know that this meant more to him than just getting off - it was personal - it was a need for you and your love.

The smell of your arousal filled his nostrils, not having noticed how you tugged your pants down just enough to reveal your glistening slit while he kissed you.

“Can I? You mean it?” He asked excited yet flustered, finally able to make you his forever. All you could do was nod and get on all fours for him, your cunt dripping with arousal.

Finding him desperately fucking his hand while sniffing your underwear turned you on more than you thought it would and the way he was so desperate for you only made it worse. His tail was wagging fast when he licked a long stripe all the way from your clit to your puckered hole before stuffing his eager tongue into your pussy, dying to taste your juices. All you could do was moan helplessly, not expecting him to eat you out like a man starved but he didn't want to stop this. Slender fingers rubbed and gently pinched your puffy clit while his tongue was lapping all over your folds or fucking your tight entrance until the knot in your stomach exploded, your arousal coating his tongue and resulting him to cum untouched while he whined and whimpered into your folds.

You almost had to pry him away after your third orgasm, dying to feel his dick inside of you and who was he to deny you that? With shaking hands he lined his bulbous tip up with your slick core which caused a loud moan to erupt from both of you - he fit so perfectly inside of you and hit all the right spots so that neither of you lasted long.

Choso felt your walls clamp down and the moment you screamed his name in ecstasy it was over for him, panting hard and he really wanted to pull out but your cunt sucked him in so good that he just couldn't stop himself.

“Fuck- fuck I'm so sorry,” he whined loudly and for a second you didn't know what he's apologizing for until your eyes went wide, feeling the giant knot stretching you further than you've ever been stretched. His hot cum was spurting against your insides, your name falling from his lips in cries of pure pleasure and the knot keeping it all inside of your pussy.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled as he rested his forehead between your shoulder blades but you whimpered, the stretch borderline painful but the way you felt so connected to him now made it into something pleasurable. “Feels good… can we stay like this?” You asked breathlessly, not wanting this moment between the two of you to end and Choso only humped his hips against yours in a silent agreement and to let you feel that he was far from being done - cock still hard. His shallow thrusts right against your sweet spot made you moan again, only waiting until the knot swells off so he can fuck you properly again only to knot you to him again and again.

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[dilatorywriting]

Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight

GN!Reader x Malleus Draconia vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Who knew that in a world of magic, and mayhem, and outright villainy, that it'd be something as stupid as Valentine's Day that would push these idiots over the edge. Or, Malleus, Azul, and Vil go to war over some chocolates

A/N: This MC/Plot takes place in the Heroes vs Villains universe -- specifically Post-Staff's route, rather than any of our other lovely idiot husbands.

There was always some sort of strange overlap of customs from your world to this one. Halloween seemed to have survived more or less intact (even if it was a bit more, uh, extreme than the subtle evening of giving out treats and dressing as ghosts that you remembered). Winter Holidays were still very much a Thing, even if all other connotations had been stripped from them. Moreover, it was like someone had taken your familiar Earthen calendar and just sort of… mirrored it. Distorted it a bit. Just a lil’ bit more chaos than would have been socially acceptable back home.

So when you made a sly little joke about stocking up on discount chocolates after the Valentine’s Day rush and no one laughed—not even a little chortle, or an irritable eyeroll—you initially thought it was maybe to do with the irrationality of Sam’s Shop ever having a sale to begin with. You had not assumed that, you know, there was no Valentine’s Day at all.

“It’s an important holiday, then? Where you’re from?” Azul mused, busy scribbling endless, chicken scratch, notes in the margins of some form that was probably very important.

“I mean, not really,” you frowned, tossing your Mostro-Branded apron onto its hook. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t really know, actually.”

He hummed and moved to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, I’m always looking for new events to host at the Lounge. What exactly is it?”

“It’s a sort of special day for couples. Romance. Lovey-dovey nonsense,” you shrugged, and watched Azul’s finger slip off the slick metal frame of his glasses and nearly take his eye out. You waved off his obvious disgust with a dramatic sigh (I mean, why else would he be so stiff and red?). “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“I—I never said that!” he spluttered, and then paused to cough into his fist and clear his throat. “It just—I just wasn’t expecting something like that to…”

“Exist?”

He grinned, wry. His cheeks were still a bit too pink. “Precisely.”

“You would have loved my world,” you said. “Very capitalistic. Lots of cash-grab holidays like that.”

Azul laughed.

“I’m sure I would be fond of any place you came from.” He paused, and his expression puckered up a bit miserably—like he really hadn’t intended to express such a sentiment aloud. But he managed to smooth the sharp line of his frown back into that usual, smarmy, smirk of his easily enough. “But either way! Tell me more!” he grinned, reaching forward to grab a stack of blank paper and a fresh pen. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

.

.

The next day you were supposed to help the Drama Club start building some stage scenery for their newest play. It was proper grunt work, which was perhaps the only sort of work you were actually qualified for. And Vil always made sure that there were plenty of disgustingly healthy but still quite tasty snacks available for the help to munch on. The food spread alone would have been worth the trip, but on top of that, Vil had made you promise. Practically a blood oath, binding you and your meager free time to the shitty supply closet in the corner of the Auditorium. And as sour as he could be sometimes, you really could never say no to him when he always looked so heart meltingly fond whenever you did agree to while away the hours at his side. That lovely face and even lovelier smile of his were fucking lethal. A war crime, surely, to use it against someone as plain and susceptible to bribery as you were.

But today you were now an idiot on a mission—an idiot determined to spread the joy of a trashy holiday that really probably shouldn’t exist in the first place, let alone in a world where people worshipped storybook villains as veritable deities. And you’d already bought all the molds, and the trays, and you really didn’t have a lot of spare pocket money to begin with, so letting this investment go to waste would not only be a shame, but a terrible business investment.

“What do you mean you’re not coming,” Vil sneered, glaring down his perfectly straight nose at you.

“I really am sorry,” you said, mostly genuine. “But I have something I need to do this afternoon.”

“You’ve made other plans?” he frowned, something a little too unsettled to fit with his usual regality twisting across his expression.

“I have to get ready for Valentine’s Day,” you explained, and his brow tugged down further. Though that earlier twinge of panic seemed to have vanished at least. You pointedly shook your grocery bag full of goodies. “I’m going to make chocolates for everyone.”

“Chocolates?” Vil echoed, confused.

You nodded. “It’s a tradition back home. You give stuff like candy and flowers to the people you care about. Normally it’s a holiday for couples, or whatever. But. Well…”

The ‘I Am Fully Aware That I’m Single as a Pringle, Please Just Let Me Have This One Thing’ was left unsaid, but it hung in the air around your head like a very persistent storm cloud nonetheless. Vil, magnanimously, seemed perfectly happy to ignore the Woe Is Me implications spewing from your mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he was dipping precariously close into your personal space. His amethyst eyes had lit with blatant interest at your ramblings, and he hummed low in his throat.

“Is that so?” he mused, gaze lidded and warm. “That sounds… intriguing.”

You nodded past the heady scent of his cologne fogging your head. What was it with attractive people, huh? It was so unfair. You don’t get to look and smell good. Pick a lane. Save some dignity for the rest of us.

“So, I promise I’ll help another day. I just have a feeling making chocolates is going to wind up being a lot harder than I think it will.”

Because that’s how it always went in your stupid slice-of-life shows. The poor, harried, protagonist thinking they’re doing a good deed—painstakingly constructing their own, special, homemade goodies for all their important people. Making them with love. And then having it all blow up in their face like a goddamn, cocoa flavored, nuke. Nope. Not you, motherfucker. Your chocolates were going to be divine. You were going to take every, tropey, precaution in the book. And that of course included allotting yourself ample time to make mistakes your masterpiece.

“Of course,” Vil grinned. “How could I possibly begrudge you for wanting to spend your time on something so heartfelt?”

“Thank you,” you blurted, relived. Because at least he got it. Azul had been so ridiculously insistent that you should prepare all your Valentine’s Day wishes as a team. Which was not the point. He’d spent hours last night trying to wheedle his way into your plans—with endless platitudes about ‘business partners always being there for each other,’ and ‘how would he know if he was celebrating to your standards if he wasn’t given a model to work off of first?’ Utter bullshit. He’d probably just wanted free labor.

“Tomorrow, then?” Vil beamed and you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

“Well, then,” he hummed. “I better get to work as well. I suppose the scenery can wait.”

You nodded in farewell and began the trek back to Ramshackle and its marginally functional kitchens. You hadn’t realized Vil was taking on any new projects, but if it was enough to have him putting off the Club’s activities as well then it must have been pretty important. Maybe he’d get you tickets to it whenever he finished—whatever it was. If there were tickets? How did any of the things he did actually work? Hell if you knew.

.

.

Making chocolates was, in fact, a laughably easy endeavor. And you found yourself cursing every goddamn Shoujo Bullshit Manga under the sun for leading you to think otherwise. The hardest part of the entire thing was fighting off Grim and his wandering paws.

You made up some basic truffles which were, again, stupidly simple. Just some messily chopped chocolate, cream, and a little splash of vanilla to make it Special. Once those were shaped into messy blobs, you dipped them into some more melted chocolate and bam. That was it. That was literally it. You felt like a genius—sitting there mushing up balls of cocoa like high-end playdough.

By 6PM, you had all your little darlings tucked into the refrigerator to harden, all the gauzy, red, boxes lined up on your counter and ready to be filled, and Grim had been placated with an offering of all your dirty mixing bowls. The tiny, demonic, beast was passed out at the dingy kitchen table—one of said bowls wedged onto his head like an astronaut’s helmet. Hopefully it was just a food coma and not, like, an actual coma-coma. Real cats couldn’t eat chocolate, but Grim never really seemed real at all. So hopefully he’d be fine.

You wiped down your cooking space once, twice. Paced up and down the narrow hallway until you were wearing away the already threadbare rugs, and spent way too long just standing in front of the fridge—staring in on your chocolates like a psychotic kidnapper scoping out their next victims.

Eventually you realized that you maybe needed to do something with your evening that wasn’t just creeping on your confections, and set out into the frosty, night, air for a stroll.

Which is, of course, where you ran into your familiar, horned, friend—staring up into the starry sky in a wistful manner that darkened his pale complexion into something nearly ominous. He always looked a bit like that, like something unearthly and detached from the rest of the world.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped happily, and that adrift-at-sea expression of his melted right off his face.

“Child of Man,” he greeted, inclining his head politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.” His brow furrowed, almost confused. “Is it not too cold for you?”

Your breath was, in fact, fogging in front of your face. And you couldn’t really feel your toes anymore. But the electric anticipation of tomorrow was keeping you warm enough. Even if only in spirit.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you waved him off. And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward on your tippytoes and blurted out, “Happy Almost Valentine’s Day!”

“Valentine’s Day?” Malleus repeated back at you, looking like you’d just handed him an unsolvable differential equation.

“It’s a holiday from back home,” you explained for the umpteenth time that day. “And normally I’m not too fussed about it, but this year I’m really excited to give everyone their chocolates!” You grinned. “And you too, of course. I have to make sure I give them to all my important people.”

The furrow between his brows vanished, but the blatant, gaping, confusion remained. He looked like you’d nearly startled him into an early grave.

“I am one of your most important people?” he asked, slow as a tortoise making its way up an incline.

You nodded cheerfully, still bellied by your earlier culinary successes and excellent mood. “Of course you are! We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides. Valentine’s Day is for showing people how much you care about them.”

“What an interesting concept,” he mused, bringing a finger up to tap at his chin. “To think your world had such a heartfelt tradition—it’s quite a lovely surprise.”

You laughed. “If you think the chocolates are special, you should see what some couples do for each other. Rooms full of flowers, fancy date nights—I’m just managing the bare minimum.”

“Couples?” he echoed, and you felt the first teeny, hot, thread of chagrin work its way past your enthusiasm.

“Well, normally Valentine’s Day focuses on, like, romantic things,” you said, averting your gaze just in time to miss the tension lance through his shoulders. “But it can be for all sorts of affection!” you hastily added.

“Is that so…” the Prince hummed. He lifted his pensive gaze once more and stared you down with that weighted intensity that you’d only just recently learned how not to buckle beneath. “And you wish to celebrate this day. With me?”

“…you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, hesitant.

“Of course not, Child of Man,” he beamed, his lips curling up into a smile that put all his too-sharp teeth on display. “But you’ll have to excuse me now, I’m afraid. It seems I have some preparations to undertake this evening.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes,” Malleus said. “You will.”

.

.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and you were ready to begin your mission of forcing your sweets onto every, single, one of your reluctant friends. Let them be pissy and tsundere. You weren’t afraid to weep and proclaim your undying, shounen-talk-no-jutsu, levels of friendship. Okay. Maybe you were a little. But these grouchy bastards had very easily become your grouchy bastards, and so help you God, they would suffer under your affection and they would like it.

There were plenty of small boxes—all nice, neat, corners with little bows perched on top. But you had also prepared a singular, larger, tray. It was cleaner cut than the rest, with bold, contrasting, colors and a simple elegance. You stared it down with a strange sort of disquiet brewing in your gut. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Goodness knows you’d more than dealt with the searing, emotionally destructive, consequences of that before. But all the same…

You squared your shoulders and spent a moment convincing yourself that your spine was quite sturdy—a proper, titanium, support system—and then popped the Big Box into the bag with the others.

Your first stop was Heartslabyul, and you burst through the ornate, crimson, doors like a manic home invader.

“I come bearing gifts,” you proclaimed, merrily doling out the boxes to your favorite idiot duo. You set three more aside, with little labels for Riddle, Trey, and Cater respectively. Normally you wouldn’t trust a dorm full of teenage boys not to devour any scrap of unattended food in sight, but Riddle had long since struck the fear of God into these poor lads. So you figured it’d be safe.

Deuce’s face lit up and he accepted the chocolate with near starry-eyed enthusiasm.

“Are these your holiday presents? Like the Santa Claus?” he asked, looking very much like a bouncy golden retriever preparing itself for congratulatory head pats.

