#having a lot of thoughts for someone who's brain rotted away

[total-drama-brainrot]

you guys ever hear a new song and frantically conceptualise a whole AU around it, starring your current Main Blorbo? or is that just me?

[milflewis]

do you think writers get enough credit and notes and stuff on here?

on tumblr dot com? lol nearly died laffin there thank u

[kthologue]

steal my girl — gojo satoru

synopsis. the time gojo and megumi decided to crash your date.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo roping megumi into his loser activities, timeskips, tw sappy

notes. this drabble has been rotting in my brain for over a year. finally wrote it!

“I’m going on a date.”

It only took five simple words from you to make the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer drop to his knees. For the first time in his life, Gojo could swear he was experiencing shortness of breath. And was it just him, or were the walls closing in?

“What?” The word leaves his mouth like a demand rather than a question. He’s trying so hard not to overreact, but your overjoyed face makes it nearly impossible not to succumb to the ugly green monster clawing at his insides.

“Well,” you push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re not the only one that pulls.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gojo mutters under his breath, eye twitching. Don’t you know how hard he works to deter any suitors vying for your attention when the two of you are out? He’s practically a rabid dog growling at anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.

Hell, even Shoko once mentioned to him something about being a “registered pervert” at most establishments you frequent together.

 Not his finest moments.

You eye Satoru suspiciously before continuing. That was your first mistake.

“Yeah, he’s taking me to that new Michelin Star restaurant downtown,” you sigh dreamily. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that so cool?”

Gojo scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve just said so. I know a place that has three Michelin Stars.”

You pout. “Well, it’s different with you.”

Gojo’s eyebrow quirks up. “How so?”

“You’re a friend. And with him…” You trail off, suddenly feeling shy under Gojo’s piercing gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you toy with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s a lot more romantic.”

Gojo thinks he could just die.

The word romantic rings in his ears, and it was deafening. It digs into his ribs and squeezes at something raw inside him. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, yet right now, he feels utterly powerless against the way your voice softens when you talk about someone else. Against the way your lips curve at the thought of another man.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Romantic, huh?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.

You nod, eyes glimmering with something dreamy, something distant, and Gojo wants to reach out and wipe it away. He wants that look—wants to be the reason for it.

If you wanted romance, he could give you romance.

Better romance.

A grand plan manifests in his head, spinning to life at full speed. 

Oh, this poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment Megumi sees Gojo enter his and Tsumiki’s shared apartment, he knows something is wrong. There’s a certain energy in the air, a distinct lack of peace that Gojo drags with him that makes the eight year old’s stomach churn.

“Fushiguro!” Gojo’s voice rings out, far too enthusiastic for Megumi’s liking. “We have a problem.”

Megumi barely glances up from his book. “We?”

Gojo makes himself at home and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, we. Our dear [Name] here has a date.”

Megumi's grip on his book tightens, his interest sparking at the mention of you. Where Gojo lacked maturity, you balanced it effortlessly. He liked that about you. He liked you.

Megumi blinks once. “And?”

Gojo sighs dramatically. “And we can’t just let her go unprotected, can we?”

“Unprotected?” Megumi repeats, deadpan. “From what? Bad table manners?”

“From heartbreak, Megumi!” Gojo places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized. “What if this guy is a total loser? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he’s a handsy creep?”

Megumi’s expression darkens. He had been indifferent before, but now there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of you being stuck with some no-good scrub who isn’t worthy. In a series of twisted events, you and that white haired idiot had managed to become the only constants in his life. The last thing he wanted was for some random guy to come along and take you away.

“We need to intervene,” Gojo presses, watching the flicker of hesitation in Megumi’s expression. His usual deadpan exterior is cracking, just a little. Gojo knows he has him.

Megumi exhales sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly. “I am not going to ruin their date.” His voice is firm, but there’s a sliver of doubt wedged between the words. Gojo seizes it like a cat pouncing on its prey.

“Ruin?” Gojo gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Megumi, this is purely a background check.” His grin stretches.

Megumi glares at him. “It could be considered stalking.”

Gojo waves him off. “Pfft. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘protective oversight’.”

“You don’t even know if he’s a bad person.”

Gojo tilts his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe he’s perfect. Maybe he’ll take such good care of her that we won’t be needed anymore.”

Megumi stiffens, and Gojo bites back a smirk.

“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but Gojo steamrolls over him.

“I mean, think about it. If this date goes well, they might actually start dating. And then what? She’ll start spending more time with him.” Gojo nudges him. “She’ll run off and start a new family.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Gojo corrects cheerfully. 

Megumi runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. He already knows Gojo won’t drop this, and, annoyingly, he’s already planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

Gojo leans in, voice lower, almost serious. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Megumi exhales sharply. “...Yeah.”

“And you’d rather make sure she’s safe than sit around wondering?”

Megumi stares at him for a long moment, then groans. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Gojo grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go before you start growing a conscience.”

The night was supposed to be perfect. A well earned break. It your first real date in a while. Probably your first since meeting Gojo. Though, strangely, you’d never stopped to question why that was.

The guy sitting across from you was a non-sorcerer, and while his looks had been enough to catch your attention when he first asked you out, the novelty was wearing off fast. His personality was as flat and each word he spoke draining more of your enthusiasm. You found yourself nodding along absently, barely listening, already regretting your decision.

Still, you just had to stick it out until the food arrived. Then you could eat, make an excuse, and be done with this painfully dull evening.

Though, just when you thought the night was starting to get interesting, a familiar voice cuts through the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.

“Mom, who is this strange man?”

Your choke on your wine at the familiar voice while your date stiffens.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you come face-to-face with Megumi, standing at your table with his arms crossed. His expression is perfectly deadpan, but you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, a familiar gleam of mischief that could only be the work of a certain white-haired man lurking nearby.

“E-eh?!” You sputter, glancing between Megumi and your date.

Your date looks thoroughly confused. “Do you… know this child?”

“N-no—I mean, yes, but—”

Megumi doesn’t give you a chance to explain. Instead, he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And what will Gojo—Dad—say about this?”

The words slam into you like a truck.

Your date’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”

“N-no!”

“Then why is he calling you Mom?”

You glare at Megumi, but he just shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Come home,” Megumi continues with a sigh. “Tsumiki misses you too.”

“You have multiple children?!”

Your date looks absolutely horrified, like he’s just found himself in the middle of a scandalous affair. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, if you’re going through a divorce or something, we don’t have to do this—”

Before you can defend yourself, another, far-too-cheerful voice joins in.

“There you are, sweetheart!”

Gojo waltzes up to the table, dressed in his finest suit and those damn glasses he only wore on special occasions. He places a hand on your shoulder and turns to your date with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression. “Sorry, buddy, but this one’s a real work. You know it took me two kids to finally tie her down?”

Your date glances between you, Megumi, and Gojo, his eyes wide with pure panic, as if he’s just stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension. His grip tightens around his napkin, knuckles white. “I—I think I should go.”

You lurch forward, reaching out as if that might stop him. “No, wait—!”

But it’s already too late. He’s scrambling for his coat, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over his drink in his rush. Without sparing you another glance, he spins on his heel and all but bolts toward the exit, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

You sit frozen for a second, blinking at the now-empty seat across from you. Then, slowly, you turn toward the culprits, fists clenched at your sides.

“You two,” you hiss, voice low and simmering with fury, “are in serious trouble.”

Megumi has the decency to look guilty, staring down at his lap, shifting awkwardly in his seat as if he’s just now realizing the full extent of what they’ve done.

Gojo, on the other hand, is utterly shameless. He stands there in all his smug glory, adjusting his sunglasses with a satisfied smirk. 

You grab your purse and storm out of the restaurant, with the two trailing behind you like two guilty kids.

“You know,” Gojo muses, “I think that went pretty well.”

You round on him so fast that even he takes a step back. “Pretty well?! You humiliated me! That poor guy thinks I have an entire secret family!”

Gojo snickers. “Well, technically, you do.”

You jab a finger into his chest. “You are not my husband.”

“But wouldn’t it be great if I was?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Megumi lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t entertain him. I’m sorry, [Name].” His blue eyes are trained onto the floor, “I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

You exhale sharply, some of your anger ebbing as you glance between the two of them.

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you sigh, your frustration softening at the sight of his guilty expression. You could never stay mad at him, not with that face.

Gojo, however, was a different story.

Slowly, you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You—”

He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me?”

Oh, he was so in for it.

Although he had been shamelessly unapologetic at the time, Gojo still found ways to complain about that night, even years later, after you were finally married.

“It was an unusually cruel punishment,” your husband whines dramatically, draping his entire body weight onto you as if his sheer presence could sway your sympathy.

“You mean the silent treatment?” you deadpan, eyes still trained on Megumi practicing his cursed technique across the yard. “It was only a week. Could’ve been longer if you hadn’t harassed everyone around me until they practically begged me to forgive you.”

Gojo lifts his head just enough to shoot you an exaggerated pout. “I don’t harass people. I simply exist, and they just happen to find me irresistible.”

“You tend to have the exact opposite effect, actually.”

“Ten years later, and you’re still so cruel to me.” He sighs heavily, as if burdened by the weight of your terrible treatment, before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You wound me, wife.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest as his breath tickles your skin. “You’re impossible.”

A loud thud interrupts the moment, and you both glance over just in time to see Megumi scowling, his stance off from a misstep in his training.

“You are still disgusting after all of these years,” he grumbles, adjusting his form before going at it again.

Gojo beams. “Aww, he likes us.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He tolerates us.”

“Eh, same thing.” Gojo squeezes you tighter, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to your cheek just to be insufferable.

Megumi groans. “Seriously, get a room.”

Gojo smirks, wiggling his brows. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”

[doodlenoodleboi]

Senku l. (before & after the stone)

Headcanons, sfw,nsfw, suggestive…

Author’s note: Senku is a fictional character he is canonically 15-16 in the beginning of the series and 17-18 by season 3 not taking account for the manga which he is older. If in the future I make works on characters you deem unfitting for the roll of nsfw fiction or suggestive works of while aged up feel free to block me! Also a reminder that this is a fictional character, made up of lines/pixels. Do not waste your time writing petty hate comments which I will remove and are a waste of your life which you will not get back. I choose to be delusional about fictional characters for my own satisfaction, good day!

Word count: a lot

Before the stone

Sfw

Senku is a bit more less responsible before the stone as he is allowed to act like a kid. He often spends his time in the school lab or at home and can be seen with is small group of friends. (Taiju Oki and Yuzuriha Ogawa.)

Love and romantic relationships are something Senku has found himself uninterested in his teenage years. Dedicating himself to his craft and love for science.

You can take science away from the man but not the science from the man. (You really can’t do either)

Senku has found people conventionally attractive to a specific statistical standard but not to him personally and probably won’t ever given he doesn’t have a common attraction to physical attributes.

Though through statistics he can still find someone who he would be generally attracted to physically. Someone with glasses, makes their interests obvious ex: paint on body all the time, a lab coat or constantly wearing something of their special interest would be people he gravitates towards.

(As someone who is neurodivergent in the worst ways I think half the cast is autistic or a Shokunin if you will a person deeply dedicated to their craft.) So someone as such will attract Senku not romantically of course but they will be bound to cross paths.

There are a multitude of ways you could meet you might never meet but to keep it simple I’m going to give you a multitude of possibilities to have rot in your head.

Being apart of the school’s science club is one way always spending time with him constantly in the science room after school.

Being a dumbass needed tutoring friends with one of his friends but not with Senku directly, or competing for higher grades, a good enemies to lovers. Maybe you’re even apart of the school’s science club making you and Senku acquaintances if anything.

Senku doesn’t back down from competition when it comes to brains but quickly when it comes to fights. Being rivals to Senku is a good asset in the stone world getting you to be one of the first few people to be revived truly testing if you’re book smart (can do it in theory on paper in school) and street smart (do it for real and faster than the time given in school).

Senku was hesitant more than he ever has been getting in a relationship with you. Being shy was simply not an option for him, he thought it was a waste of time often making him coming off as stiff and blunt.

A relationship of romantic interest with Senku will never be said nor be official. He will never say he loves you or that he likes you even give he believes actions speak louder than words. If you give him time you will see through subtle ways that he is attracted to you. 

He will ask you about things that don’t matter much: like should I choose this or that color the small things…

He’ll allow you to touch his hair if your one for pda, he won’t reciprocated often at most leaning into the touch out of pure comfort. He won’t push you off understanding that this is a love language (that did take him a while to understand.)

Senku’s love language is quality time and gift giving. This is more often seen in the stone world but it expressed as well before hand even more so if you’re a science nerd along with him.

He’ll be willing to conduct experiments with you along with share materials with you which is a rare thing for him being an only child never having to share much of anything.

I believe that Senku is aroace or at the very least ace. He can still have platonic love and relationships but isn’t fond of romantic ones being in a romantic relationship from his perspective is his treating you like a best friend practically treating you like a mixture between yuzuriha and Kohaku.

Suggestive

Anything remotely romantic would have to be initiated by you and 9/10 you’re going to either get pushed off. Or he just sits there waiting for you to get over with it. Something like the (kohaku kissing Senku scene in season 3)

For your sake he has experimented once or twice before with make out sessions or kissing to get you to do something (like get you to do an experiment with him.) any kind of physical touch from him romantic wise once again if not initiated by you. 

He’s a responsible enough person to know better than to have sexual intercourse at his age nor is he interested enough to risk it not that questions about it don’t cross his mind but we’ll explore those much later down the line.

Though he’s more likely to tease you occasionally and lean his arm atop your head if you’re short. Expect this more often if you have curly hair

If you have 4c or curly hair in general he will be near you more often especially if you’re a foreigner. Have issues finding hair products for your hair type in Japan? He got you give him a couple strands of your hair next thing you know he has a whole list of products for your hair and product sample packets surrounding him.

Nsfw

Sorry there is none Senku was not interested in sexual acts before the stone nor very much after.

Though he will ask you a lot of “inappropriate questions” but i promise you he’s just genuinely curious. And he’s not trying to infer anything he promises.

After the stone

As I said Senku’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. This becomes more apparent in the stone world. If you had something you held close best believe he will try his best to make it for you. If you’re an artist he’s make brushes and paint etc…

He’s a bit kinder and softer after the stone. People he has known longer therefore care for more he unconsciously takes them on more missions with him around or in a safe space.

If he knew you before the stone you’re likely to be one of the first people out of stone. Though if not you are an important asset and he sees you for your skills and talents so be grateful for that.

If you’re a creative type expect to be paired with Yuzuriha often. A martial artist or athlete expect Kohaku and Taiju.

What Senku appreciate most is people interested in his work, he loves experimenting and explaining his process even to those a who don’t understand so please entertain him for a while if you expect at friendship let alone a romantic relationship.

People who are aroace can have relationships but they can often be on sided in the romance department. It’s not that they don’t love platonically you they just don’t know how to react to that romantically or don’t want romance.(yall can choose if Senku is aroace or not) As long as you’re ok with that your relationship with Senku will be fine. (I’ll just write him as dense to love for yall though.)

Senku if he does love you will occasionally indulge in your romantic behavior and take this a complent if it was a last resort he wouldn't be against procreating with you. (it took him a lot to admit that so you better take it.)

Romantic relationships are often seen as an inconvenience given he doesn't see the need for them and doesn't think he could would be the best fit for something like that.

He true for the most part but he is able to be in a romantic relationship. It may not be as romantic as a you like but if he has an interest in you he will unconsciously do these things. Don't expect any hand-holding and kissing though.

The only way you could get him to hold your hand is for technical reasons like you not getting lost.

Suggestive

I do agree with the fact that Senku would experiment on his significant other and I think this would be more common before the stone but in small ways.

An unexpected romantic act to see how you respond.

He will use this advantage if gen tells him you like him or something for free labor but we won’t abuse it he’s not that mean.

The only way I could see a “relationship forming” Is Senku using you for labor and “paying you” with physical touch. Kisses, hugs and stuff, he likes you platonically but as time goes on he starts experimenting with you first it’s his far will you go for each type of affection. Then it’s soon how will you react to this or that. He says it’s not you that he loves but the reaction you make like a chemical reaction in your mind. Knowing his autistic ass it might be true but the way he acts makes you unsure.

Or maybe finding a girl smarter than him would rial him up he might see you as arrival at first. You guys could be partners, he swears he doesn’t love you, but the science you create the knowledge you know, that wrinkly brain of yours.

He tends to have a love for things rather than people in a way he loves science and the things people are good at their talents but maybe not themselves, he swears but he does establish relationships with characters like Gen and Chrome as friends so I’m sure he can establish a romantic relationship if we take this route.

Then I could actually get into how Senku would “experiment” with his “friend” this would create an friends with benefits kinda situation but it’s not like Senku sees it like that he just doesn’t have time for labels and probably wouldn’t care about it. Just don’t call him pet names because he doesn’t like it. The relationship would be private so the villagers don’t make a fuss, for as far was that would last with Gen around.

NSFW - ish

Let’s talk about Senku’s experiments

Of course you consented to this but you might know what your getting into 100%

It’s basically just a very handsy check up while he asks you questions you may or may not be able to answer.

Ex: “Are your breast sensitive? There is a high concentration of nerve endings present in that area, making them one of the most sensitive parts of the body. While he’s over here playing with them in every way imaginable. He’s going to continue to do this for every inch of your body and take an analysis writing how painful each part is and or sensitive.

So I’ll let you guys imagine that

Thank you for reading!!

[kaeyeahsworld]

The Right Choice

content warning: mild abusive relationship, thoughts of cheating (but none actually) scumbag ex, mild violence, regret, big dick toji, eating out, female reader, fingering, orgasm, 18+, angst bcs I love writing it.

A/N: another tattoo artist Toji brain rot. Not proof read or edited pls don’t come after me, come after or for toji which ever works for u :D

It had been an entire year of your scumbag boyfriend setting up his own tattoo parlour right along side Toji’s.

Although in the initial days, your boyfriend’s place had done better compared to Toji’s simply because he was loud and obnoxious enough about his work, but when ultimately it came to finesse in the art Toji remained undefeated.

Toji’s calm but awkward manner with the clients made him an instant favourite in stark contrast to your boyfriend who only cared about the bucks.

With the tattoo parlours being almost beside each other, you often bumped into him. The first few times were just awkward but prolonged eye contacts, that went ahead to subtle smiles and Toji’s crinkling eyes, which at last proceeded to an awkward conversation.

“I see you around a lot. You work here?” He somehow mustered up the courage to ask you that, praying to the saints he hadn’t come off as creepy or overbearing.

Toji could never forget the first time he had laid his eyes upon you. It was late in the night while he was closing down, when he heard some voracious laughter coming off from Zack’s parlour. On the usual, he wouldn’t give two fucks if someone was even dying on Zack’s side but when curiosity got the best of him, he turned around and glimpsed at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

Only for the rose coloured glass to be broken when he got to know that you were dating Zack. The most narcissistic piece of douche Toji had ever come across.

He initially thought you might have been the same and somehow kept convincing himself to keep away, but none of that worked when you guys had started conversing.

You had met Zack at a concert and not knowing better started dating him and the year since then had been..well, bleak to say the least.