You leaned forward with an indulgent huff to give him his pats. “No. But close enough.”

You pawned off three boxes on Ruggie when he tried to duck past you in the hallway—one for him, one for Leona, and one extra as payment for making him do your dirty work of playing delivery boy to Mister Grump in the first place. You slipped Jack his on the way into Trein’s morning lecture, and managed to press a box into Jamil’s hands before he slunk off to the library. Kalim cheered so loudly when you handed him one that your ears started to ring.

And then trouble arrived in the form of two, slippery, eels draping themselves across your shoulders. Normally the destructive duo seemed to act on their own prerogative, but on this fortuitous morning their Lord and Master was surprisingly not too far behind.

“Shrimpy!~” Floyd trilled, dragging you into a one-armed hug that was really more of a slightly-less-aggressive headlock than anything else. “Azul says you came up with this stupid holiday! And he made us work all day yesterdayto put together stuff for the Lounge! It’s not fair!”

Your legs shook under the weight of the new tumor that had made its home on your back.

“Now, Floyd,” Jade chirped. All finely manicured cruelty. “If you’re to blame anyone for going overboard with this entire situation, you ought to lay the fault on our fearless leader.” His bi-colored eyes flashed, amused. “Isn’t that right, Azul?”

Said ‘fearless leader’ looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He glared bitterly at his subordinate, seeming to share an entire, silent, argument with him, before turning back on you with a heavy sigh and the barest hint of angry flush in his cheeks.

“Prefect,” he grinned past his obvious discomfort, all sparkling, white, teeth. “I have to thank you for sharing so much information about this ‘Valentine’s Day’ of yours. It’s such a unique event, and it seems like our preparations at the Lounge are already being received incredibly well.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, trying and failing to shrug the Leech off your shoulders. “I’m glad I could help.”

Azul hummed under his breath, his eyes darting away for a moment. His glasses reflected the muted light of the hall in an odd way—making it difficult to read his expression. He cleared his throat and when he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by, of course,” he beamed, suave as could be.

“I mean,” you blinked. “I would hope so. I work there.”

Floyd let out a bark of laughter and Jade snickered into his glove. The pleasant pink tinting Azul’s skin was heating to a near sunburned red. He looked down and coughed into his fist.

“Yes…” he mumbled. “I—I’m aware. But what I meant is… What I meant—” He frowned. It was a tight, pouty, little thing that scrunched up his entire face. That mottled red had spread to the bridge of his nose.

“I do believe what Azul is trying to say,” Jade stepped in, clearly taking some sort of pity on his tongue-tied friend. Or perhaps pity was the wrong word for it, seeing how smug he looked, “is that he would like to invite you to the event personally. As an honored guest, not an employee.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. Then hesitated, cautious on instinct. There was always some sort of catch to the Octomer’s kindness. “I don’t know if I could afford whatever fancy thing you’ve thrown together.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for it,” Azul assured you, some of that sickly flush having finally started to recede from his cheeks. You hoped he was feeling alright. “You’ve contributed more than enough for the day. It would be on the house.”

Jade loudly cleared his throat and Azul huffed, eyes sliding away yet again.

“I would be paying,” he finally mumbled. And then, even quieter, “As I believe is the custom.”

Just as you were about to thank him for his startling bought of generosity (and also ask after his health, because between the weird, pink, tinge to his skin and the aforementioned generosity, clearly somethingwas out of sorts with him), you noticed a sneaky hand working its way into your bag of goodies, and you immediately were on the defensive.

“Hey!” you snapped, spinning out of Floyd’s stranglehold. “You only get one!”

“Then I want the really big one!” he demanded, making grabby motions at it.

“No!” you squeaked, and clutched it protectively to your chest. The trio looked at you with varying degrees of surprise and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “This one—This one is special.”

“Oh?” Jade cooed, eyes flickering back towards Azul, who seemed determined to look absolutely anywhere else. “Is it now?”

“Awww,” Floyd whined. “That’s no fair! Who’s it for, anyways?!”

You gripped the box tighter and now it was your turn to stiffly avert your eyes down to the ugly carpet. “It’s not—I’m not—” you cleared your throat and forced the jitter from your voice. “I’m not ready to give it to him yet.”

The silence that followed was absolutely the worst thing you’d experienced in a long, long, time. Overblots and all. You could practically hear your blood pounding in your ears. You were just about to turn and beat a hasty retreat when a familiar, snappish, voice called your name from the other side of the corridor.

“There you are, potato,” Vil huffed, coming to stand at your side and bodily inserting himself between you and your tormentors. He met Azul’s petulant sneer with a frankly terrifying one of his own. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d be eating lunch with me today.”

You remembered no such thing, but if it got you out of this verbal minefield of a conversation, you were more than willing to take the claim at face value.

“Apologies,” Azul cut in with all his usual, mafioso, flair. “But the Prefect will be taking their afternoon meal at the Mostro Lounge today.”

“Is that so?” Vil hummed, sounding positively venomous.

“Unless you think you can make an offer good enough to sway them otherwise,” Azul chirped, equally as unpleasant.

Vil laughed—cold and sharp as crystal. It was the most elegant display of blatant irritation you’d ever seen.

“Of course you’d only consider this entire situation on a transactional basis,” he drawled, entirely unimpressed. Azul flinched and his expression screwed up into something near petulant. “I would expect no less. Are you planning to lock them into a contact too, hmm? Sign away everything in formal, sterile, terms?” Vil crossed his arms, and you were reminded sharply once more how very, very lucky you were to not be on his bad side (even if you hadn’t realized before all this that Azul apparently was on said bad side. You had no idea they disliked each other so terribly). “I really hadn’t expected you to have a single, romantic, bone in your body, and yet somehow I’m still disappointed to be proved so entirely correct.”

Azul looked ready to explode, and even though Jade and Floyd and melted back into the shadows at the start of this entire encounter, the pair of them were starting to look a bit murderous too—like sharks lazily circling the dark, ocean, depths.  

“Don’t you think you deserve better?” Vil asserted, turning back to face you with a soft cant of the head. You blinked back in shock.

“Uh,” you gaped, absolutely fucking lost.

And then, like a beacon of unrivaled, black-drenched, hope, you spotted Malleus making his way down the hallway. He was flanked by his trio of housemates-cum-pseudo-bodyguards. Normally you tried to leave him alone when his rabid, green-haired, guard dog was yipping at his heels, and on top of that, the idea of using your classmates’ ingrained fear of the Fae Prince to your own advantage upset your rather staunch sensibilities. But this was an emergency.

“Tsunotarou!” you called, and it absolutely sounded like the cry for help it was.

He perked up immediately and you watched him nearly crash to a standstill. And then his sharp, neon, gaze locked on the dueling Housewardens circling you like a pair of snapping wolves, and his merry expression shuttered into something positively glacial. Which was—Fuck. I mean. Come on. What the fuck was going on today—

“Child of Man,” he droned, crossing the short distance with all the grace of the near-mythical, arcane, master that he was. His posture was more collected and regal than you’d ever seen it, and he loomed all the taller for it.

Azul and Vil had gone tense at your side, one certainly more so than other. The Octomer looked incredibly unsettled at Malleus’s sudden arrival, but Vil just looked angrier. It was the sort of unpleasantness that bloomed whenever someone challenged him or his competencies over and over—inevitably pushing the normally composed beauty into an indignant rage.

“Happy Day of Valentine’s,” Malleus continued, slotting himself firmly into the veritable territory dispute going down. “Are you quite alright?”

No, you wanted to wail. No! I’m so confused! I have no idea what’s going on! I just wanted to give my friends chocolates!

But you never managed to get those words or any others past your lips, because Sebek Zigvolt shot to his master’s side with all the speed of the lightning for which he was so named, and immediately began to scream.

“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE YOUNG MASTER’S AFTERNOON ROUTINE!” he shrieked at the top of his very impressive lungs.

You weren’t sure if he was howling at you (very likely) or just anyone who wasn’t Malleus, but Jade took the opportunity to slink forward from the shadows with a sharp tut-tut.

“Perhaps none of you deserve the Prefect’s special attentions,” he piped in, sounding very much like someone intentionally throwing a cannister of gasoline onto an already roaring fire. “Or any chocolates at all—let alone the ones set aside for someone special.”

At this, silence once more rang through the corridor and you wanted to throttle that stupid eel.

“There is a special box?” Malleus asked first, brow shooting up as his expression tugged with… something.

“I—I mean, I made all of yours special!” you defended, holding the wrapped treasure tightly to your chest. “But… I guess. Yes. There’s one that’s a little bigger than the others.”

At this, all three Housewardens exchanged pointed looks.

Jade smiled serenely once more, and then continued his absolute massacre upon your person.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded. “And our dearest Prefect only just mentioned that—hmm. How did you word it? Ah. That’s right. ‘I’m not ready to give it to him yet.’”

The trio tensed. All looking absolutely ready to pounce. At—at what, you had no idea.

“Perhaps,” the wretch mused, “it would be best for you all to temper your rage until the victor is decided, hmm?” He paused to tap at his chin for a moment, and then his lips split into a mean, jagged, grin. “Afterwards? Well, I suppose that whole cheery sentiment about ‘love and war’ still holds true.”

You gulped, feeling startlingly like Jade had just tried to serve you up on a silver platter.

But when neither Azul, Vil, or Malleus made any further moves to murder each other… well. As sacrificial as it all felt, at least it must have worked.

The rest of the day passed in a tense sort of fugue. You certainly hadn’t expected your attempts at bringing some holiday cheer to Night Raven to go so… Uh…

But either way, you managed to survive through the rest of the afternoon, and before you knew it, all that remained of all your tireless efforts and good will was the Special Box. The big one. The one that you’d put together with extra care and hopes for better things. You glared down at it for a moment, feeling sweat starting to bead over your palms. But you couldn’t chicken out now. Not after you’d come so far! Everyone was acting so strange, and it was all so weird. And as much as that unfamiliarity had your teeth on edge and your hackles raised, you didn’t want to regret not giving out the last of your well-made sweets.

Well, here goes nothing, you frowned. You took a deep breath, willed yourself to be brave, and smiled your biggest smile.

“Here,” you beamed, more than a little shy and still a bit horrified by whatever pissing match had been going down earlier in the day, and finally offered the grandest of your chocolate boxes to the man standing opposite you.

Divus Crewel accepted your offering daintily, plucking at the crisp, sharp, wrapping with his crimson gloves. He arched one of his thin brows at you and you fought the nervous heat rising in your cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. “I know it’s not a thing here, but I thought it’d be nice.”

The second eyebrow joined the first—practically jumping all the way up into his fringe.

“I appreciate the gesture. Though from what I understand of all the garish advertising I’ve seen for Mostro Lounge’s new event, I assumed this was a holiday for romantic overtures,” he intoned, wry.

You spluttered and waved your hands furiously. “I mean! Normally! Yes! But also…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. “If you don’t have a—a, well, someone, then Valentine’s is just a nice excuse to give something to people you care about.” You averted your gaze and lost the battle to twist your fingers into your jacket sleeves. “My family used to give me chocolates every year. So. I thought I could… Well…” you trailed off on a grumble, embarrassed.

Crewel sighed and popped the lid off the box. He plucked two truffles from their casing—keeping one for himself and handing you the other.

“Well, then. A very happy Valentine’s to you, Prefect,” he droned and popped the chocolate into his mouth with a thoughtful hum.

You lit up like a Christmas tree and happily gobbled up your own treat. So distracted were you by the one-two-punch combo of the delicious sugar and even sweeter taste of your Professor’s approval that you almost entirely missed the pointed glare he shot over your shoulder.

“I appreciate your regard,” he said, loud. Sharp. And like he wasn’t talking to you at all. “And while I’m certain that if you do pick a ‘someone’ for yourself to celebrate with in the following years, they’ll have to work very hard to be worthy of such a gift, hmm?” His lip curled unpleasantly, in direct contrast to the indulgent warmth that had been tugging at his expression only a moment before. “I could hardly allow you to waste such a thoughtful gesture on someone unworthy.”

The Octavinelle Housewarden had the decency to look at least a little panicked—his face going pale and gaunt from where he was shrinking into his high collar. There was a frantic look about him, like he was trying to weigh the cost-benefit ratio of going up against his professor in his head, and realizing that he was stupidly, willfully, walking right into a lose-lose situation. And that, sadly—miserably—he was going to keep doing just that. The other two, however, looked entirely undeterred. Schoenheit curled his lip right back at him, more than ready to duke it out here and now, and Crewel fought the urge to remind the blonde that he was the adult in this situation, thank you very much. The adult who could very well revoke the Warden’s access to his Alchemy Labs as it suited him. The very alchemy labs that he knew Vil had been using to concoct all kinds of new, personalized, gifts for you. Draconia simply looked on with that unnervingly ancient, green, leer of his. Like he was staring down a particularly fascinating game. The Fae Prince was the most unsettling of the trio, if only because that while Crewel was more than confident enough in his abilities to subdue his other wayward students, fighting off an Immortal, All Powerful, Dragon was going to require at least a little bit of prep work.

Divus Crewel sighed, and it rattled all the way out from the marrow of his bones.

“Come, then,” he rumbled, directing you to follow him back into his office. “It’s not chocolates, but I probably have some of those ridiculous cookies of yours lying around somewhere.” Which he did. Boxes upon boxes of them. Tucked away special for whenever you came to visit. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, even under the pain of death.

Your eyes went wide and warm as you positively beamed.

It was rotten work, certainly. He shot one, last, warning glare down the hall at the trio of infatuated interlopers as he firmly shut his office door behind you and your absolute oblivious idiocy. He’d do it. Of course he would. But, Christ alive. He was going to need a stronger drink.

[itsonlydana]

Anything with Thranduil in it makes me happy. Something about taking Elrond's daughter after he does not accept the wooing our king proposed to him.