Zack was beyond your comprehension. He was everything you wished you were- loud, confident but the more you came closer to his world, the more distant you felt from him. The Zack that doted on you in the beginning and made out sloppily with this stinky breath was nowhere to be found these days. The Zack that was all up for late night video calls was now the same one who would leave you on delivered for 24 hours straight. Or should you say a different one. Still, you were a stubborn little one. Refusing to accept the reality of the situation.

To the add to the whole thing, was the guilt that was brought upon by your little crush on Toji. You would never cheat on your guy, but god Toji felt like he was everything you deserved and more.

His intense lingering gazes, his soft smiles, his gentle demeanour but the strength that had come with it. It gave you all the right shivers.

Ironically, the first time you guys spoke to each other was when you were trying to escape your boyfriend who was fighting with a customer about the design, when you had accidentally bumped into Toji.

Noticing the inked beauty peaking out on his forearm, you immediately realised that this was your favourite artists design.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah” Toji looked at you, trying to not let his heart eyes show,

“Is your tattoo Miyazaki’s work?�� This question genuinely surprised Toji and gosh he prayed to the heavens to warn him if this is the part where he falls head over heels for you.

“Ya know him?”

“OF COURSE I DO??” You had screamed and almost pounced on his arm to admire the man’s work.

Toji had wondered then how your eyes would light up if you got to know he had trained under the said artist.

Fast forward past a few more of “accidental” bumps into each other, and some lighthearted conversations about everything and nothing under the sun, in a few moments and both of you could sense the undeniable attraction you had felt towards each other.

But neither of you ever crossed the line. You were a woman, taken, and he was a man who respected your choices no matter how strange or..shitty.

You couldn’t help but notice how different Toji was around you and when you were together with Zack.

The kind demeanour he held was immediately replaced by indifference whenever he would see you with your boyfriend who would pass on a snarky reply just to irk the said man.

Toji could easily give Zack 2 broken legs with how big he was, but one look into your doe eyes and he couldn’t even bring himself to look in your direction except throwing a finger off to the other guy.

But nothing could keep you away from each other especially during those lonely wistful nights.

You lying in your bed with your fuck ass boyfriend wasted somewhere, fingers plunging deep into your warm cunt and a heart full of regret, guilt and most of it all, lust for Toji. Nights that went away calling out his name in small whispers imagining his large hands that would envelope you and touch in all the right ways nobody ever could. Making you see stars and kissing you through the bliss.

Toji was no better. Stroking his cock in anguish, lusting after you like a beast in heat. Your plump lips, your sexy fucking hips that he would dip kisses all over, if you were his, your luscious skin that he would worship and mark, you were going to be the death of him.

But when the nights slipped away and dawn broke and as in when in you guys bumped into each other, it was the same all over. Hidden glances and lazy longing that would never translate into something more.

Until it had.

You shouldn’t have come to the parlour today. Things had been rocky between you and Zack for a few weeks now.

He had been smoking up all the money and refusing to take even the simplest of clients just out of sheer audacity and worst of all, paid no heed to your words more than ever.

Going to the parlour, at 2 am in the night after getting a call about the ruckus your boyfriend had caused and setting the damn curtains on fire, you immediately ran over only to come across the most drunk and high Zack had ever been, amidst scattered flames.

You knew from your experience to be better than to be around him when he intoxicated but the situation at hand was not helping. If only you hadn’t invested money out of blind stupidity into his tattoo parlour, maybe you would have been spared this ordeal today.

“Drag this bastard away miss OR we are gonna call the cops on y’all” said a stranger trying to control him.

“I’m so sorry about this”

“WHO…THE FUCK..lem..me gooo you little..bitch..”

“Baby listen to me, you aren’t in the right mind let’s get out of here..”

Zack had always been rough with you but never violent but it seemed like that was about to change tonight, when he grabbed you by your shirt collar and harshly dragged you towards him.

”ZACK! LET..ME GO!”

“Fuck youu..you” but before he could bring his face towards you, came a dangerous hit that probably bore into the drunkard’s skull.

“Hands away you sick fuck.” said the seething voice.

It was Toji. More than the pain, all you could think about was the relief that had washed over you on seeing Toji’ eyes that were ablaze with fury.

Before you could even say anything, he grabbed your wrist towards his motorbike and plopping helmets on both of you, drove away to your address.

He drove like the man he was at the moment- fast, angry and menacing. You clutched onto his waist for you dear life and that was the only thing, that calmed Toji a little bit.

You were here, he was here with you and you were safe and that was all he needed.

But in the half an hour that he drove both of you in utter silence, the events of the night slowly came crashing back to you.

Longing that turned into regret and that had now taken its ugly form of shame. Shame for who you were and who you had chosen to be with.

Sensing your hasty breaths on his back, Toji slowly parked his bike near the sea shore.

Even with unbearable longing like his, Toji had made it a point to never touch you. He would only do that when you were his completely mind, body and soul.

Tonight was the first time and he didn’t like it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to face Toji and when he slowly grabbed your chin to look at him, the sight before him tore his heart apart.

Tears welled up in your eyes and dripped down your soft cheeks like pearls, if Toji was a god he would be raging a war by now. But he was a mere mortal and all he could do was engulf you into him. Arms all around, caging you and protecting you, while you stained his jacket with your sobbing.

After the night had passed and somehow returning to your apartment with his help, you didn’t leave the confines of it for almost 2 weeks. Except for the occasional knocks from the said man or a get well soon bouquet, he had not spoken a word more to you, just as you hadn’t.

Both of you knew it was your decision in the end.

Almost as a sign, you got the news from your friends that Zack had ran away the same night as the police tried to catch a hold of him. Nobody knew where to and neither of them cared enough to find out.

The last checkpoint was having a conversation with Toji.

As you slowly approached his parlour, the ever so familiar but distant end of the tattoo street, one end of which was burnt ashes and the other end bustling with less customers compared to the usual, you awkwardly knocked on the clean glass door.

“Here inside” said Toji’s low baritone from the room within, as you noticed him deeply zoned in into his work on an old man and mistaking you for a customer.

You decided to wait outside in the waiting hall. It felt only right. It was only right to apologise for whatever had happened.

He had waited for you so patiently always, a steady wall that you had come to lean on unknowingly through the past few months and he never once asked anything in return. You loved him and you would wait for him just as long.

After being done and billing up the customer half an hour later, Toji peeked into the waiting hall to see who had checked in while he was working when his heart raced at the sight.

Here you were, in a soft white dress that had flown gently till your knees and straps falling agonisingly over your shoulder, looking like the sweetest angel and not to forget, with a small flower in hand. A delicate little rose and upon seeing Toji in all his black top and pants glory your heart welled up just as much as.

“Toji…I didn’t want to disturb you..so”

“You should have. You can always disturb me you know that right?”

He wanted to hug her. Touch her face, kiss her locks and smooch her lips. His restraint was a tight string waiting to break.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” His voice came off tighter than usual. With tears in your eyes and slowly offering him the small flower you found on your way here, you asked him

“Toji, can I get a tattoo?”

This took him by surprise. He didn’t know what he was expecting but tattooing you was definitely last on his list. Heaving a sigh, he gently took your fingers and the flower and moved you into the room with all his equipment.

Nobody had given him flowers before. The simple gesture had set in an ache for your being that he couldn’t ever define even if he wanted to.

If you wanted to do it his way, so be it.

“Where do you want your tattoo miss? Based on that I can tell you how painful—“

“My lower back”

“What—“ before he could even say anything, you were stripping down from your dress, locking the door while Toji’s mind was reeling.

2 weeks you had disappeared and now you were here in front of him , half naked.

“You favourite work of Miyazaki. Can you ink it on me Toji?” Of course he would. He could never say no to you. Not when you looked so sweet, sitting right in his chair looking up at him with heart eyes. Legs on display all for him. In nothing but soft lace panties.

“Fuck…darling, what are you doing to me..” he said as he slowly grabbed a delicate stencil of one of his favourite art, a pattern of the moon, the cherry blossoms and a ripple through it all.

Toji was an excellent artist but he never had to work with a raging boner before. His pants were bursting to the sight in front of him, you in a relaxed state ready to be marked. Almost a dream.

“Are you sure baby?”

“Yes. But one thing before that.”

“Hm?”

“Can you kiss me Toji?”

That was the last straw and before you could even say anything, Toji was at your lips, grabbing you by the back of your head and devouring you. You deserved slow and gentle and Toji swore to himself he would take all his time with you, but not at this moment.

Months worth of pent up lust and more so, love and the result of it, was kisses that took your breath away. Nipping away at your lower lip gently, as you opened your mouth he plunged his warm tongue into you, making you moan in ecstacy.

“Hmpph— To..jii..hm!” “Gosh baby do you know how many times I have dreamt of doing this to you huh? Your luscious fucking lips that you keep tinting up with that gloss..fuck..”

Littering kisses all around your neck, under your ears, licking across your collar bones, your whimpers were honey to his ears. Slowly wrapping your hands around his nape, you whispered to his lips

“Take me Toji. Make me yours, please.”

That was all you had to say.

Kissing you harder than ever, Toji grabbed your waist. “Turned around for me baby. Let me take care of you” with your back arching and on all fours on his chair, he ripped at your panties. You were a dripping mess and Toji was so close to coming in his pants like a fucking teenager.

“Toji..wait…it’s messy down there..stop—“

“Tell me girl. Did that fucker ever eat you out?” He asked venomously, slowly slipping in a finger into your sopping hole

“No-ughmm!!- he said it was too dir..ty..” his finger was so different from yours. Long and thick. If a finger alone was so delicious, you were sure you woud go crazy once his cock was in you.

“Proved himself to be a fucking moron once again. Well, you are all mine now. So let me treat your delicious cunt the right way baby yea?”

“Hmm—ahh!!” Dipping his face into your wet folds and antogonizingly licking up along them, eating you out from the back was Toji’s personal heaven. His nose bumping right into your sensitive clit and making you wetter by the second and now 2 of his fingers in your cunt, prodding you in all the right places sending shudders down your spine.

“Ride my face baby. Find your rhythm and make yourself feel good” Toji said and as he literally sucked and slurped at your folds and clit like a man starved. Spitting and licking and slightly pinching on your clit, in a few minutes, you were seeing stars that would normally take you so long.

“I’m cominggg Toji—!!!” Crying out and slumping over the chair.

Toji couldn’t get enough of you though. Marking you all over your back, letting red bruises blossom like petals, leaving you a sputtering mess.

He needed more. He needed you to cry his name out. Turning you around, he latched his lips onto your breast this time with a finger brushing on your clit lightly.

The wet muscle languidly brushing over your sensitive buds, teasing and biting and soothing it up again, you were so lost in pleasure, sure you would come from his attention to your breast alone.

“Faster toji..please..” “On your clit baby? Like this?” His gentle brushes had now turned into precise strokes and never in recent times had your dreamt of coming twice so quickly.

“Ahh!! Fuck!! Just like….that..I can’t! M gonna——cum..”

“Come for me good girl, let it all out… there ya go” and with the knot uncoiling, you came harder than ever.

“Such a good fucking girl for me” he whispered sinfully as he locked your lips in a gentle peck, making you ride out your high.

Little did Toji know that his sweet girl was minx in bed, all ready with her cunt clenching around for his cock. And he was all ready to give her the entire world, and of course his cock too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~••••~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: everytime I wrote Zack my brain kept going ‘gongaga’ send help.

A/N: just edited it a lil bit I’m so sorry for the all the typos 😭

[captain-huggy-bear]

Treat You Right

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unwanted advances, men not taking no for an answer, Clayton's involved in a fight.

Summary: You're not dating Clayton Keller, but there's one thing he can't stand and that's a guy not treating you with respect...turns out he hates it enough to fight a guy in a bar after a game.

Notes: All I have to say is i'm in my Clayton brain rot era.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a normal night or it starts that way. Being friends with a bunch of pro-athletes means you're often dragged out after home game wins to whatever bar they decide is best that night. Tonight it's Sunny's, a common choice for the Utah Hockey Club because of the pool table, dart board and the fact that most of the people who come in are old middle age men or contractors. Guys, who might ask for an autograph but not the usual screaming crowd that make it impossible for them to have a drink or two.

You never really had being friends with the lot of them on your bucket list, but Michael had met you when he'd taken his cats to the vets and you'd been there with your own, a fat black moggie called Gremlin who'd fallen in love with Ranger. From that point on cat dates had been a thing because in Kess' words 'you can't separate true love', you weren't entirely sure whether Gremlin loved Ranger or just wanted to lick the other cat bald.

Either way the moment you became friends with Kess was the moment you became friends with the entire team, suddenly you were being asked to events, invited to home games and the celebratory drinks after. It was nice, for the most part you felt like you were their sister, someone for them to look after but also mock, just as much as you made fun of them. You had a little community, a gang, a group where you belonged even if you weren't actually on the team.

The exception to that rule being Clayton Keller...you definitely did not want to feel like Clayton Keller's sister.

It was bound to happen, that you'd have a crush on at least one of the team. It wasn't really your fault, and well, Clay had this way of treating you, all soft and sweet and like a girl, that had you flushing under his attention and preening at any compliment he gave you. You were almost certain it was a one-sided crush doomed to go nowhere and leave you pining after the captain until you settled for some mediocre guy in finance. He was just so nice to you, so sweet.

Still, Clay was half the reason you'd agreed to come out to Sunny's that night. Determined to spend some time with or at least around him. You'd even gone home to change after the game into a nice dress before coming back out again because maybe, just maybe, this would be the night that Clayton Keller realised you were the girl he wanted.

You're waiting for your coca cola at the bar, leaning on your forearms and watching the room from over your shoulder. Kess and Dylan were playing a game of pool in the corner, Kess appearing to be losing based on the glare he was sending Dylan's way. The rest of the guys were sat around their usual table, beers in hand laughing and joking. Your eyes find Clayton like he's a magnet, he's smirking at something O'Brian's said, Tuna probably making some stupid dirty joke or telling a story at the expense of Kess.

"Hey, pretty..." You're pulled out of your people watching by a slurred drawl far too close to your ear for comfort. Your eyes shift to the man next to you, who might have been considered handsome if he wasn't staring at your boobs so blatantly that you suddenly understood what a tasty pastry felt like in a patisserie window. It wasn't particularly flattering.

You shift away from him as much as you can without appearing rude because he'd managed to somehow sneak up on you and get within inches of your ear. Something you're sure he thought was seductive but just made your shoulders tighten and your body tense.

"Hi." You try to keep your tone short, not wanting to encourage the man but hating to feel like you're being unnecessarily rude as well.

"Can I buy you a drink, baby?"

"I'm good, thanks." You gesture at the soft drink your bartender just placed in front of you, thankful that this is your cue to leave and return to the safety of a group of hockey players.

Unbeknownst to you in that moment Marino is nudging Kells with his elbow, chin gesturing in your direction. You look uncomfortable, the way you're shifting away from the man leering at you, practically leaning over you, says enough. Every time you shift away from him, he shifts closer and it's clear to Clayton that you'd rather be anywhere else.

He can't help it, the way it makes his hackles rise, the way his fist clenches tight around his beer bottle as he takes another swig, forcing himself to be cool, to just let you handle it for a moment. It's not like you're dating, it's not like he has any right to storm over there and maybe he's wrong...maybe you're interested in the guy leering down at you like you're a piece of meat. Maybe he's more your type than Clay is.

He doesn't really blame the guy for showing interest. You're beautiful, always, but...there's something about the way you look tonight. Maybe it's that your dress accentuates your hips or the fact that the colour makes your skin look like its glowing...or maybe Clayton is just a little weak for you. That's not exactly a new revelation for him. He's been weak for you since day one.

"Seriously, baby, that's not a real drink, let me get you a real drink."

"I'm good." You stress your point this time, snatching your drink back from the man who just tried to take it off you and straightening to walk back to the guys. Any pretence of politeness dropped because you don't have to deal with this and you aren't going to.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" It's a shift in attitude that you should have expected, you've seen it before, but you don't expect the hand that wraps around your wrist to stop you walking away, your drink spilling as you're jerked to a stop. His hand is tight, uncomfortable so and the situation has gone from irritating to frightening, fear running down you're spine because this strange man has his hands on you.

Your eyes find Clay's almost instinctively, wide and scared but he's already out of his seat and shoving people out of the way with short, sharp apologies as he goes. It's not like he's alone either, half the team are now looking your way, waiting to see if their captain needs any help or not. Looking to see if they need to also step in.

"Get the fuck off me." Still, in the time it takes Clay to reach you you try to shake the man off, glaring up at him like it might help. It doesn't, if anything his grip tightens and he pulls you closer, a hand reaching for the skin of your thigh like he has any right to touch you.

It's that that has Clay seeing red. Going from thinking he'd calmly intervene to storming between the two of you like a bull in a china shop. It must be the surprise of someone intervening that does it, but the man let's your wrist go and Clay's pushing you gently back and out of the way before he's letting a fist fly at the guy's face without so much as a word towards the other man.

"Shit, Clay...What the fuck are you doing?!" All you can do is take another step back, hands coming to your mouth because out of all the guys on the team, Clay's the last one you expect to be starting a fight in a bar with a guy at least a head taller than him.

He doesn't answer you because he's too busy fighting, you're so shocked, so focused on what's happening in front of you, that you jump when Kess brushes your shoulder, pool having been deserted in favour of helping O'Brian and Marino pull the two men apart.

Despite the size difference Clay's winning or it looks like he's winning, you're pretty certain he's broken the other guy's nose and even with a bloody busted lip, he doesn't look winded or ready to stop. Part of you hates it. A stupid display of male pride and dominance that you should not condone at all...another part of you feels a thrill at Clayton fighting on your behalf, at the blood speckles across his white dress shirt, at the bruising on his knuckles, at the way he licks the blood from his busted lip and smirks at the guy sarcastically. Like he's completely and utterly in control.

You're not sure he's going to stop, eyes feral, mouth pursed, huffing like an angry bull when Kess finally has him round the shoulders and starts pulling him away. Tuna doing the same to the stranger. But, Clay does stop, just shrugs Kess off with sharp movements, "I'm fine. He won't be if he doesn't fucking leave though."

It's Tuna that escorts the stranger out of the bar and you're certain the only thing stopping the bar owner from kicking Clay out is the fact he's a local celebrity who brings in half the customers.

"What the hell, Clay?" You're still shocked by the brute display of force from him, not scared, just surprised. You can't deny there's a certain appeal to it. To the way he looks at you as he wipes blood from his chin, how his large hands clench and unclench testing his knuckles for a break. They're just bruised. He's hot...hotter than usual and you kind of hate that you feel that way, like you're setting feminism back 100 years. But, God...

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? No one.” He can't stand it. The entitlement to grab you, the belief that anyone has a right to touch you without permission, to talk to you like that. He's half a mind to chase after Tuna and the guy, to keep going, but he knows he shouldn't...he's already done more than he probably should have. Headlines in the morning no doubt already looking like 'Utah Captain beats local man in bar brawl!'.

"That...you can't just fight someone for being a asshole," You can see Kess gesturing for everyone to give the two of you privacy as Clay steps into your personal bubble. He's still amped up, chest heaving like he wants another fight, lips parted to take in more air. You hate that you want to take a bite out of him, you hate that you want him to take that energy out on you in a completely different way than fighting.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because...because..." all you can come up with is, "I'm not your girlfriend, Clay...you don't have to defend me."