This Secret of Mine // Runaways | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Thranduil asks Lord Elrond for permission to court you - it doesn't end the way he thought

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/little comfort

word count: 1,9k

an: wrote this bad boy in one sitting! The muse of angst made herself comfortable on my shoulders

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The moon stood silver and high over Rivendell, yet, despite the peaceful sounds of the night, sleep would not come to you. It had avoided you for a while and even if your kind did not need as much rest as the kind of men, the days you spent wandering aimlessly through the halls were beginning to take a toll on your mind and body; a constant ache behind your temple had formed and a pull came from the beating heart behind your chest, ever tugging on you to keep on moving or it shall stretch to tightly and snap. 

So you kept on moving. 

Down the corridors, over steps and stairs, up the open towers that overlooked all those who rested soundless and in a mockery of your state, but that did not distract you much. To be truthful, you were glad no one was there to notice how you walked all of Rivendell, head lowered to watch your feet cross wet grass, rippled stone, even marmor, and woven carpets, or held high to let your eyes wander over the high walls until they inevitably fell to the council, never hidden from your view despite the many halls you passed through. 

The feeling of restlessness had taken over your body, pushing out any hints of exhaustion for what you could only describe as a potion of fear, nervousness, and a bit of hope that remained. Once again you glanced at the open council, at the silhouettes of the two elves you loved most. 

They had been arguing for most of the day and now the discussion had bled into the night, staining the otherwise clear sky with heavy frowns striking deep lines into smooth faces – lightning had no chance against the thunderous expression that slowly chipped away at whatever hope kindled in you.

Great King of the Woodland Elves Thranduil had arrived not long after sunrise, his most trusted guard Feren as well as four others riding through the gates on what could only be a mission.

You, of course, had known all along that this would happen today. As soon as Thranduil had asked for Lord Elrond, keeping his eyes away from yours to minimize the unavoidable chaos and uproar that his presence alone brought forth, you felt your father stiffen next to you for he realized the question Thranduil would call for.

Thranduil had strutted past you, his hand fleetingly brushing yours rather than his eyes though a glance or smile would have probably calmed your father more than this loving and silent gesture of affection, so loudly proclaimed in front of his – so far – unknowing court and even as you had felt Thranduil's fingers on your wrist, had heard the gasps of onlookers and saw the sharp look of, well, disappointment and fury on your fathers closed off face, a rock formed inside your throat and uneasiness came in the form of a heavy hole that ate through your stomach.

Today was the day Thranduil would ask your father to court you officially and fear grew this would be the day this sweet love of yours would end. Thranduil had courted you in secret for years now, always sending letters and whenever you met, he loved you under the stars, whispering promises of proposing even if you both knew Lord Elrond would not be amused. Not after Arwen fell in love with the ranger, devoting herself to one unable to share the long life she had yet to live and always the romantic, Arwen would one day be forced to choose between her family and her ranger. Your father feared for this day to come, already he looked at her as if he had long lost her.

He would not accept Thranduil as your husband, was a bitter realization as you hard heartily turned your back after your father inclined his head in your direction and the distance could not protect you from the pang of hurt that followed his disappointment and spread all across every limb.

The two sides of this love were tearing you apart because there was this soft warmness of Thranduil's touch, the pink hues and bright sunlight, laughter thick as honey and sweet like it, and whenever he looked at you, held you, you believed you would never feel as utterly complete and fulfilled but then he had to leave and darkness took over. This love lifted you yet it had the power to open the grounds and push you down further than you had ever fallen. 

You did not know how long you lingered around in the shadows of walls that had enclosed you your entire life but suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist and you were pulled around a corner.

"He will not allow it," Thranduil growled and confirmed what you had dreaded. His chest heaved from heavy intakes of breaths, infiltrating his voice to sound deeper: "Decades of allyship and solidarity" – he spat out the word like it was acid on his lips, tongue pressing against his clenched teeth – "all for him to stand there and dismiss me. Us" 

Thranduil's anger normally presented itself in arrogance rather than this open display of unfiltered emotions but there were moments that brought out the dragon that slumbered deep inside his ancient soul and now, fist curled into itself and his eyes hardened, you felt the tremble, the roar, the fire that could burn down all around him to ashes if he unleashed the beasts he'd sworn to banish. 

Your hand trembled as you lifted it to his chest, curling right above his racing heart and his eyes snapped to you, and for a moment you thought he had forgotten you were even there but then the corner of his curled lips dropped.

"Let me talk to him," you pleaded.

Thranduil scoffed rather dismissively, "Lord Elrond has made his point rather clear." 

Now it was you who frowned in displeasure. "He is my father! He must listen to me," you argued and Thranduil lifted your hand to kiss your knuckles gently.

"I fear it is no use," Thranduil said, fingers caressing your skin in a language he otherwise whispered into your ear, the meaning more bitter than sweet. He slowed down, deep in thought and his eyes wandered over your face. "I told him I will take my leave." 

"Leave?" You cried out and flinched as if he had hit you and somehow he had, his words strung across your soul and body not unlike a whip, leaving behind echoes of pain and a burn all over your heart. "There has to be the chance of another conversation! He surely is overwhelmed, but –" you stopped yourself only to continue lying for the hope to blossom again even if there was nothing but shade over your future, "he came around to Aragorn! You said it yourself; he knows you! The history of our people is intertwined for longer than we have been witnesses and–"

It was Thranduil who stopped your forlorn rambling with his other hand coming up to your neck, cupping it gently and pulling your face into his shoulder where your words left you in a shaky exhale, damp and into cold fabric. 

You breathed in, nose buried into his red cloak.

His scent brought little comfort in this moment but you were desperate and if you closed your eyes, the pine needles reminded you of the days you ran around the forests, and the salt of your own tears mixed into the fragrance of his musk left you to think of splashing in the sea, his hair floating in the water like reflections of the silver moon. These adventures could only happen because you had been careful to hide all affection toward the King to let your father allow you the travels in his name, to sit in meetings under the pretense of bringing messages while Thranduil's hand caressed yours under the table and he kissed you breathlessly in the shadows of his halls, your fingers digging into the walls you hoped to reign over some day. 

The decision that rested under your breastbone was easy to say out loud.

"Take me with you." You swallowed hard and shifted to look up into his shocked face. "Let us leave together and he shall realize our love needs not his approval."

"You can not leave – your life is here." Thranduil nodded at the buildings surrounding you and you followed where his chin pointed to.

The high arches always had enough room for big dreams, but now there was no space left for what you had, certainly, it would suffocate all that went further and above. Bathed in moonlight the intricate columns held up all except your crumbling composure. The connection you had once felt, the familiarity of paths you could walk in your sleep, and the marks you had carved into the many trees surrounding the place, all those tasted ashen in your dry mouth.

"My life is here!" you pressed yourself closer to Thranduil's strong chest which always proved to be a constant rock in stormy weather, "With you! You are the very air I need to breathe and a pillar that holds me up! I will perish if you leave me in this place, where my father can not accept who I love." 

He opened his mouth to say something but a breath punched the words away. You blinked fast, there was no want for tears, not when you had to tell him what you felt if it was the last thing that could convince him to abandon whatever he thought would be best for you.

"Every time you say goodbye my fëa dwindles –"

"Meleth nîn–"

"No, please let me follow where you go – I cannot withstand another separation from you or the grief will overtake me and I do not want Námo's judgment yet," mentioning the name of Mandos sent shivers across your body and you pleaded further, because now you were still alive and able to declare your love for the life you could build together, "I would trade these cliffs for the leaves of your forest, the waterfalls for the springs that nurture the roots of your kingdom!"

There was a shift in him, you felt him pulling away, and desperate you clung to him, shaking your head frantically as he inclined his head. "No," you said, "No, no–" His fingers started to slip away from your hand, taking away any stability that grounded you, leaving you to grasp at whatever you could get from him, whether it was the robes you fisted into your hands or the threat of love that bound you together, you continued to shake your head, "No, don't you dare do this to me, Thranduil. You cannot do this to me!"

Thranduil crumbled, first his eyes suddenly took you in as if he would never see you again but wanted to keep you in his memory, and then his body followed close. His forehead dropped against yours, an arm wrapped around your middle to pull you close and you gasped at the shaking of his hands. 

"Please–" you whispered.

Thranduil quickly silenced you with a kiss so full of longing and desperation that, although no sounds except whimpers swallowed by his lips left you, allowed tears to well up in your eyes, saying so much more. 

When you opened your eyes his were shining wet as well and a glistening tear rolled over his cheek until it dropped from his jaw, darkening the collar of his blood-red cloak which covered you both. "We will leave together," he finally agreed. His nose brushed yours, "I will do what I have to keep you by my side, even if thus brings forth a divide between the folk. Your love is worth more than any allyship," his lips chased after yours, lightening the fire and hope, "Let me build you a home for our dreams and will face all the consequences."

This was how it was decided. 

You packed no more than what you had on you and when Thranduil helped you in the saddle of his horse and you turned to look over his shoulder, one last look to capture Rivendell one last time, you saw the figure of your father, standing lonely in the nightly mist. You only realized that you were crying when Thranduil wrapped an arm around you to pull you into his chest and then the wind was already there to wipe the drops away to flow back into the night and water the ground of your childhood. 

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Ask and ye shall receive! Double update today because that last part was so short and Vox'less.

He's so melodramatic. Vox and Alastor have their pity party tantrums in common for suuuuure.

More Than Anything Part 2.5 VOX POV [Vox x Reader]

Part 1

Part 2

More Than Anything Part 2.5 VOX POV [Vox x Reader]

To say Vox was furious would be an understatement. Much like you, his emotions ran HIGH. And dear god were they going haywire after he came to.

When Valentino finally came into his room after hearing so much crashing and screaming all the way from the large break room exclusively made for the Vee's, the bedroom was a wreck. Broken screens and miscellaneous things were thrown everywhere. Vox had even tossed a lamp through one of the large wall windows that overlooked the city. Valentino peered curiously down to see a crowd taking pictures of some poor sinner who had been squashed by the offending piece of furniture.

Vox was trembling with anger and heartache as Valentino looked over him with an unreadable expression. A sadistic part of Valentino was actually enjoying Vox's suffering. The moth still wasn't quite over Vox bringing their on-and-off situationship to an official end. Valentino didn't see what the big deal about you was and it annoyed him that Vox was "pursuing something real" as if he wasn't enough. It wasn't his fault Vox was so damn petty!

Valentino still liked to hope that maybe your relationship would end and things could go back to how they were before, but without Vox bitching about Valentino fucking Angel as much. That being said, he also knew he should probably get Vox calm before he caused any more of a scene that could be noticed by the public.

He opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut with an unimpressed frown as Vox screamed in rage and tried to flip the bed. He was such a man-child sometimes.

"THAT O̷̡̧̅͆L̷̻̒̇D̸̞̆-̶̲̓Ţ̵̧́̽I̷̝͐̈M̵͉̀̈E̸̩̗̿Y̸̜̪̑͐ NO GOOD SON OF A F̸̄ͅU̵̲͒C̴͓͠Ḵ̷̇I̸̤͉͑̅Ṅ̶͚͊G̸̣̅ ̷͔͋̄B̴͖̍̚Î̵̖T̸͕̆Ċ̴̪Ḧ̷̖́, "He growled. "Why couldn't Alastor just keep his stupid tinny voice s̴̤̿͒h̴̳̔́ͅǔ̷͙̣t̷̩͍́́?̶̰̐!̶̳̟́"

Valentino rolled his eyes, pulling out his lighter and blowing out a plume of smoke. He knew it didn't actually work on Vox, but it helped calm his own nerves. "Oh, come now cabrón. You act like you didn't do this to yourself."

"Oh go choke to double death on a horse cock," Vox spat as his claws ripped into something else. The last thing he needed was Valentino rubbing salt in the wound. Vox knew this was his fault. He knew he'd fucked up and crossed a line. But it was easier to blame Alastor for spilling the secret. It was easier to blame him, rather than look at the cold hard truth that in his attempts to protect you, he may have lost you for good.

He'd called you twenty times and had sent so many texts that the security system he'd installed on your phone flagged him as spam. Needless to say, he hacked into they system and tore the firewalls he'd designed to shreds. The only thing that kept him from rebooting for the fifth time in the past hour was the distant feeling of your soul. He felt where you were and felt that you were safe. But he could also feel your pain. The soul bound by his own could feel the way it tore itself into pieces as you burned through the angst that he'd caused.

"Don't get snippy with me," Valentino scoffed. He crossed the room and used his pipe to lift Vox's face. Vox smacked the damn thing away from him with a snarl, and Valentino simply blew a puff of smoke against his screen. "It's not my fault that your little cunt of a plaything is so sensitive. You're the one who asked for this, baby."

Vox flinched hard as Valentino's hands trailed down his chest. His heart rate picked up for another reason as the pink haze swirled between them. Sometimes the way Valentino manipulated him every which way so easily made Vox wonder if he truly was immune to the aphrodisiac of Valentino's spells.

"Isn't it about time you forget that little bitch and come crawling back?" Valentino purred, his nails scratching down Vox's chest and drawing blood. He lowered his face to the side of Vox's head and smirked. "Come back to me, luciérnaga~"

Vox gasped, his arms shooting out and shoving Valentino away from him. Valentino squawked in outrage as Vox felt an unpleasant hum of anxious energy thrumming through his veins. He felt a panic attack approaching rapidly and retreated into one of the broken cameras that still had an electrical charge. He reappeared in his monitor room and fell to his knees. He lurched as he fought the urge to vomit and grit his teeth as dead pixels filled his screen through the painful glitches.

Everything was too much. It was too damn much.

You. Valentino. Alastor. His own damn hubris. It was too much. He sent out a fresh wave of desperate pleas to your phone's inbox as he spiraled into self-doubt and loathing. He needed you back. You were the one that showed him a brighter life. One that wasn't bound to the poisonous desire of Valentino. A life where he felt seen for who he really was. You didn't see him as a figurehead of evil intent and merciless charisma like everyone else. You didn't see his power, you knew his weakness. And you showed him that he could be loved for it, not just in spite of it.