He looks at you like you're an idiot, the only time he's ever looked at you like that. Like you're daft and it makes you flush with warm embarrassment because why couldn't you think of something better to say.

"No one gets to treat you like dirt. Like a piece of meat. Like he owns you, okay? Doesn't matter if you're my girlfriend or not, men better treat you with respect or they're dealing with me."

"Clay...I get it, you're a woman loving, modern man but..." You're convinced this whole display is just part of his gentlemanly stick, his righteous desire for fairness and justice in the world and nothing to do with you. it would be cute how oblivious you are, if he wasn't so fed up with it.

"And before you start that shit, yeah, I'd defend any woman in here, but I sure as fuck wouldn't be throwing punches over anyone else, baby." Clay runs his hands through his hair frenetically, the strands messy and loose, hat non-existent for once.

You feel like your head is spinning, buzzing, confused because surely he's talking about the fact you're kind of friends, that you're not a stranger. He can't possibly mean...he called you baby? When did Clay ever call you baby?

His laugh is sardonic, disbelieving as he watches the way you stare at him, all wide eyed and confused like he hasn't been trying to flirt with you for the past six months that you've known each other. Like he doesn't try to compliment you every time he sees you. Like he didn't give you his number the very first day so you could meet up. Like he's not totally irrevocably in love with you.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?" He's being a bit abrupt, a little bit mean in a way Clay normally isn't with you. Not quite so soft and he'll apologise for that later but he's still angry about the whole thing and you're obliviousness to his feelings feels like a slap in the face, like he's not good enough for you to even comprehend the idea of something more with. You don't owe him anything, but fuck, he's frustrated with the ignorance of it all.

"You're not my girlfriend, but I sure as hell want you to be and I've been flirting with you for six months and if you're just not interested that's fine, I'll still be in your corner, but I need to know if I'm just wasting my time waiting." This time when you're backed against the bar top by a man, it's by Clay, and it's wanted. He's in your space but with enough room that he's giving you an out, you can slip under his arm and leave at any moment. But you don't.

"You like me?" It's every dream you've had about Clay, every want, rolled up into one. The way he barricades you in on the bar top. The smell of his cologne. The warmth of him. The intense stare of baby blue eyes as he tells you he actually likes you, that your stupid, silly little crush isn't actually as one-sided as you thought.

"Only been flirting with you since the moment we met, baby."

"You've been flirting with me?" You lean back to get a better look at his face, your mouth dropped in shock. In turn he leans back to look at you in a similar manner, eyebrows high, blue eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are you serious?"

"Fuck...I thought...I thought you weren't interested...I thought...I thought you didn't like me back..." You're practically having an existential crisis between his arms because he's just admitted he likes you that he's been flirting with you for months, that all your pining and your moping has been for literally nothing.

"Back?" Clay's smile is starting to grow, the one you adore, all teeth and dimples as he picks up on that one seemingly insignificant word and prods at it. As if that word has put all the frustration, all the anger, all the bad feelings of the night instantly to rest.

"I..."

"Do you like me, baby?" He's all teasing smirks and half-lidded eyes now, leaning back into your space so close that you're chest to chest, nose to nose. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. So close it makes you stutter and freeze.

"Clay..." Your eyes dart to all your friends, all eyes on the two of you as you flush warm, cheeks growing supremely hot because fuck, Clayton Keller looks like he's about to kiss you in the middle of a bar with the entire team watching like they need popcorn.

You watch Clayton's eyes flicker to catch the audience watching, the way he takes a moment to pause, to think, whatever impulsive decision he had being put to rest for the moment.

"C'mon..." His hand is wrapping around yours in no time, tugging you along and out of the bar, away from prying eyes as if that isn't just as blatant, just as obvious as kissing you in front of all of them or whatever he might have planned to do. There's part of you that wonders if this might be all some big joke he's about to play, the insecure part, the little girl from your childhood part, that feels like he might turn around and laugh with a loud 'as if!'.

You let him lead you outside, the night air cool against your arms, the sort of chill that makes goose bumps raise on your arms. He doesn't even hesitate before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, his arm coming to rest there, tucking you into his side like you belong, like its natural for him to do.

You don't speak as you walk, scared to break the silence until you come to a stop a few streets down in front of a shop that Clay had parked across from earlier in the night. No one is around but you and that's what gives him the confidence to push you against the brick wall of the shop, to lean back into your space and ask the question that he never got an answer to.

"Do you like me, baby?" It's more intimate this time, but less pressured. There are no eyes on you, there are no bright bar lights or teammates getting an eyeful. Something about the dimness of the night, the cool air, the feel of his jacket over your shoulders and him, oh him, leaning into your space again, has you answering honestly.

"Yeah, yeah I do..."

There's a silent conversation that happens as his hand comes up to rest against your throat, thumb rubbing against the underside of your chin. He watches you carefully and you try to answer him without words, that you want this, that you really do like him.

Whatever Clay sees must be enough because he's leaning in slow, just slow enough for you to dip out if he's misread the situation, hand tightening just slightly around your throat before his lips are slanting over yours.

It's not a frantic kiss, not forceful or aggressive. He kisses you like a slow dance, like your the sweetest thing he's ever tasted and he's trying to savour it, enjoy it for as long as he can. Lips soft and slow against yours, tongue licking into your mouth unhurried and patient. If anyone is impatient it's you, your hands tangling into his hair and tugging until he groans against you, until that patience breaks just enough for him to start devouring your mouth like he's a glutton for you.

When Clayton finally pulls back from you you're both heaving in breaths, chests bumping against each other and lips kiss bitten. The smile he gives you is so soft, so sweet it makes you want to melt into a puddle, his eyes crinkling as just a hint of his teeth comes out to play.

"Can I take you on a date?" His nose bumps against yours, purposeful in the brush against your own like he can't stand to be too far away from you right now.

"Yeah, you can take me on a date, Clayton Keller."

"Good, cause I really need an excuse to punch the next guy that looks at you funny," He jokes causing you to let out a huff of a laugh, hand escaping his hair to whack his shoulder admonishingly.

"Don't you dare!"

[thegnomelord]

i took 357191027r6392936446322736432947372 psychic damage from the Makarov fic so you gotta write reader being rescued, healed, rehabilitated and loved by the task force. imagine them teaching reader to be their own person or letting him top without any commands or punishments. reader would be whining like a puppy who doesn't know what it's doing and would be so cute and fearful looking for reasurance when fucking into a task force member it would be so cute

lol idk dude. I was intending to do the fic as a one off to satisfy my puplay kink but it's now started to rot my brain even more lol. If I did continue it, I don't know if I'd want a happy ending or an angsty one (omfg imagine going through all the healing and rehab and experiencing love only for one word from Makarov to have you going back to him without question)

So tell me ya'll if you want me to turn the one shot into a longer fic lol, but for now here's some headcannons, ideas/ whatever and some porn

CW:NSFW, rough anal, Simon x reader with Price watching, dom/sub.

I can't imagine Hound would be happy about the 'rescue' considering everything and definitely would be resistant to rehab (Hound biting ppl and getting muzzled lol) that dogheaded asinine stubbornness coming to bite him in the ass. I headcannon Hound to have already been violent when he was under Price's command but Price kept Hound in check(if anyone's seen that young ghost and price comic with him being compared to a fighting dog it's kinda like that).

Makarov didn't need to do much and just played into the aggressive tendency to make Hound as they are now. The more violent the reaction hound would make, the more attention and praise he'd get. Also I'm just a sucker for dog like characters that are unhinged. That have no moral compass except for the one they're loyal to and will do whatever they ask.

So the task force members would have their hands full with Hound that's basically an aggressive fighting dog taken straight out of the pit. Also I'm still thinking whether the 141 would try to steer Hound away from the pup/dog like mentality Makarov conditioned them into, or if they would try to redirect it by calling Hound 'pup, boy' etc, instead of 'dog' like Makarov did.

Also the grief Price would feel to see the man he thought was dead turned into that would break his heart. I don't know if I'd want him to crack down on trying to rehab hound, or let a lot of things slide because he's scared of fucking you up more.

But also like rehabed fighting dogs turn out to be the sweetest animals and Hound just going from this 'I will bite your throat out' to just a gentle giant that's just happy to be able to touch or hug someone without needed permission. . . but he can still bite a throat out.

Also I 1000% swear that Makarov's a whore and would have trained reader to have enough stamina to fuck him all night long so the task force would get pounded into next year lol.

This is questionable cannon and non-confirmed lol you just got me brain rotting with the cute pup part and this came out. Rough and quick.

CW:NSFW

You feel like you will die; heat burns through your veins, sweat crawls down your skin and makes your hair stick to your forehead. Your hands grip Simon's bruised hips, holding them up for him as you pound into him. "Please-" You barely manage a small whimper, hiding your face in Simon's shoulder.

Simon's body quivers beneath you, limp and boneless, a wet hole for you to use. He's as sweaty as you, rough grunts and half-formed swears leaping from his lips every time your hips meet his ass in a bruising thrust. He's the closest to you in size, albeit still smaller, which makes it easier for him to take your size than the others. His insides are a sweltering heat around your cock, fucked into a loose sloppy hole that would gape if you pulled out, muscles still doing their best to squeeze you every time you nail his prostate.

It makes you feel ashamed how long it took you to find it. Mounting anyone but Makarov feels wrong, you're not sure how fast or how deep to go, this current rough pace making Simon the most vocal since you began. You feel him cum again, walls clenching tightly for the first time in a while as you force him into spurting what's left in his empty balls.

"Pl- sir, I- please, please," You can't help but hiccup, your nails leaving crescent bruises in his skin as you just pound him through his orgasm. It's his fourth one.