The week passes by in a blur. Valentino didn't mention the way Vox rejected him and both of the Vee's tried to force Vox to get his shit together. They even held him down and locked him in a room without cameras when he tried to leave the tower to go after you. The image of the trio was too precious for either Vee to let him destroy it in an emotional rampage.

They'd given him a shit old phone to keep obsessively trying to get ahold of you through, but besides that, he was practically a prisoner to his own fuck ups.

"I̵̥͗'̴͇͈̏͗ṃ̵͎̇͠ ̷̘̐͝s̸̖̈̽ȏ̷̼̞r̴̛̯̈ȑ̸̩͘ỹ̷̪," Vox sobbed as he held the phone to his head in a broken prayer. His voice and screen hadn't been clear for the past day. He was at his wit's end and wondered how he ever thought hell was hell before now. This was the suffering all the dumbasses back on earth expected for the forsaken. Hell before now was a piece of cake compared to what he felt now.

He was alone and sinking further into his own despair. And the only thing that'd be able to pull him out was you.

[venjras]

FAMILY FRIEND - GOJO SATORU.

just a simple prompt because i was bored and had this idea in my head way too much lately. was thinking about making it a series, what do y’all think? ( wrote it in a rush, so excuse my grammar )

it's been a lifetime since you've started hearing about gojo, the family friend of endless qualities. but punctually there was never a chance to actually meet him, like a curse that brought both to diametrically different places whenever there was an opportunity for a possible clash. you heard about it at family dinners, during the update phone calls with your brother, there were even his t-shirts in the laundry basket every time you came home for spring breaks.

and it was about damn time, today was the day.

right now you were floating on the crystal clear surface of the pool water, enjoying the warm contrast that the sun's rays of that day of mid-august brought. with your eyes closed, you almost felt like you were levitating and as if everything around you was just the result of your imagination, so heavenly. the head inevitably went back to the night before, to the club where you were with your friends to celebrate the graduation. you had lost them after an hour from the arrival, they probably were with some guy and with the certainty that for that evening you weren’t going to see them again.

in fact, you found yourself alone, sitting at the bar counter turning the ice of your cocktail around with the deafening music that rumbled in your ears. a little puff came out of your lips, you didn't even realise the bulky presence next to you, imposing and massive, that would have no problem towering over your little frame. at some point you see the bartender replace your drink with a new one, gesture that makes you frown and finally get the first glance of that white haired boy and crystalline look that had long been resting on your face.

“i thought you'd use some company.” his deep voice resounded in your whole body, almost overcoming the loud speakers. your gaze slowly slid along his figure, muscular torso and perfectly fitted by a white shirt, unbuttoned and specially tighter to show the well-defined lines of his biceps, same for the jeans that left very little to no imagination. final touch given by that breathtaking face, well-marked jaw. he seemed almost sculpted by the gods and you were sure he knew. a wave of heat invaded the lower part of your body. you saw his lips hunch into a smile and that's where you realised you didn't answer him yet.

what happened in the next hour was too fast to even realise it, the last thing you knew was that you were locked between the wall and his body. his mouth was devouring yours, tongues looking for each other in a desperate dance, drinking you up completely. fingers pulling hard on his locks, legs wrapped around his waist, panties pulled to the side.

his cum already dripping down your shivering legs, what was his name again?

your nipples got hard and an annoying heat took possession of your lower belly at the mere memory, forced to go with your head under water. you had to recover, you didn't have time for these things. in less than an hour the family friend would arrive and finding you all frustrated was not the best idea. at the time you were only wearing a white bikini, you had just a couple of minutes to change into something more appropriate since, as much as that was your favourite piece, it was definitely too revealing.

and the heat too insistent, annoying, to the point that little by little it could have given you to the head. you came out of the water and pulled yourself up from the edge, too late to realise that two pairs of eyes were already looking at you. in particular one of them. “hey sis, have you met gojo yet?”

fuck, that's what his name was.

part two.

©️ venjras.

[caffeinateddino]

i wanna see Kuchel Ackerman interacting with reader SO BAD. so here it is! levi x reader modern au (Gender neutral pronouns for reader. SFW)

---

You stepped into Levi's teashop again, just like you did every morning for the past four months. Before any other customer came in, you’d arrive, order the exact same tea, flirt with him (or at least try to), get rejected, and then leave.

"Hi, handsome!" you chirped as you walked through the door, flashing him your brightest smile. "You're looking as pret-tea as usual." So proud of your cheeky pickup lines, weren’t you?

Levi sighed, his brows furrowing as he wiped the counter. "Good morning," he muttered, not looking up. "Regular?"

Oh, isn't he just the sweetest? Already knowing your favorite order—you wish. He knew a ton of things about you by now, but not because he was interested. No, it was because you reintroduced yourself AT LEAST twice a week. He knew your name, age, job, the name of your first fish, and even that middle school friend you still had beef with. He knew it all.

"Aww, look at you! Memorizing my order?" you teased, leaning on the counter to get a better look at him.

"No," he deadpanned. "It’s just the cheapest tea in the shop, and you order it every time you come in." He stepped back like you were a germ that he had to stay away from

“There’s a customer already?” an unfamiliar voice called from the prep area. You frowned—new employee? But no, as soon as she stepped out, you realized this wasn’t just anyone. She was one of the most jaw-dropping women you'd ever seen. Long black hair, steel-grey eyes, pale skin, and a sweet smile as she walked to the counter. Definitely related to Levi.

Ignoring Levi, she smiled directly at you. “Hi, what can we get for you today?”

Okay, you were persistent, but you weren’t dumb. She was obviously related to him. His sister? His mom? Either way, time to impress.

“I already got the ord—” Levi started, but you cut him off.

“Hi! I love your eyes!” you said, beaming at her. She smiled, a little shyly. “You’re so sweet, thank you.”

“I’m changing my order,” you declared, causing Levi to pause and raise an eyebrow. “I’ll have a cup of jasmine tea,” you continued, scanning the menu above. “And, uh... lemon cheesecake, and that thing.. I can’t pronounce.”

You were picking the most expensive items on the menu. Levi couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

“Sure, dear, we’ll get it right out for you,” the woman—probably his mom—replied sweetly, turning to help Levi. Getting a smile from someone related to him? Wild. You thought his whole bloodline had to be as stoic as he was.

After you got your tea and moved to a table by the window, you glanced back at the counter. Kuchel nudged Levi with her elbow, her eyes glinting with amusement. "So... who’s that?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Tch. No one. Just a regular customer," Levi replied with a shrug, continuing to wipe the counter as if it was his life’s mission.

“Really? They seemed interested in you,” she added, clearly enjoying the moment. Levi sighed. Maybe bringing his mother here had been a mistake. “They are,” he admitted, moving to brew a fresh pot of tea.

Kuchel’s smile widened. "They're pretty, aren’t they?" He paused, visibly uncomfortable but unable to deny it. “… I guess?”

"Alright then," Kuchel said, clearly up to something, before leaving the counter to sit across from you.

'Oh god,' Levi thought, feeling a headache coming on. He knew what his mom was about to do…

You blinked in surprise as Levi’s mom—Kuchel ��sat right across from you, a warm smile on her face. You glanced at Levi, who was now standing behind the counter with the most deadpan expression, silently begging the universe to stop this.

“So, how long have you been coming to this shop?” Kuchel asked, leaning in like this was a cozy little chat between best friends.

You tried not to choke on your tea. “Uh, about four months now. I, uh, really like the tea here.”

And the view, you thought but wisely kept to yourself.

“Four months! That’s dedication,” she remarked with a knowing smile. “Levi must really enjoy seeing such a loyal customer every morning.” Levi’s eye twitched from across the room.

“Uh, yeah, it’s nice to see a familiar face,” you said, laughing nervously. Kuchel nodded, clearly entertained. “You know, he doesn’t usually get attached to customers, but I think you might be special.” She paused dramatically, then added, “He talks about you all the time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Wait, what?

Levi nearly dropped the teapot. “Mom,” he said sharply, voice low with a warning edge. what the fuck now

“Oh, hush, I’m just making conversation,” Kuchel waved him off, fully embracing her mom duties. “He mentioned just the other day how you always come in so cheerful and—” she leaned in as if sharing a secret—“how you flirt with him every morning.”

Your face burned, and Levi’s hand gripped the counter so tightly it might break.

You stammered. “H-he told you that?”

“Well, no, but it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” she winked. “And you know, Levi here could use someone with your energy. He’s always so serious, isn’t he?” She turned her head slightly to address her son. “Levi, dear, you should take some notes—this one knows how to have fun.”

Levi groaned audibly. “Mom, please.”

You almost choked on your tea again. This was both mortifying and the best thing that had ever happened.

Kuchel continued undeterred. “He’s really sweet once you get to know him, you know? Sure, he’s got that broody, ‘I-don’t-care-about-anything’ look, but deep down, he’s very caring. Protective, too. He always makes sure I’m taken care of. Isn’t that right, Levi?”

Levi’s glare could’ve melted steel at this point. “I am right here, Mom.”

“Oh, don’t be so shy,” she teased, ignoring him completely. “What’s your name, dear?” she asked, turning back to you.

You told her, still a bit flustered but managing to smile. Kuchel’s face lit up.

“What a beautiful name! It would sound so lovely with ‘Ackerman,’ don’t you think?”

You almost spat out your tea. Levi nearly knocked over a stack of teacups. “Mom!”

Kuchel giggled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “What? I’m just saying. No harm in thinking about the future, right?”

Levi closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, as if summoning every ounce of patience in his body. “I’m going to the back,” he muttered, turning away before his mom could cause any further damage.

Kuchel just smiled after him, unfazed. “Well, he’ll come around eventually. Boys like him always do. Anyway, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, dear. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure he brews your tea just right.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at this point. “Thank you. I’ll definitely keep coming back.”

As Levi disappeared into the back of the shop, probably questioning every life decision that led him to this moment, Kuchel leaned in one last time. “Don’t give up on him,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He needs someone to loosen him up. And between you and me…” She grinned, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re perfect for the job.”

You were certain Levi was somewhere back there facepalming so hard, but honestly? You were starting to like Kuchel a lot.

[xoluvx]

my treat; b.eilish

“Lay down,” your voice was muffled by the soft lips currently morphing with yours. Billie’s hands were tightly holding on to your hips pulling your body closer. You knew where this was going. She was asserting her dominance, but you wanted to treat her tonight.

“Baby,” you hummed trying to pull away from her while simultaneously trying to push her down on the hotel bed. You only managed to pull away, but she remained standing watching you pout. “Why don’t you ever let me treat you, Bil?” You asked crossing your arms with a sincere look.

Billie chuckled shrugging.

“I’m serious,” you said firmly walking towards her. You tucked a piece of hair behind her ear letting your hand rest on her cheek. “You always take care of me, but I want to take care of you too.” Billie’s eyes were now boring into your soul and you craved her lips again. Kissing her, you managed to push her so she was sitting on the bed.

You wiggled between her legs opening her thighs as your lips continued connecting and moving in sync. “You deserve to be treated,” you said between kisses as your fingers gently dug into the base of her head. You swore you heard a small noise coming from her. So you dug your fingers further into her hair gently massaging her scalp.

“You work so hard,” you mumbled on her lips before tugging on her bottom lip one hand coming down to her neck where your fingers gently squeezed. This time the sounds weren’t muffled, she full on moaned and you felt the noise shock through you.

You pulled on her shirt wanting it off to which she quickly discarded it leaving her in just her bra. You marveled at the scene. Her shorts hung loosely at her waist and the dark material contrasted with the frilly bra she was wearing. You couldn’t wait to see what was under her shorts.

You cupped her face and bought it up to face you as you kissed her lips hungrily. Her arms wrapped around your waist so you were firmly pressed against her chest. She toyed with the fabric of your sweats wanting to pull them down, but you quickly smacked her hands away. She was not going to take over today.

“My treat, remember?” You teased out of breath from kissing her intensely. Billie frowned and you pushed her down on to the bed. Her hair sprawled out on the comforter and you swore you’d never seen a prettier sight. She raised her hands above her head pushing her breasts towards the air and the smooth skin of her boobs squeezed out of the fabric.

Climbing on top, you peppered her face with kisses as she smiled. Arms now placidly resting on the bed. Still above her head. Your lips attached to her neck. Gently nibbling the area near her ear before soothing it with your tongue. You traced a line with your tongue all the way to her collarbone and you heard her sneer.

The kisses trailed down to her chest and you licked a stripe between the valley of her breasts. Your hands came up to the straps of her bra and you slowly pulled down the elastic until her perfectly rosy buds were showing. She was breathing heavy, her nipples hard. Blowing air on one, you felt her lower half move, you knew she was probably already soaked.

You ran the flat of your tongue over her nipple and she whimpered as your thumb and index rolled the other. Sucking on the small bud you looked up to her head tossed back, mouth agape. Smiling with satisfaction you switched nipples, but you were still thinking of what was waiting for you between her legs.

Letting go of her nipple, you heard her whine. Something you rarely heard coming from Billie in the bedroom and you briefly saw her watching you slither down between her legs. She pulled her body up higher so you had room to lay and you silently asked for permission to pull down her shorts.

She tugged at the hem and you happily pulled on the fabric. Lifting her hips and you took of the shorts revealing a lacy thong that matched the bra that was now wrapped around her torso.

“Did you know I wanted to be in charge today?” You teased. Billie cursed at you hiding her face, but moving her hips. She clearly wanted you between her legs. Yeah, you’d never eaten her out before. The closest you’d gotten to her pussy was when she’d let you rub your thigh on it. But that was rare. You’d never questioned it either, until today.

You let your thumb gently rub her folds over her underwear and you groaned as your thumb felt her built up. She was wet and more than you’d thought. Teasingly, you let your thumb run under the fabric along the edge of her pussy before pulling away. She whined, again, and you smirked because you didn’t know Billie could be such a whiner in bed.