"What's wrong son?" Price's words barely get through the fog of need in your skull, more little whimpers splitting from your lips. "Don't you want to let go?" Tears blurry your vision, you can barely see his face from where he's resting Simon's head in his lap.

You can't cum. Your balls are so full they feel like they'll explode any second, cock throbbing to finally shoot your load but no matter how harshly you thrust into the willing hole beneath you. It feels like those times Makarov would put a cock ring on you, but worse, now it's your own body refusing to give you release. You haven't earned it.

"Please-" You repeat, because that's the best your mind can come up with, your hips stuttering as overstimulation stabs your nervous system like a knife. "I-please, fuck- I can't." You force out, forcing yourself to return to the punishing pace, your pelvis starting to go numb like it would a few hours into Makarov using you as a living dildo.

Price's fingers are disgustingly gentle as they curl into your sweaty hair, making you look up at him with soft pressure on your scalp. There's no bite to his touch, no pain, it's too good for a thing like you.

You'll thank what god exists that Price seemingly understands your problem, "Oh, son." You hate the hint of sorrow in his tone, you hate yourself more for how it makes your heart pound in your ears. "Here, let me" He whispers, his other hand sliding down to your naked neck.

The lack of any collars around your neck still disgusts you every waking moment, still makes you feel wrong, bad dog. His fingers wrap around your throat. They're too loose to be a proper collar, but it lets you breathe easier, his palm warm and big enough to completely cover the 'V.M' tattooed on your skin.

"Go on, that's a good boy." He whispers, "Cum for us." Price orders, kissing you so softly it disgusts you, like heaven wrapped in thorns.

You feel fresh tears spill down your tears as the dam not letting you cum is finally torn down. You hiccup your 'thank you sir's against his lips as you spill inside Simon. You can just distantly hear Simon groan as you dump your cum into his sloppy hole, muscles weakly fluttering around your cock as you roll your hips, fucking your cum deeper into him, just the act of cumming hurting almost as much as being denied, your balls aching with every spurt of cum.

You collapse on Simon, pushing the breath out of his lungs, as boneless as him. You don't struggle when Price rolls you to your side, your cock slipping out. Cum and lube gushes out from his hole like a firehose, flooding the small space between you two, his rim red and irritated, muscles weakly fluttering around nothing as they try to close.

You try to thank him but you slur your words into his skin, feeling the muscles in his abdomen quiver as you huddle closer and wrap your arms around him, your chest pressed flush to his back. You expect him to pull away, Makarov hated being vulnerable like this longer than he needed, but all Simon does is grunt and tip his head back so you can hide your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

"You olright Simon?" Price asks, brushing a hand through your sweaty hair for a few seconds before you feel him softly wiping away your spend from you two.

"Fuck," Simon breathes out, voice scratchy and rough. "Are we sure Makarov's human?" His hand reaches up to scratch your scalp as you kiss one of the numerous bite marks you left on him. His skin is a canvass of black and blue bruises, your bite marks starting to clot across his body. "Shit, I can't feel my legs."

His words feel like a slap in the face, and you don't notice how you let out a small whimper, your hold tightening. This is it, you'll have to let him go soon, he'll order you to leave like Makarov always did.

"None of that son." Price's voice is calm in your ear, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. "You did good."

Simon hums, his fingers running lower to scruff you, "Mhm, yeah," His words are slurred, exhaustion weighing on both of you. "Best snog I've ever had." He grumbles, and you don't doubt he won't admit it in the morning, but for the moment, as you feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep, you let yourself enjoy the praise, the warmth of human touch, the care you can feel in both of them.

This is starting to feel nice.

[smashwolfen]

May I propose my two hyperfixations combining to create a speculative AU? Essentially Okami but POKEMONNNNNNNN!!!!

Pōkami!

This idea has been rotting my brain away ever since the teaser trailer for the Okami sequel came out and I've been sketching so much but at the same time its also not a whole lot XD

Only have a few pokemon characters that I've been able to allocate to an Okami counterpart already, and whether its lore accurate or not its whatever at this point, this is just a fun way to combine my two favourite games together in a random idea!

Under the cuts my current sketches i'm happy to share about! Nothings set in stone yet but if folks are happy to hear me ramble and share more stuff about this idea burning inside me, then hopefully I can get more art out for it whether its sketched on paper or on the computer XD

5/13 Brush god post!

These are the sketches of Ammy that I was bouncing between before doing a digital one. The first one I ever did to get the ball rolling and become obsessed was actually the running pose of the hisuian Zoroark here (with prototype issun) I instead had decided recently that the hisuian form is going to be her Shiranui form. I'll need to make more red marks in future doots for Zoro-Shiranui but atm normal Zoro-amaterasu

And then of course, Ammy needs an Issun, but if we know Issun, he's a bit....... much, in unsavoury ways XD

So for Pokami, decided his counterpart would funny enough be Rei from legends arceus, who will respect women more than the green bug ever did! Originally I was just going to make Re-Issun an actual joltik but went with a person in the end, we need someone to talk for Ammy. I thought from the get go that he needed to keep the bug helmet motif the Poncles have like Issun, but it wasnt gonna be green, and whos tinier than a joltik? Now Rei didn't butcher a Joltik to make his helmet no no no! He made it to resemble one with seed/sea shells, feathers/leaves and little blue gems to mimic its eyes. His scarf is also yellow to make it look like the back of a joltik when hes bouncing along

Story bits and characters will be tweaked here and there to match their repsected pokemon counterpart more but with that they will still have the same/similar issues the okami characters would have in the story too.

[patrickispinky]

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022

I got a lot of inspiration and motivation from @whoopsyeahokay series called October Sun if you haven't read it yet I recommend you do its amazing, you can find it on tumblr and Ao3. October Sun

(This is very self indulgent and based on things ive been through and how I could have very easily ended up as a ghost. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness. This is a judgment free zone so I want no bullying or hate on anyone. I'm not the best writer so be nice)

1.9k Words

Enjoy :)

-

Two days, two fucking days you’ve been rotting and no ones come to find you. Well no one alive at least. 

It started off normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Just another boring school day with the same washed out boring people. Tired eyes and even more tired souls. So what changed? A little slip up on the same thing that had almost claimed your life many times over the years except this time no one was there to save you. 

You were 14 when you first learned the only way for your brain to stop spinning, trying to find a new way to obtain peace was with a very simple little thing. Weed, this wasn't what was deadly, no it was what started the cycle. First it was weed, then it was alcohol, then it was late night parties, until one day it fell into the palm of your hand. A simple little pill, how could it cause so much damage? Things were fine until one pill turned into two then two turned into three and then you ended up on the patio of a stranger's porch foaming out the mouth. 4 days in the hospital and 2 weeks in rehab was enough to scare you for a while, but not enough to make you forget about the relief that came with it. 

That's how you ended up here, sitting in a circle sharing stories about life and death, a group of highschool boys who had no idea you were even there, playing basketball behind you. Should have just gone to group like you were told to, at least then you would have been with people who understood addiction. Now judgmental eyes fall upon you because you caused your own death. As much as you wanted to find someone, something to blame you knew you couldn't, this was your fault. The spinning hasn't stopped. At least ghosts couldn't go through withdrawal, doesn’t change the fact that the empty feeling you tried so desperately to fill is more presint than ever.  

The sweet voice of Mr.Martin fills the room. Like white nose until you heard him call your name. Head shooting up to look up at him. “Have you started working on your obituary?” Ah yes, ghost homework. you would have never thought that you would have been asked to write your own obituary yet here we are. Not as easy as it sounds.

“I’ve got some ideas” Like when you got so drunk you threw up on your friends cat, or when you were so high that your brother convinced you the plane flying over your house was a UFO, fun memories. Apparently you were supposed to write about the good parts of your life but that's kinda hard when the only good memories you had were caused by what put you in this situation to begin with. 

“Take your time, if you need to im sure some of the others wouldn't mind telling you about what they wrote, for motivation.” You give a simple nod, wanting all the prying eyes around you to look away. And they do, except a certain pair that had been watching you since you got here. 

Wally Clark, a sweet boy, bright future, died to soon like everyone else in this fucked up version of your own personal hell. He asked too many questions, it wasn't a secret how you died, just something you didn't want to talk about.  He respected that, like most of the others, most. Doesn't stop him from prying, staring with curious eyes. 

“I think that's all for today,  don't forget tomorrow's movie night as always our newest member will be picking the movie.” You give an awkward smile before standing up and turning to leave along with the rest of the group. Heavy footsteps creeping up behind you and the sound of your name being called stops you as the tall boy catches up.

“So um do you need help with your obituary? not to brag but I think I did a pretty good job on mine.” Wally was quite attractive, tall, with big brown eyes, and slick back brown fluffy hair. No doubt having made girls fawn over him during his lifetime. You and him weren't exactly friends but the idea of having a little help writing… well, a self obituary wasn't bad. 

“Sure, we could go to the library.” An excited grin grew on Wallys face, not expecting you to say yes. 

“Yeah, yeah the library sounds great” It was kinda cute how he acted sometimes. Not like a typical jock, a pure golden retriever. 

“Cool” You stand there kinda awkwardly, hands in the pockets of your red zip up hoodie as you gave him an expecting look. 

“Oh like now?” He was somehow the most confident yet most awkward person in the world. “Um okay yeah that works” 

You tilt your head sideways towards the door leading out the gym, indicating for him to follow you out. Taking the lead and making your way out, opening the door for him. “Ladies first” He let out a small chuckle at your attempt at a joke, considering it was the first time you really talked to anyone since everything happened. It wasn't that you didn't like people, you just didn’t understand the point of friends. It might sound depressing but having a small group of people that you know will stick around is better than hanging around people that barely know you. Yet here you are, stuck with strangers for eternity or until you finally move on, however long that’ll take. 