Looking up at her, she was still hiding under her arms. Her chest to the ceiling. You tugged at her bra bringing her attention to your face.

“I want you to look at me,” she instructed and she nodded bringing her arms behind her head to give her a better angle.

Lowering yourself at a painfully slow rate, Billie watched you wedge yourself between her thighs as your arms hooked under them so you had the ability to open them wider. You sloppily kissed the inside of her thigh letting your tongue draw circles. Your teeth grazed her skin as your brought the kisses closer to her heat and she bit her lip trying to muffle her moans.

When your lips were at the place where her thigh connects to her pussy you let your tongue run a long stripe in that sweet spot and Billie bucked her hips wanting more. Snickering you looked up at her. She was watching you closely like you’d asked but one of her hands was now brunching the bra wrapped around her torso for support.

Your tongue peeked from your mouth and you licked a stripe over her clothed pussy. Billie caught her breath closing her eyes.

“Look at me, baby” you cooed and her lids fluttered open. You hooked her underwear with a finger and resumed your position between her legs. Kissing her clit she whimpered bitting her lip. “I want to hear you,” you demanded repeating the action. This time Billie let out the moan she’d been holding in and you relished in her pleasure.

You focused on her clit. Your tongue swirling around her bud, occasionally sucking on it gently before opening your mouth so the flat on your tongue could rub on it. Billie was still looking at you, no longer holding back her moans. Her hips moved matching your tongue, but you tightened your grip around thigh, you finger still holding her underwear to the side. Your tongue ran down her pussy to her core and you don’t think you’d tasted anything better than her on your tongue.

You lapped her pussy until she was moving her hips again. You let her this time because you pulled away from a second. Billie whined but you pulled down her underwear placing them on her belly right where the fabric of her bra laid bunched from her tugging and pulling with each stroke of your tongue. You smiled at her before coming back down between her legs and you groaned with anticipation.

She watched your every move. Kiss on her clit. Tongue on her folds, then her entrance sloppy with juices. You let your tongue dip into her pussy and she arched her back tossing her head back. You did it again bringing her pussy closer to her face as you cupped her ass. You helped her move her hips as she clung to the pillow under her head. She was dangerously close and the sweet moans escaping her mouth just made you go faster. Quickly flicking her clit, quickly rotating, quickly lapping her pussy until your tongue was buried deep in her cunt.

“I’m gonna cum,” you heard her faded voice and you stopped briefly.

“I want you to look at me as you cum,” you threatened and she weakly looked down. Your eyes met and you could see her spent eyes and red bottom lip from bitting down on it. She looked beautiful and flushed.

With a few more strokes, you felt her body convulse and you stared into her eyes as she came on your tongue. Her hands now grasping your head holding you in place, too sensitive for any other sort of movement. You chuckled against her pussy and she squirmed hissing at the vibration.

“Fuck,” she growled as you came up to lay next to her.

“If I knew you were that good, I would’ve let you fuck me sooner.” She joked and you acted offended knowing the reason she hadn’t let you go down on her was because she always wanted to be in charge. But that was going to change.

“Thank you,” she hummed in a sing song voice and you kissed her sweetly. She could taste herself on your tongue and she moaned into your mouth letting herself melt into you. Again. She’d never been with someone who’d just made her feel like you did.

“My treat,” you whispered into the kiss and you felt her unraveling again.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I wish you'd write a fic where reader is xadens younger sister and dating Garrick. But they date in secret (obviously xaden wouldnt be super thrilled at first when finding out) for like 2 years or so before they leave to go to Basgiath . Maybe when reader goes to cross the parapet Xaden notices garricks extra instruction. Maybe a slight brush on the back of the end before stepping on. And then Garrick and reader are caught by xaden and then his mad at first but relaxes off after watching Garrick protect her through out the year

When?

Xaden felt like an idiot. One big absolute idiot. He couldn’t believe that he was able to lead the rebellion but was quite literally fooled by the people closest to him. How did he miss the signs? Why didn’t his consciousness wave red flags back and forth. And he didn’t even figure it out on his own. No, no, fucking Imogen spelled it out for him.

“What are you smiling about all day?”, he had asked her as they counted up the weapons. Getting ready to distribute them overnight. Imogen shook her head as her smirk deepened, “Just Garrick”, she breathed. Xaden frowned, “Why are you smiling over Garrick? You don’t smile over a man”. Imogen rolled her eyes, “it has nothing to do with me, you idiot”, she snorted.

“Out with it, I don’t have time to play”, Xaden grumbled. Imogen placed down the dagger in her hands before looking up at her friend. “Didn’t you notice that he’s been different?”, she questioned. “Is he sick?”, Xaden smacked a question of his right back at her. “You are unbelievable”, she shook her head, “Do you seriously don’t see it?” Xaden blinked a couple of times. Nothing seemed off about his oldest friend. He was fine. Better than ever actually. “Xaden, Garrick looks at your sister as if she hung the moon up in the sky”, Imogen muttered, “He greeted me with a smile today”, her hands met Xaden’s shoulders as she shook him slowly, “A smile. S. M. I. L. E. Do you understand? That man hasn’t smiled ever since I met him”. But Xaden’s mind had clung to the first part of her words. Garrick liked his sister. No, this had to be a joke. Just Imogen didn’t look as if she was joking.

Ever since had made it his task to keep an eye out. Following you both. Sorting out through memories of you both. You had barely crossed the parapet six months ago. And yes Garrick had pulled you from the line when you came up. “Show me your shoes”, he had ordered, bending down to check them himself. Xaden hadn’t thought anything of it then. Had simply muttered, “Fuck you, I got her the shoes myself”, but he was so frightened to lose you that day that nothing else counted. Not the way Garrick had gripped the side of your face right before you stepped on. Not even the fact that Garrick had broken the board the names were scribbled on. Or how they had embraced each other when you were safely on the other side.

“Stop piling food on my plate”, you chuckled lightly, as Garrick spooned more veggie bake from his owl plate onto yours. “You need to eat more”, he stated, “You did well in training today”. Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him. “You probably just went easy on me”, you shrugged. “I never go easy on anyone, love”, he reached out, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear, “Especially not when I want to impress you”. You hit his chest lightly, as your cheeks went pink, “You’re such a flirt”, “Only for you baby, only for you”, he traced the corner of your lips before picking up a for once again.

Xaden brooded in the knowledge of seeing it with his own two eyes. And then it’s as if someone had ripped the blindfold from his eyes. It was everywhere. Xaden saw it everywhere and it was so obvious. Garrick who was always first to leave the meeting now stood there, waiting for everyone to leave. Every time he walked past the girls he always made sure to brush his fingers along your back. Find contact with you no matter what. In a sea of cadets, his eyes were always on you.

“When?”, Xaden asked, yanking the back of Garrick’s shirt as the male left one of the meeting halls. Garrick didn’t miss a beat at batting his long-time friend’s hands off him, “Shit man you nearly got me”. But Xaden only puffed his chest more, “When?”, he repeated. Garrick frowned because Xaden was tiptoeing on the edge and he never lost his cool. A fear ran down his spine. What if something happened? What if you got hurt? Taken?

“What the fuck is going on?”, Garrick barely managed to grunt as Xaden’s left fists collided with his jaw. “Answer the fucking question goddamn”, he growled, clearly getting more and more frustrated. Garrick shoved him back slightly, “What in burning dragon shit has gotten into you?”.

A bitter laugh slipped past his friend’s lips, “I should be asking you that”, Xaden’s eyes were burning with anger, “you’re the one screwing my sister behind my back”, his voice raised ever so slightly. Garrick’s face blanched for a heartbeat before a wave of frustration ripped within him as well, “Don’t you dare put it like that”, he pointed a warning finger at Xaden who leaped forward, “You didn’t deny it, shitface”.

He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to punch or choke his long-time friend until a voice split the growing. “Stop this right now”, you called out, reaching to move for them but Garrick moved his free hand up, “Step aside Yn”. Yet another huff echoed, “Don’t tell her what to do”, Xaden bit back and it’s as if something shifted in Garrick, “I will because you are insane and I ain’t taking chances with you”, there was that primal almost frustrations in him. One that Xaden recognized because he too got overtaken by it when anyone got involved with Violet.

Yet still, Xaden pushed through, making sure to back Garrick against the wall, “I will make sure you die a painful…”, “Don’t you finish that Riorson”, you hissed from behind him, as you pulled at your brother’s upper arm. “You are grounded”, Xaden yanked his arm out of your grip, turning his frustration back on you.

“Listen to yourself, you sound like a child”, you said through gritted teeth. “Why was I not informed about this”, Xaden pointed between you and Garrick, before shaking his head, “This can’t be happening”. Garrick let out a low chuckle, “It has been for the past year and then some”, “Garrick”, you huffed pinching the bridge of your nose as he shrugged.

“She’s my sister! My”, Xaden shouted right at his friend's face, “And my girlfriend get in the line of being important to her”, Garrick said with a smirk. “I will choke you in your sleep”, Xaden leaned to tower over Garrick but he didn’t miss the beat doing just the same, “You can try”.

“Boys, please”, your voice was barely a whisper now, you could hear the sadness in it. Garrick’s head wiped in your direction instantly, “Don’t you dare get upset over this”, he hated it. Hated the sight of you sad. Of you upset. He could handle anything just not your tears. “Stop telling her what to do”, Xaden howled but this time Garrick was the one to shove him back before pointing a warning finger at him, “Riorson you are starting to get on my nerves”.

“Shut it, both of you”, you hissed, pushing your way between them and putting them at arm's length. “Garrick, I love you but please just stay quiet for a moment”, you glanced at your boyfriend, silently pleading with him, before your eyes turned to your brother.

“I’m sorry i should have told you”, you muttered. “Fuck yeah you should have”, he huffed. “But we had so little time. You both could have died, I could have died. We took a gamble just in case we survived and here we are”, you intertwined your fingers with Garrick’s and he instantly brought your joined hands up to his lips. Xaden inhaled sharply. “I’ve been really happy, Xaden”, you muttered quietly as your eyes glassed over with tears. Xaden reached out, pulling you closer to him, glaring at Garrick over your shoulder as he kissed the side of your head with a low whisper, “I know”.

You pulled back, hopeful eyes looking right into his soul. His little sister. The other half of his world. He only pushed through for you and Violet. A frown deepened between his brows before he managed to pull somewhat of a smile for you, kissing your forehead. “I will serve you your ass on the mats tomorrow”, Xaden shot a tight look Garrick’s way. He wasn’t ready to have a proper conversation with him yet. He will. He will put him from hell of his own. Just not now. “I’m looking forward to it”, Garrick nodded in agreement. Xaden turned to walk away before stopping. “A single hair breaks on her head and I am scattering you in ribbons”, he threatened, turning back to hold a warning stare with him. Garrick simply pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, “Believe me”, he breathed out, glancing down at you for a moment, “If a hair breaks I will go willingly”. And that was enough for Xaden. Because even if he was angry he knew that Garrick would fight till his last breath to make sure that you were okay and for that alone, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

[moonluvin]

obsession (part 2) - spencer reid

pairing: unsub dark!Spencer Reid x female reader

summary: In which y/n wakes up in an unfamiliar place and finds herself feeling anything but fear when faced with the man who took her. Spencer knows things about y/n that he shouldn’t, having watched her for months.

warnings: mild angst? possessiveness, emotional manipulation.

a/n: smut will come in later parts! i promiseee. also, please be mindful that this is a dark fic and might not be suited for all audiences.

word count: 1.2k

minors/ageless blogs dni.

masterlist

part 1

You woke slowly, the unfamiliar smell of coffee and freshly laundered sheets making you blink in confusion. As your eyes adjusted to the soft morning light, you took in your surroundings, a neat room with walls lined with books, far different from your own home.

Sitting up, your heart raced as you tried to remember. The man from the bookstore, from the park. You remember seeing him last night on your way home. Those eyes.  

Waking up in an unfamiliar place had you in fear. But it wasn’t the paralyzing terror you’d expected. There was something about him that didn’t scream danger, at least not in the conventional sense. Still, the situation was wrong, and you were on edge.

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and the yet-to-me-named-man stepped into the room, a cup of coffee in hand. His curly hair was dishevelled, his tired eyes meeting yours with a soft, almost apologetic gaze. He set the cup down on the nightstand and stood a few feet away, as if trying not to scare you.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and gentle, like he didn’t want to startle you. “How are you feeling?”

You swallowed; your throat dry as you gripped the blanket a little tighter around yourself. “… what’s going on?” Your voice trembled, but it wasn’t outright fear. It was more confusion, a wariness of the unknown.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. “I know this is strange for you. I’m a stranger to you,” His gaze softened.

“I’ve called off work today. I wanted to make sure you settle in here.” The way he said it was so casual, as though he was talking to someone he knew for a lifetime.

You frowned, your brows knitting together. "Called off work?"

He nodded. “It’s not something I do often. Hotch, my boss, was a bit surprised, but I came up with an excuse,” His voice was calm, like this was the most logical course of action. “He trusts me,”

The mention of his boss, and the ease with which he lied, sent a chill through you. He was smart, probably too smart, and that made you more cautious. If he was capable of this, what else had he done? How long had he been watching you?

Still, the edge of fear you’d woken up with began to fade slightly. He wasn’t acting like some deranged kidnapper. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. But the fact remained that you didn’t know him, and here you were, trapped in his house.

Spencer, seemingly sensing your hesitation, sat down on the edge of a chair near the bed. “I know you don’t fully trust me right now,” he said softly. “But I’ve been watching over you for a while. I know how much you love reading, the way you get lost in books for hours.” His eyes softened as he spoke, revealing more than you wanted to know. “I know things about you that no one else has been witness to,”

Your heart sank. He knew too much, more than anyone should. The way he spoke, though, wasn’t malicious. It was like he genuinely believed he was taking care of you. And while that didn’t erase the fact that he had kidnapped you, it made it harder to hate him outright.

“I don’t even know your name-” you began slowly,

“Spencer,” He replied quickly with a small smile.

“Spencer…” You repeated his name, trying to keep your voice steady. “If you wanted to get to know me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to do… this.” You gestured to the room around you, the confinement.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers nervously twisting together. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly, as if weighing his words carefully. “It’s not just about being with you. I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. You don’t know what the world is like. What I see every day at work. It’s cruel, dangerous.” His eyes lifted to meet yours, pleading. “I didn’t just want to make you mine,”

His words hung in the air, and you didn’t know how to respond at first. You felt your body tense, the wariness still present, but the way he spoke, so protective, so genuine in his concern, made it difficult to process. He believed what he was saying. He believed he was doing this for you.

“But you didn’t give me a choice,” you said quietly. “You made that decision for me.”

Spencer sighed, nodding slowly as if he understood. “I know, and that’s not something you’re used to, but you’ve captivated me. Made me obsessed… without even knowing of my existence. I’ve never been good at social interaction, and I know that doesn’t excuse anything, but the mere thought of you sends me into a spiral. I can’t concentrate on anything else,”

You shifted on the bed, your mind racing with conflicting emotions. On one hand, you felt uneasy, knowing that Spencer had been watching you for who knows how long. But on the other hand, he wasn’t trying to harm you. He was just... misguided, deeply protective in a way that bordered on obsession.

The room felt smaller as the silence stretched between you. You could feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction, waiting for you to say something.

“I don’t know what to think,” you admitted softly. “This is… a lot.”

Spencer’s face softened again. He moved closer, but not enough to make you feel trapped. “I know,” he whispered. “I don’t expect you to trust me right away. But I’ll show you that you don’t need to be afraid.”

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since waking up. He was a stranger, yes, but there was something about him that made it hard to fully fear him.

Still, you couldn’t just let your guard down. Not yet.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said cautiously, testing the waters. “But I’m still... trying to understand why you thought this was the only way.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “I’m not like other people, sunshine. I don’t see the world the way most do. You’re different. You don’t fit into the world the way others do, and that’s why I had to do this. I couldn’t let the world destroy you.”

You shook your head slowly, absorbing his words. This man, this genius who had seen so much darkness in his life, had fixated on you as if you were his only light. It was unsettling, yes, but in a strange way, you felt an odd sense of safety in knowing he wouldn’t hurt you.

[vrisrezis]

need a part 2 for the atsv love triangle where the reader is actually in love with them and after they get together they tell them about their alter ego 😩

Your wish is my command y’all!

Gwen is was carrying you, bridal style, swinging away with you in her arms. Not that you knew it was gwen anyway. Spiderwoman, upon meeting you, often decided to take you home as a means of protection, because for some reason you decided walking home in the middle of the night was a swell idea. She offered to swing you home as a result. If you didn’t know any better though, you’d say it was because she loved flirting with you so much. She never denied it when you brought it up. Honestly, she’s just not used to such a flustered look on your face, she can’t help herself. Though she does secretly envy how the real her can’t manage you make you all shy and embarrassed like that.

Today though, you seemed rather… off. Something was bothering you, and she could tell. Nothing seemed off at school, so she figured something had to have happened. “What’s got you so upset?” she questions before dropping down on top the roof of a building. “Somebody I gotta knock some sense into?” she asks, putting you down to stand next to her, looking at the scenery before you, it was nice out today. You smile, but even that feels forced. She can’t help but frown under the mask and the worry she carries is radiating off of her. You shake your head, “it’s nothing to worry about” you say before shrugging, “just normal highschool stuff.”

“What does that mean?” she inquired, and you sigh, albeit rather dramatically.” “It’s so stupid.” You admit, but before you can assure you it probably isn’t, you continue “there’s just this girl I really like. More than like. I think I love her.”

As soon as those words come out of your mouth, she feels her heart drop. Girl? Was it her? Spiderwoman? Or some other girl at school? You didn’t talk to many people aside from her, who could it possibly be?

“O-oh..” she says, looking down for a moment. She hopes you don’t hear the crack in her voice. She can’t help her curiosity, she needs to know. “Well.. who is it?” she says, trying to recover as quickly as possible. She nudges you with her elbow, “need to know if they’re good enough for you or just some tool.”

You laugh, and give her a smile. “Her names… gwen..”

“G-gwen?!” she shrieks out, her body stiffening. You don’t seem to notice.

“Yeah.. gwen… gwen stacy…”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but she eventually grabs onto your shoulder.

“Y/n…”

“Yeah?” you ask, confused for a moment, before you see her pull at her mask. Your eyes widen, and you suddenly feel a wash of shame upon seeing who’s under the mask.

However, she gives you a smile.

“I… love you too… by the way..”

Miles had a very simple plan, no big deal at all. All he had to do was confess he was in love with you and then eventually down the line if it works out in his favor, confess to being spiderman. No big deal…..

Or should he do it in the opposite order?

And should he still confess to being spiderman if you two end up staying friends when you reject him?

He has a lot of questions racking his brain, and to be fair he doesn’t think it’s completely unreasonable. Maybe he should’ve told you from the start. Would you even be accepting? Supportive? He’s been lying to you for a whole ass year now, you were kind, but were you that kind? He feels like there’s just no way, right? Then again, you never failed to surprise him.

He doesn’t have time to think about these questions any longer though, as he hears chaos going on outside. Not the normal kind of chaos, this was his cue.

His confession would have to wait a little longer.

—

He’s quick to his feet. Not that spiderman didn’t give it his all when it came to saving civilians, but he saw you in the fray. He bounces from building to building, webbing civilians to safety along the way, he sees you fall and he’s never jumped so fast in his life.

He reaches his hand out to yours, and finally you’re able to grab on and he’s able to pull you into his arms, picking you up bridal style all while in the air.

“We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this..” miles mutters to you, and you chuckle lightly. “Yeah well..” she look off to the side, before looking back at him. “You could always take me on a date, miles.”

Miles?

Date?

“Excusemewhatnow?”

as soon as he lands, you manage to escape his grip. Maybe it was because he was so caught off guard, since normally escaping his grasp was near impossible.

“We’ll talk later!”

You were going to be the death of him.

Hobie had enough.

If you weren’t going to figure this out on your own, he was gonna have to tell you.

I mean seriously, he loves you but you are so clueless sometimes and he genuinely wonders if you admire spiderpunk so much that you don’t want to consider he could be your best friend. He wonders if he’s being selfish and if this ruins the imagination for you but at this point he’s too pent up to even care, something he isn’t used to being. He’s typically so honest about the way he feels, never holding anything back. This should be no different.

He leaves his bag zipper carelessly open, in hopes you find it. And you do. He’s busy cleaning up his guitar, but he sees you look at him, then look back at the spider suit in the corner of his eye.

But you say nothing.

You go on about your day like you didn’t just see that.

Is he the one being played?

He eventually decides he needs to simply confront you. There’s no way around it. So he does.

It’s one of those many nights where you two are hanging out, as friends do. You’re both lying on his bed, side to side, he’s writing a song, you’re reading a comic book. He turns over on his right side to look at you, and you do the same on your left side. “Hey.” he whispers, “hey yourself.” you whisper back with a smile. He rolls his eyes.

Just be cool, man. He tells himself.

“You know..” he starts slowly, a bit unsure of the next words that will come out of his mouth, “you know I’m spiderman, right?”

He doesn’t have time to dwell on just how casual that was, to drop some information like that so simply. Then again, he did that constantly. This felt so different though.

“Yeah..” you let out a sigh, and hobie realizes that you really were playing with him the whole time. But before he can rely, you say “you know I’m in love with you, any version of you, right?”

He feels his heart stop for a moment, but he gives no indication that he’s flustered by your words.

“About damn time you said somethin, darlin”

Pavitr thinks about it, over and over and over and over and ov-

He just doesn’t know how to tell you he’s spiderman. He’s been so buys living the life as spiderman, it felt so simple, so easy. Go to school, beat up some bad guys, take some breaks to see you and his auntie, go back to fighting, come home. It was the same everytime and he didn’t seem bored of it, yet.

He hadn’t really gotten to see the consequences of being spiderman.

And then he did, when he nearly lost you. He was only able to save you because miles, gwen, and hobie were there to help him.

And from then on he knew he couldn’t lie to you anymore.

Things have been.. weird lately, to say the least. Some weird ass dark black abyss in the middle of mumbattan left many civilians curious, including yourself.

Though Pavitr felt like he could explain those bits later, he knew he just needed to tell you what was on his mind.

Because he and you both knew, he had something to say.

Spending time in your room wasn’t a rare occurrence but Pavitr found himself doing it a lot more lately, which in your opinion was good given how busy he’s been lately. You figured he must’ve been freaked out by mumbattan nearly falling apart at the seams, and you tried to be there for him. He made it clear he was there for you, too.

“Y/n I have to tell you something.” he says, turning to look at you.

You look back at him, knowing this would be a serious conversation. He never called you by your actual name, usual nicknames. You nod and place your hand on top of his, and you give him one of your warm smiles. He feels heat rush to his cheeks, but for once he doesn’t let his nerves stop him. He moves his hand to intertwine your fingers together, “I’m…” there’s a pause, and you figure you have to assure him you know.

“You’re spiderman?” you ask, and there’s a moment he looks at you, shocked. His mouth is agape, and you can’t help but smirk. “You know?!” you scoff, “yeah of course I know pav I’m not an idiot!” you say with a laugh, and a lot of his tension dissipates before he remembers what he wants to tell you.

“Well.. while that is true, that isn’t what I was gonna tell you.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised, you raise a brow. “Yeah?”

He takes a moment, before blurting it out.

“I’minlovewithyou!” the words all come out jumbled at once and he almost considered repeating himself before you give him a kiss on the cheek. “In love with you too, pav. But I also knew that already.” you say cheekily, “what?! How?!” “You’re not exactly subtle” you shrug.

“Can I have any victory today? Can we start over and you just pretend you didn’t know?”

you smile and shake your head, and he groans.

But honestly, the only reason he’s being so silly right now is so he doesn’t absolutely melt into your hands like putty over the fact you kissed him on the cheek.

[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.

TAGS:

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[bvsatq]

braiding each others hair ༉‧₊˚.

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!na’vi! reader

genre: fluff  |  word count: 899 |  warning: nothing really

comments: for now ima stick w lil scenarios to write about because my imagination is like broken and can't think of any fun stories 😪 

~~

today was one of yours and neteyam’s day off. you guys decided to take it easy and just relax, bathing in each other's presence. you guys were laying on the forest floor, cuddling. he was running his hands through your braided hair when he noticed you hadn’t rebraided your hair in a little. 

“come on yawne. let's go back.” neteyam said slightly lifting you off of him. “why? it's so nice here!” you whined. “cmon so i can rebraid your hair and you can rebraid mine. we can add matching beads!” his eye lit up in excitement at his amazing idea. 

you let out a giggle and nodded, standing up with him and walking back to your guys’ hut. neteyam had always loved sharing matching jewelry with you so having matching beads in your hair was no surprise. 

once you guys arrived he started picking beads for the both of you putting them in a little bowl. “i wanna do your hair first teyam,” you said as he walked over to where you were sitting, placing the bowl down. “um no, i came up with the idea so i go first” he mumbled grabbing you by the waist and sitting you between his legs. “okay i choose the beads you choose the pattern.” he beamed at you. 

once you chose the pattern he started unbraiding your hair then braiding it again. his fingers felt cold against your scalp. it was a nice cold feeling since today was a hot day. “you know, this would be easier if you stopped moving so much“ he chuckled. “you're tickling me! plus, you are taking forever. i'd be done by now“ you joked, giggling. 

he took his time braiding the back of your hair making beautiful braids. “okay i'm done. now the front pieces“ he was excited for the front pieces. he got to put the beads in your hair. it completed the whole look. 

“come here“ he said, grabbing you by the waist and turning you around. this time making you face him. he quickly started again. you smiled at his concentrated face. he looked so pretty, his delicate finger combing through your hair. he was truly a sight to see. 

you closed your eyes, and sighed in content. “i'm so lucky ma neteyam“ you breathe out. “what do you mean, yawne?“ he questioned, eyes and fingers never leaving your hair. “i'm so lucky to have you. you are everything i've ever wanted and more. i love you nete“ you smiled up at him.

he stopped mid braid and looked down at you. he let the braid fall from his fingers, which he'd probably have to restart later, and held your face. he leaned in and kissed you, smiling against your lips. “i'm waaayy more lucky. i love you more“ he replied. 

you frowned, “um no, you don’t. i love you mo-“ he cut you off saying, “shh no you don't. now stay still i'm almost done“ you were about to argue with him but he just shut you up with a kiss and continued with your hair. 

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

“okay, all done!“ he lightly pushed you off to admire his work. “it looks so good teyam! thank you!“ he smiled proudly at you. “your turn. come here“ you guys switched positions. he laid himself on your lap shifting every now and then trying to find a more comfortable position. he was bigger than you so he needed to slouch more which was a bit uncomfy at times but he could care less. 

once he was 100% comfortable he laid still the whole time. his big hands rested on your thighs. it was getting darker which made your bioluminescence freckles glow. he connected each little dot with his fingers as well as tracing lines and shapes on your thighs. 

neteyam was so relaxed. he felt like a little kid again having his mom play and re-braid his hair. his tail was lightly tapping the floor and his eyes were close basking in your presence. you had taken a little break given as it was now eclipse, lighting up come candles for light. your guys’ hut was dimly lit. it had such a nice feeling, pure love in the air.

it wasn’t rare for neteyam to purr, at least not around you. right now he was in such a calm state, being able to feel your love. you were almost done when you heard his purr. you smiled to yourself and pressed your lips to the crown of his head making him purr even more.

“okay all done my love,” you announced. he opened his droopy eyes, clearly so close to falling asleep, “thank you tiyawn, lets go to bed now.” you thought he’d stand up and head to what you guys called a bed but no, he slumped back on your lap, this time his chest on your stomach, and closed his eyes. 