The hallway was filled with loud teens, some rushing to their next class others going out the back door, more than likely skipping. “So how does this work?” You look over at him.

“What? The afterlife?” He looks at you, a little nervous. “I don’t think im the best person to explain it to you, that's more of Charley's thing.” Charley was sweet, the first person you met when you woke up. Some sort of after life guide. 

“No, a self obituary.” The words felt weird coming out your mouth. “I know I'm supposed to write about all the great things in life but I don't think huffing nitrous in my uncles bathroom on thanksgiving really counts as a good memory.” 

“Nitrous? like the shit in whipped cream?” He gave you a sideways look, a concerned but humored smile on his face. 

“Yes, the shit in whipped cream, I don't recommend. I passed out and almost had a seizure.” As we reach the library he opens the door, allowing you to go in first. 

“Okay, maybe don’t include that in your obituary, how about” He thought for a second. “Write about your friends and family, I'm sure you have some good memories with them.” 

You let out a frustrated sigh as you sat down at a table, Wally sitting down across from you as you take off your backpack, pulling a pencil and the folder Mr.Martin had given you. “That's too much work, do you think Mr.Martin would notice if I just copied yours?” Wally laughs a little, his straight white teeth showing.

“No, he’ll totally believe that you played football and lost your virginity in your moms car.” Now you’re the one laughing, his sentence coming out way too casually. 

“You lost your virginity in your moms car?” You take a few seconds to process before you look at him judgmentally. “You included how you lost your virginity?” Though the smiles’ still apparent on your face. 

“Happy memories, remember?” And there's the jock attitude you were waiting for, somehow a bit surprising but not unexpected. “You could just write your feelings.” You have a whole journal for that from when you got sober… soberish. 

“This may come as a shock to you but I'm not exactly a feelings person.” Not totally true, it was just easier to not feel anything at all, especially with the situation you're in right now. 

“Really? I couldn't tell” The sarcastic tone in his voice very apparent. “Alright fine, if you were happiest when you were high then it's worth writing.” 

“Great, so high stories, got it” Though it wasn't the best idea, you had to write something so Mr.Martin would get off your ass about it. Reminiscing was a slippery slope, you were holding up decently so far but contrary to what all the others think it hurt deep down. “How about the first time I tried molly?” Probably one of the best ‘happy pills’ you tried in your lifetime. 

“What was it like?” He clearly had no intentions of finding out first hand, just curious of the experience. 

“It made me really aware but like in a good way.” There was no real way to describe it without going into depth. “And kinda trippy I guess, does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” He knew he could never truly understand, no one could unless they experienced it themselves. As you begin to jot down the memory Wally peaks over, looking at the page though it's not very useful due to the fact that he doesn't possess the skill to read upside down. 

“Nosey” You laugh a little at his attempt to get to know you better. “You know if you want to get to know me, maybe there are better ways to do it then helping me write my own obituary” Yep, still didn't sound right.  

“Oh um yeah, this is probably a really weird first hang out.” He laughs awkwardly at the realization that this is still new to you. It wasn't like he had never been around a new ghost before, he knew he was supposed to be slow, supportive, ease them into it but with the way you acted sometimes made him think you were more used to this than he was. In a way you were, death was something that you had imagined so many times so when it actually came the idea of being trapped wasn't one you hadn't thought of before. “How about after we're done with this I could take you down to the pool?” 

You smile, the sentiment was sweet. “Thanks, but I don't know how to swim.” You were never taught and it didn't seem important in life so you just never learned. The surprised look on Wallys face was priceless.

“How the hell are you 18 and don’t know how to swim?” It wasn't judgmental, just a little surprised, but the grin on his face indicated that he had an idea. 

“Oh god, what are you thinking about?” You knew what was coming, he wouldn't be him if he didn’t jump at the opportunity to help a new friend. Wally was very readable and you didn’t know if that was a good thing yet. 

“I could teach you.” And there it was, of course he wanted to teach you. “It could be fun, plus you don't have much else to do.” 

“You know what fuck it, you’re right there isnt shit else to do.” Especially with your body still laying cold in the old abandoned locker rooms aka ‘the brain cave’. 

“Great, you should keep writing, the faster you get it over with the less weird it feels.” And that's how it started, you were never the friend type but as much as you hated to say it you needed someone. Sure that someone is very attractive and the idea of seeing him in nothing but swim trunks was a nice image but who could blame you? The afterlife is lonely.

Pt.2

[slut4thebroken]

Second Chances

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Emmett x reader

Summary | Emmett takes advantage of your kindness and hospitality.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, non con, emotional manipulation, praise, guilt tripping, very large age gap, painful sex, first time, breeding, crying, bro has hella trauma fr.

Words | 2.5 k

Notes | Direct result of my Emmett brain rot (Also two fics in one day??🫣)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Here you go.” You smiled, handing the steaming mug to him. 

“Thanks.” His voice was quiet as he took it from you and held it in his lap. 

“What’s your name?” You asked, sitting down next to him, hoping you weren’t intruding too much. He paused for a moment, seemingly debating if he actually wanted to make conversation with you and give you “personal” information about himself. 

“Emmett.” He finally said. 

You gave him your name and watched as his eyes dragged down your body, taking in every inch of you. With a blush, you cleared your throat and looked away for a moment to gather your thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Are you warm enough?” He looked over you again with a neutral expression that made you squirm a little. 

“Actually I’m still a little cold. Is there anywhere I could go that’s inside?” 

“Oh- yes! Of course.” You said quickly as you got to your feet. “My parents will be out of the house for another couple of hours so you can use some extra blankets and maybe lay down on the couch for a while.” You smiled. He didn’t return the expression as he stood up and followed you for a couple minutes until you finally walked up a porch to the front door. 

“Okay, let me just grab another blanket and then I’ll start the fire place as well.” You ran off to retrieve a blanket and when you came back, he was sitting on the couch looking around the room. 

He gave you a small “thank you” after you handed him the blanket and you could feel his eyes on you as you walked forward, then kneeled down in front of the fireplace. “You live here with your parents?” He suddenly asked, almost startling you. 

“Yeah. Since there’s three of us, we got our own place. A lot of other people had to share.” He hummed in acknowledgment and you finished up with starting the fire before turning around to face him, finding his eyes already on you. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“This is more than enough.” He said softly. 

“Okay… Well, I’ll let you rest. If you’re hungry I can try to make something?” You offered with a kind smile. 

“Actually I’d rather talk with you.” 

“Oh-” You said, eyes widening in surprise— He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would want to make small talk with a stranger. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone like this.” You hesitantly got up and sat down next to him on the couch. 

“Like what?” You asked curiously. 

“So loud… and about things other than survival.” His voice was still quiet, but this time there was a bit of a solemn undertone to it. 

“Oh.” You bit your lip, trying to think of what to say, but not really knowing how to approach this. “You never… had anyone to talk to about normal stuff? Surely it wasn’t all survival.” You can’t even imagine what he must have experienced. When he suddenly looked away and clenched his jaw, you realized that you might’ve over stepped. “I’m sorry, that was— I shouldn't have pried…”

“It’s fine. I had a family, but they’re gone now.” He still wasn’t looking at you. Taking one last sip from the mug, he leaned forward, then placed it on the coffee table. 

“God, I- I’m so sorry.” You said quietly. 

“It’s silly, but… I miss being able to hug them— to hug people.” He finally looked at you again, this time with a sad smile. “I remember the last time I felt someone’s touch… 11 weeks ago.” That must have been when his family died…

“Would you like a hug?” You offered nervously, hoping you weren’t too bold again. He studied you for another moment before nodding. 

“That would be really nice.” Once you had his approval, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him, letting him do the same even though his wet clothes were starting to dampen yours. He let out a quiet breath and relaxed into the embrace. “Thank you… I’ve been so lonely.” He whispered, making you frown. 

“You won’t have to be anymore. The people here are very kind, you’ll make plenty of friends.” 

“I can tell.” His voice was a little amused now and he pulled back just enough to look at you. “If it’s not too much trouble… could I hug you a little more?” 

“Of course.” You said instantly, then let out a startled sound when he lifted you onto his lap so you were straddling his thighs. You thought he meant more as in for a longer period of time, not.. this…

“Thank you.” He said again, pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You were stiff for a few seconds, still trying to process this new development, but finally you relaxed into him and hugged him a little tighter. “I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.” He whispered against your neck. 

“To hug?” You wondered, trying to understand. 

“Yes. But also the gentle touch of a woman.” A blush took over your face and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “You know, my wife… I was with her when she passed.” He said quietly. You were already dreading where this was going, not sure you could handle learning about any more of the pain he’s suffered since the start of everything. “I had a really hard time understanding and accepting this… but she said she wanted me to move on. To be happy again.” One of his arms stayed wrapped around your upper body, but the other moved a little lower, pulling you closer so your hips were also flush with his. 

“Emmett…” You said quietly, trying to pull away, but he just tightened his grip and you finally felt the bulge pressed up against your heat. You tried not to gasp at the realization.

“Shh… It’s okay. I just— You look so much like her…” You had no idea what to say. You’ve never been in a position like this before. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly pulled away and you stared down at him in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve this. Not after everything I’ve done— everything I didn’t do.” Your lips parted, but no words could come out for a moment.  

“You deserve feeling safe and cared for. Everything you had to do was for the sake of staying alive.” At least you assumed it was. Honestly you have no idea what he’s done. “And it’s not your fault— what happened to your family. You did everything you could.” You said softly and he started shaking his head. “Yes. You can’t blame yourself, Emmett. Maybe that’s why your wife said that to you before she passed… because she knew how much you’d struggle with it.” 