“neteyammmm, lets go to bed over there. where normal na’vi sleep.” you sighed. “this is normal. now shh let's sleep” he pulled himself up and laid his head on your chest. he reached for yours and his braid and connected them together. it was an every night routine ever since you two mated. 

“thank you for doing my hair teyam, goodnight.” you said. “thank you for doing my hair tiyawn, goodnight.” he said, both of you falling into a deep slumber.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 19

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: welcome to the draaamaaaa! non-consensual drugging (not reader), the vaguest hint of medical trauma, brief mention of chapter 2's assault scene

wc: 2.3k

Chapter Selection

Thirty minutes after Alfred came to pick Damian up, a mandatory city wide lockdown was called into effect. The news mentioned Mr. Freeze and some botched experiment with Poison Ivy's pheromones. I immediately tried to call Jason; he had been planning to come over around dinner, but the lines were busy. It seemed everyone was trying to contact their loved ones.

I texted Damian, asking him to let me know when he was home, and pulled out a roll of duct tape to start sealing up the cracks in my doors and windows. I set out my emergency candles and flashlights. Then I filled pots, pans, and the bathtub with clean water, just in case. And finally, I began cooking a couple steaks I had that needed to be made sooner rather than later, just in case the gas went out before I got another chance. You never knew what a villain-fueled lockdown would bring, so it was best to plan to lose all of your utilities. I vaguely regretted not getting that camping stove when it had been on sale, but I also really didn't love the idea of storing propane in my apartment. 

Once my steaks were done, I checked my phone again. Damian was home safe, and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to remain safely indoors. But there was still nothing from Jason. I frowned, trying not to panic. He was probably just having trouble getting through, just like I had.

Me: Hey baby, lockdown's pretty scary, huh? Hope you're safe! ❤️

5:40pm

I settled in to watch the news, hoping the Bats would get things under control soon enough. The only footage available was from the traffic cameras, but the picture they painted wasn't particularly pretty. It seemed every vigilante was out for this one. I watched in a sort of terrified trance, remembering how tiny Robin was at the gala. But there he was, fighting Mr. Freeze. … He was strong, and a skilled fighter. But God, it just wasn't fair…

Me: Jace? You safe?

6:30pm

Eventually, the fight was over, and the reporter started talking about the plan to get the pheromones neutralized. We were instructed to stay in our homes for the time being while Gotham scientists worked out a solution. I sighed softly, honestly a bit glad for the excuse to not go in to work the next day. The boss had been getting a bit testy with me over not being available anytime, any day anymore, and I didn't want to deal with it.

Me: Hey baby, lockdown's pretty scary, huh? Hope you're safe! ❤️

5:40pm

Me: Jace? You safe?

6:30pm

Me: … Jason? If you're getting these, I'm getting really freaked out. Please tell me you're ok.

8:45pm

I frowned, texting Steph, Tim, and Dick next; ‘I can't get ahold of Jason. Have you seen him today?’ The minutes ticked by, an hour passed and no response came from anyone. I was curled up on the couch, trying desperately not to panic, when a sharp tap tap tap on my porch door startled me out of my panic spiral.

I carefully made my way over to the door, nudging open a spot in the blinds so I could peek out. There, on my porch, was Nightwing. He had some kind of breathing apparatus hooked up to his suit, and what looked like a cyberpunk face mask in his hand. When he saw me looking at him he waved excitedly, holding up the mask.

I frowned a bit; “... Um … hello?”

“Hello, citizen! … Your assistance is needed! I have a mask for you, go ahead and pop the door open for me?”

“... No?!”

“... Please?” He frowned a bit, holding out the mask more insistently.

“... What could you possibly want from me??”

He chuckled a bit awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet. “... I really don't want to shout through your door for this …”

“Well that's just too damn bad. You can shout, or you can go.”

“... I assume you were watching the news this evening?” I nodded. “Well, one of my … co-workers' breathing filters got damaged, and he's inhaled some of the pheromone blend.”

I frowned deeply. “... I'm sorry? … Will he be ok?”

“We think we can make an antidote, but we need to get him to the Batcave to get a sample of his blood, and he's a bit … overly agitated for that. He won't get in the Batmobile. We have reason to believe you'd be able to help with that.”

I scoffed at that; “how, on god's green earth, am I meant to do that??”

“... I can't answer that. But I think you're the only person who would calm him down right now.”

“... Uh-huh. … Which one of you is it?”

“Red Hood.”

“... Why would I be able to calm Red Hood???”

“... I … can't answer that either. … Please come anyway. … Call it doing your civic duty?”

“Pft! That's not gonna work on me.”

“... How about helping a big, scared kid who doesn't know what's going on right now? He just knows his body is being ripped out of his control again, and he can't stop it, and everything seems like a threat.”

I froze, blinking a bit. Fuck, that sounded bad. “... How are we getting there?”

Nightwing perked up at that. “I've got my bike! Come on, let's-”

“Hold your horses, bird-boy! Let me get changed.” I sighed, shuffling into my bedroom. I pulled on a pair of jeans, my riding jacket, and grabbed my helmet, silently thanking Jason for giving them to me - and begging the universe that he be ok, wherever he was. Before leaving my room, I grabbed the red flannel Red Hood had given me all those months ago. Might as well return it, since I was going to see him again.

I ripped the tape off the door and knocked, getting Nightwing's attention. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and he passed me the mask. I slipped it on quickly; “Thanks. … I'm not going down this way, so I'll meet you in front of the building?”

Nightwing nodded, jumping off my porch, and I went back inside, sealing the door back up before I ran out the front door. I pulled my helmet and gloves on and hopped on the back of Nightwing's bike, sighing softly. “... Can't believe I'm doing this…”

“I can't believe you made me wait for you to change your clothes…”

“When my boyfriend finds out I got on a vigilante’s bike, he's probably going to have an aneurysm. If he found out I did it without proper protective layers on, he'd probably try to kill you. I’m trying to help you here.”

Nightwing chuckled a bit and we took off, flying down the road like a bat out of hell. I couldn't imagine how I was meant to fix this, or even what we would find when we got there, but I had to try. I couldn't imagine the Red Hood being scared of anything, but the way Nightwing spoke about him made him sound so fragile. ‘his body is being ripped out of his control again’??? Again??? What had this guy been through? And how was I supposed to help??

We arrived much faster than I would have expected, and I slid off the bike, looking around. Nightwing took my helmet for me, pointing to the alley. The Batmobile was pulled to the side, and Batman himself stood like a gargoyle by the driver's side. Spoiler was hunched over by a dumpster, murmuring softly. She looked up as I approached, sighing softly. “Thank God. You're up!”

Her voice sounded familiar, even through the breathing mask, but I didn't have time to dwell. I wanted to get home soon; with my luck Jason would finally text me back while I was out here doing this. I stepped closer until I could see him; the Red Hood, on his knees behind the dumpster, clutching at his chest and hissing softly, like an injured cat.

“Um … Mr. Hood?” I crouched, trying not to startle him.

He jumped anyway, looking up at me. His red helmet didn't show any emotion, but as far as I could tell he was focused on me. “... Hi, Mr. Hood. I don't know if you remember, you saved me from a would-be-rapist last March?”

I slowly held the shirt out, but he didn't move. “... I brought your shirt back.”

He continued to stare at me, so I slowly inched closer. When I was finally close enough to touch him he flinched, hiding his helmeted face in his hands. “N- no … no, go … go away … H- how'd you get here? … The lockdown …”

“... I … I can't really do that, Hood. … Nightwing brought me.”

He growled, a broken, choked sound, distorted by his voice modulator. “... You're supposed to be home … supposed to be safe …”

I nodded slowly. “... Yeah, yeah I am. So … do you think you can come out of the alley with me? … There's a lot of people really worried about you out here. They just wanna get you somewhere safe so they can take care of you.”

He shook his head quickly, choking out; “no! No needles! No needles!”

I nodded slowly, gently shushing him. “Ok, no needles. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. … Let's start with a few deep breaths, yeah? Can we do that?”

He slowly tilted his head toward me, and I moved my hands slowly up from my stomach to my throat as I breathed in, then back down again as I breathed out. I did this several times before he started to follow along, slowly letting his breathing sync up with mine. “There we go, well done. Do you think you can stand?”

He nodded once, slowly rising to stand against the wall. I slowly approached, offering him the shirt again. Gingerly, he reached out to take it, being oddly careful not to let our fingers touch. His gloves were torn open, revealing bloodied knuckles. “Can we go to the car? Looks like you've got some cuts, I bet they have a first aid kit over there.”

He flinched, shaking his head a bit. “They'll heal.”

“... They'd heal best if we cleaned them first. Can we just get some water on them, rinse the dirt out?” I slowly lifted my hands, palms up, offering them to him; “please? … I won't let them do anything you aren't ready for, I promise.”

His body seemed to move on instinct; as our hands touched he froze, whining sharply. “... Fuck … no, … d- don't want to do this … m'sposed to protect you …”

I gently squeezed his hands. “You have protected me. You protected the whole city. You did your job, Hood, and you did it well. Now let me help you. Please?”

He shuddered and collapsed against me, suddenly wrapping his arms around my waist like I was a life raft in the ocean. I grunted softly, stumbling a bit, but managed not to fall over. It briefly crossed my mind just how pissed Jason was going to be when I told him about this; if vigilantes showing up near my work made him grumpy, what was he going to do about one clinging to me like this? But I pushed the thought away, determined to get Red Hood into the Batmobile so they could take him to get treated.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, awkwardly patting his back. “... I've got you. You're gonna be ok. Let's get to the car, ok?”

He let me guide him to the Batmobile, clinging to me the whole way there. I could feel Batman staring us down as I slowly coaxed the giant man into the back seat. He let me rinse his scraped up knuckles with a bottle of water, but wouldn't accept anything else. Before I could leave, he pulled me onto his lap, nuzzling my neck and whining softly. “Ah! … U- uh, Mr. Hood, I do have a boyfriend now…”

He groaned softly, holding me tight and whispering. I only caught the occasional word, the voice modulator garbled the rest; “need ……. So pretty ……. Soft …… mine …. Love …. Fuck, just wanna …….. neeeeed~ ….”

Spoiler wrinkled her nose a bit, shrugging. “... It'll be easiest to get him treated if we just … let him be. …. Think you can sit like that for … 20 minutes?”

I sighed softly. “... I guess?”

I rubbed his shoulder gently, letting him continue to mumble and nuzzle against me. Jason would be pissed, but at least Red Hood wasn't being particularly handsy. He was actually keeping his hands very carefully on my calves or waist, never venturing between the knees and the waistband of my jeans, weirdly respectful for someone drugged out of their mind on Poison Ivy's pheromones, whether those pheromones were corrupted or not. Batman and Spoiler got in the front seats, and we sped away. I saw Nightwing riding behind us as we raced out of the city.

“... Should I be keeping my eyes closed or something?”

Spoiler turned back to face us and laughed a bit. “... Maybe? I guess. And you can take that mask off now. By the time we open the doors we'll be far enough away from the affected area.”

I nodded, sliding the breathing mask off and closing my eyes. Red Hood stroked my back, purring softly. I sighed, patting his shoulder more. I tried not to think too hard about how I was going to explain this to Jason. I'd think of something; something that would keep him from confronting the Red Hood when this was all over.

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 8 pt 3

masterpost

“I have a high degree of confidence that the tools are collected from this neighborhood. I have compiled a list of buildings where a workshop might conceivably operate.”

Cass nodded, engaging the locks on her batcycle. Damibat started pulling up the cover and handed it to her to snap into place. “Thank you,” she said, belated. Cass ran her tongue over the backside of her teeth. “Engineering power?”

“No conspicuous consumption,” Damibat reported. Professional for sure. “In light of the unknown power source for the tools themself, my leading theory is that the mechanic uses this unknown material for their workshop.”

She nodded. Made sense. Fit together, puzzle pieces that click together. The hunters both clicked through the belt mechanisms for grapples and then they soared together. Air blew into Black Bat’s face, buffeting her into an embrace. They cut through the air silently, Black Bat a second behind the case lead, Robin. 

His leads were:

Former car shop. Abandoned 4 months.

Basement floor of apartment building owned by mob affiliate.

Store front, shut down after cashier-owner murdered, gun crime.

In the right neighborhood, Black Bat started to feel a certainty. This was the right place. The mechanic was here. Something in her heart told her. It thudded, warm and reassuring, a reminder that she was breathing oxygen and pumping blood. Everything was well. Nothing was ghostly.

One by one, the Bats Black and Small crept in through windows and around blocks, looking for clues. 

Former car shop: Genuinely deserted! Black Bat felt proud of Gotham. It was nice that no one was creeping and crawling. Well. She was creeping and Robin was crawling, but that was different.

Basement floor: occupied, by many rats and still water. Biohazard. Black Bat put her breathing filter on and resigned herself to writing a report and request for cleanup. Very dangerous. Possible Legionnaire’s disease and others. Yuck.

Store front: Gotham fail. In use as a marijuana growing facility. Big sigh.  Do better, friends.

“Hardly a real crime,” Robin scoffed. He snapped his cape behind him and pulled out his grapple, angry with himself. Must have been wrong. Incompetent. I don’t like me when I fail. “Wasted time.”

Cass frowned, hesitating to follow. “No…” she said. The certainty hadn’t left her. Something in her hunting instinct knew. There was at least one trail to follow. She could sense it nearby.

Robin snapped to look at her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking: That’s unusual. Why is she uncertain? What does she perceive?

She cracked a faint smile behind her mouth mask. “Follow,” Cass requested. Robin, sweet and disciplined Robin, switched roles seamlessly. He followed her and she followed a sense that she hadn’t noticed before today.

They went over one block, and then up, up, up. A low income apartment building. Windows were dirty on the outside, smog and birdshit. The residents didn’t care to enjoy the view outside: there were curtains, UV blocking film, and taped up posters. She came to the ledge outside a 7th floor apartment and paused, frowning. 

“Here?” Robin breathed it so quietly that only their shared headsets picked it up. 

Cass nodded. 

The window was obscured. Unfortunate. Cass wiped at filth forlornly, but there was a poster taped on it. There was a small peeking spot to sneak a look through, about two centimeters wide. Black Bat spidered her way across the window to line her face up to look into the apartment.

It was dim, lit by a green glow from a big screen, probably. Video game? Black Bat spied the back of a sofa and a shadow cast by legs hanging over the edge. Someone was sleeping there. Hmm.

She turned her face expectantly to Robin. He was typing into the wrist computer. “Leased by a young woman,” he reported sotto voice. His eyebrows went up. “A civil engineering student at Gotham U. No other residents on the lease.” He tilted to show her a pale young woman with a narrow face and brown hair. Flat color: dyed? Suspicious or fashion choice?

Cass squinted back inside at the sleeping person. Must be Jacqueline. Criminal mechanic was female? Neat. Go girls, go! Go to jail in this case, but still. Neat.

“Shall we enter?” Robin was clearly ready to go.

Black Bat shook her head. “Daylight,” she said practically. Pass to the Signal. It’s only fair. Optimal time to sneak and creep is when school is in session; apartment empty. Nighttime is better for confrontation. “Docks now?”

Comms clicked. “I was waiting for you to ask,” Oracle said, smug, good timing, I have everything under control. “I have what might be Lex Luthor moving something across the bay tonight. Interested in taking a look at what he wants to sneak out of Gotham?”

Hell yeah.

[tvseries-writings]

Heat Kills

Plot: Reader has an heatstroke caused by an intensive workout.

Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca x reader

You can't stand the heat; you’ve hated it since you were little, always. When summer came, you were happy just because school was over but, at the same time, you hated the forty degrees you had to endure every single day.

Then you became a professional soccer player and, having always played on teams up north, you never felt as hot as you did this season with the OL Reign. Although the Seattle Women's soccer Team has been a great benefit in your career, this scorching heat is truly terrible, especially since you are not used to it.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you grab your water bottle and tuck it into your backpack, ready to face a scorching workout in the ten o'clock morning sun.

"Good morning Bella, where are you going?" Carina hugs you from behind, her breasts pressing against your back as she fondles your butt with an amused smirk on her face.

"Car I'm on my way to practice and I'm already late ... as much as I would like to slam you against this table, unfortunately I can't."

You turn around, staying in her arms and kissing the tip of her nose with a smile.

Carina pouts, and after a few seconds, just long enough for her brain to work and understand what you've just told her, her gaze changes to a frown of confusion and concern at the same time.

"The weather alert has been issued, didn't you see it Bambina? You can't train in this heat, it's going to be 104° F out there..."

You sigh and shake your head slightly. You knew this conversation would happen, and you also know how it will end. Probably with a gorgeous, sexy Italian doctor very pissed off at you.

"Car, I can't miss another workout. Less than two weeks ago I was sick and couldn't train for almost a whole week, I can't miss any more days. I have to earn my place on the team, you know it's important to me…like this"

Carina shakes her head several times, hard. She tortures her lower lip, clenching it between her teeth, and although you find it very sexy, the particularly pissed off look on the Italian's face gives you pause to comment on how hot she is when she does this.

"You'll get sick if you run in this heat. They can't make you train with a weather alert, è sconsiderato e stupido. Cazzo."

Your lovely girl rants in her native language, and you foolishly fail to control yourself and let your eyes wander to the clock hanging on the wall behind the angry doctor.

You had never done that before.

"Are you really thinking you're going to be late? No way, you can't really think about going y/n. Ugh, who am I kidding? Of course you want to go, sometimes I think you're worse than Maya...you know what, fai come ti pare."

"Carina, wait-"

Before you can even try to stop her and reason with her, the brunette locks herself in your bedroom slamming the door and making the whole apartment shake.

You know her, you know that she just has to let the pissing go now. So, despite the knot in your stomach from the fight and with the excuse of giving her the space she needs, you bend down to pick up your duffel bag and then leave the apartment, stuffing your car keys into the left pocket of your shorts, ready to head to the soccer field.

.........................................................................................

After only an hour and a half of practice, you realize you've screwed up big time when you start to lose all feeling in your body and feel like you're floating on air. Your teammates are no better off than you are.

You cast a glance at Coach Harvey, praying that she will notice the terrible condition you are in but you doubt it. After all, she is sitting in the shade and with all this heat you doubt she is really watching you. At least, not today.

The ball is put back in the middle, after Clarke has scored one of her famous goals, and the coach blows her whistle. You run nonstop to get to Clarke's side; you cross the half-court line and are careful not to be offside as you pass the ball between you over and over again.

You don't know how but suddenly you are no longer in control of your body and your right foot ends up over the ball instead of to the side. In less than a second, you find yourself on the ground groaning in pain as soon as you hit the ground.

"Fuck."

You snort, wrinkling your nose and taking the hand offered to you without even understanding who is offering it to you. Octavia gives you a smile, although she can't really hide the worry on her face.

She helps you to your feet and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"You don't look so good, are you okay?"

Meanwhile, the other girls have taken the opportunity there to take a break and drink some water, and you don't blame them, especially considering that you still have another hour of training ahead of you.

Octavia Blake is many things but she is definitely not a quitter. Never.

"You're really hot y/n, are you sure you feel good?"

You don't answer her, you don't feel good at all, and you can't even understand her.

"I don't think Carina and Maya would agree, you know? I'll take you to them."

You don't really understand what she is saying, not at all. The heat clouds your mind; you run a hand over your forehead, you have the impression that you are dripping with sweat but actually you are not, your hand is completely dry when you pull it back.

Not good, not good at all. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you lean against Octavia making her support you even more and she is the one who supports you even more.

From that moment until she takes you to Station 19, you don't notice anything, just her shaking you from time to time as you go, calling your name several times as you continue to lose consciousness. The only time you realize you are at the station is when Andy and Vic help Octavia get you out of the car.

They’re probably calling your name but you can't answer; honestly, you don't even know how you are there, really.

You don't know how much time has passed, but you only begin to understand what is going on around you because of your Italian girlfriend's warm hands caressing your face.

"Bambina, bambina look at me. Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Carina swipes a strand of wet hair from your forehead, bringing it behind your ear. The doctor pulls a small flashlight out of her gown, turns it on and holds it in front of your eyes while she holds your head still.

"Y/n, follow the light, honey. Follow the light, okay?"

You wrinkle your nose, and the nausea you have been feeling up to this point only increases as you are blinded by the flashlight.

You scan Carina with one arm, turn onto your side and vomit all the contents of your stomach onto the floor.

Carina strokes your back, trying to give you as much comfort as she can, while Andy shoves an IV of cold fluids into you.

"Andy, call Maya. I think the heat stroke is a lo worse than I thought. She's not even sweating..."

As soon as Carina sees Andy running down the hall to find your firegirl, she immediately turns to you and takes the thermometer out of Vic's hands. She sticks it in your mouth, even though you are not very cooperative, and waits for you to make the sound to check your temperature: 104° F.

Carina gasps and her heart stops for a few seconds; she is more than aware that such a temperature is very dangerous and could even make you convulse.

You start sobbing and try to reach Carina with clumsy and uncoordinated movements, seeking the comfort of a hug. You feel so bad that you do not realize what you are doing; it is as if you have no control over your body. Your confused state only makes the doctor more concerned.

"Bella we can't, your temperature is too high."

Carina bites her lip, trying not to cry. She wants to hold you in her arms but she can’t.

"Car..."

Carina feels her heart stop when suddenly your eyes roll back and your body is suddenly shaken by convulsions.

"Damn it, no no no. Come back to me, Bella.”

Carina turns you on your side, pulling up the arms of the cot and takes care of your head.

"Vic, give her a 12-mg Diazepam drip!"

Vic goes to the station's medical supplies in a flash and rummages around until she finds what Carina asked for. She prepares the solution and inserts the IV into your left arm, which Carina says is your best arm for targeting veins.

In less than three minutes your body has stopped moving. Carina pulls your hair back from in front of your face and leaves a kiss on your forehead before unwinding the IV bag a bit to check the speed at which the drug is being administered.

"Carina!"

Maya Bishop, Captain of Station 19 as well as your girlfriend, comes running up to you. Concern fills her blue eyes that you love so much.

"What happened? Andy told me you were with her but she didn't tell me what it was about..."

Maya takes your hand between her own wincing in shock when she feels how much heat your skin is giving off.

"Shit, she's burning up. We have to get her to Grey's Sloan."

Carina and Maya exchange a glances. Carina twists her lower lip between her teeth and runs a hand through her hair. Both you and the blonde know that this gesture indicates that the brunette is very worried about something.

"No, you know how much she hates Bella hospitals. We can't, we can't do that to her. Let's take her to your office and use your shower to cool her down."

Maya leans over to take you in her arms but Carina stops her, shaking her head firmly.

"You have to be very careful Maya, we shouldn't even be moving her but we need to get her temperature down quickly. She had a seizure and I'm afraid she may still have another one.”

Carina whispers, her voice breaking as she thinks back to the feeling of a few moments ago. Maya takes a deep breath; she doesn't think she has ever been so scared in her entire life. She barely nods, taking you in her arms with such gentleness that she is surprised herself. Maya walks down the corridor to the door of her own office; Carina opens the door for you, and as soon as you cross the threshold, she closes it again.

The blonde firefighter lays you down on her bed, paying special attention to your head as Carina kneels beside you. She puts two fingers on your right wrist to check your pulse while looking at the clock on the wall.

"Pulse is dropping, we need to cool her down now, Maya-“

"Shit, she's seizing. Maya, help me!"

Carina turns you onto your side, removing the pillow from under your head and being very careful about the arm in which the IV needle is still stuck .

"Maya, Maya I need you to focus amore mio. She needs you; Maya look at me" Carina groans in frustration and concern for the blonde, watching her stand absolutely still in front of this horrible sight, "Maya!"

The firefighter blinks a few times before recovering from her shocked state and jumping into action. She lifts everything around that could hurt you and helps Carina hold you on your side so you don't choke on your own tongue.

It takes a good three interminable minutes before the seizure is over and Maya and Carina's arms ache from the force they had to use to hold you down.

"We're running out of time," Carina says, starting to remove off every layer of clothing but your underwear before taking you into her arms. Maya looks like a machine, she does everything Carina tells her to do - like turn on the shower, for example - but her eyes are blank, the Italian knows very well that the blonde is not in a good headspace right now but now the priority, as much as it hurts her to have to necessarily choose between the two of you, is you.

Maya turns on the tub's faucet and waits for it to fill. Carina steps in and slowly and gently losers you into the tub. You gasp, your eyes jerking open as your body feels the excessive change in temperature. A whimper escapes your lips as you try to pull away from the icy grip but firm hands hold you down, whispering excuses you don't want to hear right now.

"N-no, f-cold. I-I don't want to."

Chills run down your spine, making you whimper softly as you try to pulls your girls closer to you.

"I know Amore, I know... Shh, it's okay. You'll get better, you'll get better."

Carina rubs your back, somehow trying to comfort you without giving you too much heat.

The Italian puts her hand on your forehead, feeling that your temperature has dropped a bit.

"Maya I'm cold, I'm cold, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, I don't want to do this anymore."

The fever makes you start cry and your body is shaken by sobs that only make you feel worse.

Her name spoken by you make out of the near catatonic state she has been in.

“Baby, you need to calm down, this is not good for you okay? I promise it will be over soon but this way you are putting to much strain on your heart love. Please calm down."

Maya takes your hand and brings it to her own chest for you to follow her breathing and you do, unconsciously and maybe out of habit, but you do.

Carina keeps an eye on your heartbeat the whole time; her fingers never leaving your pulse for a moment, and her heart only seems to start beating again only when your pulse slows down and becomes stable again, at least for your current condition.

More than twenty minutes pass in the freezing water before you are finally covered with at least a T-shirt and then placed on the bed in Maya's office. Under cooling blankets, contrary to what you would have liked. Your mind is clearer and Carina and Maya are very relieved about that.

"What happened?"

Your voice is barely more than a whisper. You are struggling to find the words and your mouth feels as if it is stuck. It is also exhausting to talk right now, you can barely move your head towards them to look into their eyes as you speak.

"Heat stroke, Octavia brought you here Bella. You've had two convulsive episodes from a high fever. It's down now, but you're not out of the woods yet, so you need to rest."

Carina strokes your face as she points to the IV in your arm. As soon as you see it, you panic. You sit up and scratch your arm to pull the IV out. Under normal circumstances, you would think before you act but now, the delirium of heatstroke is just flying the last neurons you had.

"No no no, the press will go crazy with this news. I can't stay in the hospital, I have to get out of here; an OL soccer player in the hospital for heat stroke, n-"

Maya grabs your face and, to your and Carina's surprise, slaps you. Not so hard that it really hurts, but hard enough to bring you back to reality.

Although shock, fever, and heat stroke cloud your mind, you recognize where you are in a few moments.

"Oh...we're in your office."

You place the hand you were about to use to remove your IV at your side and give them a small apologetic smile.

"It's okay Bella, now get some rest. I'd like to keep you here a little longer for observation. We’ll take you home tonight, if all goes as it should."

Carina leans over you and plants a kiss on your lips, followed soon after by Maya.

"Now Maya and I will talk, you rest. Oh, and don't even think you've escaped the lecture. It’s waiting for you as soon as you feel better.”

Carina smiles at you with a wink and then leaves the office followed by Maya. Not before the latter mimics you an "I love you" with her lips and mentally asks you to pray for her. Surely, Carina won't let her get over the slap she gave you a few minutes ago.

Hey, thanks for reading. I know it's not much and it’s not that good but it's better than nothing, right? Write a comment and tell me what you think. Have a nice day!

p.s: I wrote this because it's like thirty-five degrees in Italy and I'm dying :)

Buy me a coffee ☕️

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