“You remind me of her so much.” He said through a choked sob, making you freeze. You had no idea he’d get so emotional. Not knowing what else to do, you just pulled him back into the hug and held him tightly. “That’s exactly the kind of response she would’ve given.” He croaked. In response, you just hugged him even tighter. 

“It’s okay…” You whispered. “I’m so sorry, Emmett. No one deserves to go through what you have.” 

“It hurts.” He cried, making your heart ache for him. 

“Tell me what you need. How can I help?” You said quickly, not wanting to see him like this any longer. 

“Can I— can I kiss you?”

“What?!” You choked out, making him pull back to look at you. The tear tracks on his cheeks were far less than what you thought they’d be, but maybe they just wiped off on your dress. 

“Please. I miss her so much and… god you look exactly like her.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. 

“I…” You’ve never kissed anyone before. Are you really about to give it away to a stranger you just met less than an hour ago? “Emmett…”

“I know I don’t deserve it— I know. But I just… it hurts so bad, I can’t take it.” He all but whimpered, making your hesitant expression melt into something softer and more sympathetic. 

“…I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You admitted quietly and you swore his eyes darkened, but it was too hard to really tell. 

“I know I’m asking far too much of you— I know I don’t deserve your kindness,” 

“Stop saying things like that.” You frowned. “You deserve kindness, you deserve to feel loved, just like everyone else.” He stared at you for a moment, his eyes still glossy with tears, then he was suddenly leaning forward and capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a muffled sound of surprise and brought your hands to his chest, trying to push him away. In response, he snaked his hand around your head to grasp your hair, holding you still as he moaned quietly. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled against your lips. You let out another startled sound when he suddenly threw you off of him so you were laying on your back on the couch. Before you could move away, he was crawling over you, kissing you again as his hands roamed your body. 

“Emmett-” You tried to say as you continued pushing his chest, but he was too strong. “Stop!” 

“I know.” He panted before snaking his hand down your stomach all the way to the apex of your thighs. He slipped under your dress easily and roughly cupped your sex, making you whimper. 

“Emmett, please stop.” 

“I will. I will— I just need this. I haven’t been with a woman in so long…” He whispered. “I promise I’ll be fast.” 

“Please don’t,” You whimpered, already feeling tears brimming in your eyes. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” His hand suddenly left your body to open his pants and free his cock, then he was pulling your panties to the side and lining up. 

“Please! I- I’m a..” You sobbed, trying anything to get this to stop. 

“I’ll be gentle.” He promised, then faltered and added, “At least… I’ll try to be.” When you felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, your body went completely rigid. 

“Please! Emmett, please don’t,” You cried, still trying to push him away. 

“Shh…” The blunt head of his cock was against your entrance now, pushing as hard as possible, trying to fit inside you. When he finally breached your opening, his hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your shrill scream. “Oh— fuck… I'm not gonna last.” He moaned loudly, letting his head drop down for a moment. The tears in your eyes were finally falling and you sobbed almost violently behind his hand. Your crying only got worse though when he continued pushing in. 

“Almost there.” He whispered and you let out an anguished sob in response. It felt like you were being ripped open as he continued pushing deeper, a lot farther than what you could comfortably take. “Good girl… Just a little more.” Your body was trembling from the pain and you started clawing at him, trying anything to get this to stop. But he was undeterred. When he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan that was overshadowed by your cry of pain. 

“I know… I’m sorry. Fuck, you feel so good. Just like how she felt.” He whispered. “I think she’d be happy that it’s you.” He gave you a small smile, then slowly pulled out until only the tip was inside before forcing it back in. 

“Please!” You cried, the word coming out muffled from behind his hand. 

“God- your cunt is so good.” He groaned, picking up the pace, making you cry harder. 

“Stop! Please…” You whimpered brokenly. 

“I know, baby. I’m almost done, I promise.” He said breathily. You tried kicking your legs, thrashing under him, pushing him away, but he was too strong. “Just a little longer, you’re doing so good.” He removed his hand, but before you could scream, he was kissing you again. This time, he shoved his tongue passed your parted lips, licking into your mouth in a desperate, almost feral manner. That, along with the fact that you couldn’t focus on this kiss because of how hard you were crying, made it incredibly messy and sloppy and wet. 

He snapped his hips into you, chasing his orgasm as he kissed you like he’d never be able to kiss anyone ever again, making it feel like you could barely breathe. Mostly because of the kiss, but also because of how overwhelming the pain of the stretch was. He continued kissing you and his facial hair felt scratchy against face, only furthering your discomfort. 

“I’m close.” He whispered against your lips. At least it was almost over. “I haven’t filled up a cunt in over a year.” He practically growled, making you stiffen again. 

“N-no… Emmett, please don’t. Please pull out.” You begged desperately, trying to speak coherently through all of the crying. 

“I thought you said I deserve this? That I deserve to finally be happy after everything.” He frowned, making you falter. 

“I didn’t mean… this.” You choked out, not sure what else to say. 

“I know…” He said quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I’ll try to pull out.” 

“Emmett, please. You have to,” He leaned down and cut you off with another kiss as his thrusts became even rougher. 

“You’re such a good girl…” He murmured against your lips, breathing heavily as he neared his release. “So good. I’m gonna make you mine. I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of her. But we’ll be safe this time...” You shook your head, unable to do anything else. “No monsters, no illness— It’s gonna be perfect. We’ll even have some boys, yeah?”

“No,” You sobbed, quickly feeling defeated. You couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried. “Please, Emmett… I just turned 18, I- I can’t…” He moaned quietly when you said that. 

“Shh. Yes you can. I’ll help you, baby, we’ll do it together.” You shook your head in disagreement as you continued to cry. “Fuck,” He choked out, eyes closing again. “Ready?” 

“No— no, Emmett… please. Please pull out!” You yelled, making him curse under his breath. With one final groan, he forced his cock all the way in, pushing up against your cervix uncomfortably. 

“Oh, good girl.” He moaned, lazily rutting into you as he rode out his high. “So fucking good. So tight… milking every fucking drop.” He said proudly, making you cry harder at the verbal reminder that he just came inside you. 

“Emmett…” You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch inside you. 

“Thank you.” He said through a breath. “Thank you so much.” He almost sounded like he was about to cry in relief and that made you falter. This man has been alone for weeks, just haunted by the memories of his family with no real outlet or source of comfort. So when someone finally offered him some… he jumped at the chance immediately. You probably would’ve done the same, had you lost your entire family. 

“And I meant what I said. I’m going to keep you safe this time, I promise.” He said quietly, reaching down to feel where his cock was bulging your stomach— where a baby would be growing soon enough. “All of you.” 

[thelov3lybookworm]

What did you say?

Summary: He needs to stop saying thank you.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1047

Warnings: none, unless you can say tooth rotting fluff and domestic cass x reader counts?

A/n: this is just adorable i loved writing this so much🥹🥹🥹

cassian is just so pookie and i love him sm 😭 someone get me a cassian please as a birthday git 😭

anyways, ENJOY🥹

(p.s: this is like the one fic i didnt discuss with berry my love becos i changed the plan for cass's fic like 5 days before posting and wrote this thang in basically a few hours lol i forgot to yap my bad sorry 😔)

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Being a five hundred year old fae, not many thing’s excited Y/n. But there were also a lot of things that did excite Y/n, and one of them was watching her husband fumble around trying to make her smile.

That morning, Y/n had woken up with a raging headache, the pounding in her head beating her brain like a wardrum. Add to the mix her hormones were all over the place at not finding herself waking up in the comforting embrace of her giant teddy bear.

She had been in a pissy mood all morning when Cassian returned home after his training session with the valkyries that lasted longer than usual.

Y/n had been glaring down at her plate of fried eggs that were not as runny as she liked, having lost touch with cooking them for herself because Cassian insisted on making her breakfast everyday when he walked in through the door to their marital home.

Of course, he did not realise that she was in a very bad mood and tried to joke around, trying to get her spirits to lift as usually that seemed to work.

"Looks like someone woke on the wrong side of the bed today, huh?"

Y/n turned sharply to glare at her husband who did not even have the decency to apologise for not being there for her when she woke with the headache that still refused to leave before making fun of her. The fucking audacity.

She had only glared at him for a long moment before turning and leaving to their bedroom, but that moment was enough for Cassian to catch onto the fact that she was mad mad.

It also allowed Y/n a glimpse of panic flashing in his eyes, for which she had felt guilty but she knew she needed time to calm down before talking to him.

And now, it was evening, and the puppy eyes Cassian watched Y/n with were making her heart melt.

How could someone be this adorable?

He’d been at it the whole day. Bringing her her favourite pastries from a nearby bakery, running her a hot bath and slipping a note into the bedroom from under the door, making her dinner. When she had come down after a relaxing bath, he had even offered her a back massage.

His voice had been so light, but she heard the softness, the caution in it.

And Y/n had almost agreed to that massage that sounded so heavenly, but watching her husband be sad over her behaviour that morning ate her alive, and agreeing to let him cater to all her wants without realising that she was not mad at him felt like she was using him.

It had almost been an hour since he had offered, and since they’d had dinner and moved to the living room. She had tried to make conversation with him, but he seemed lost in his own mind, offering her short responses before his eyes turned distant again.

Y/n did not need that bond between her and her husband to know that he was trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

"Cass?"

He blinked, then looked away from her, his ears darkening before he met her gaze again. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare."

Y/n raised a brow. "And so what if you did?" his brows furrowed, so Y/n hastened to add in case he thought she was still mad. "I’m your wife, your mate. You can look however much you want."

"I… yeah."

Y/n sighed, then stood from the couch and walked over to the oversized armchair adjacent to the fireplace that Cassian occupied and settled down in his lap, trying to focus on formulating a coherent sentence and not on the way his warm hands immediately wrapped around her waist.

He watched her quietly, his eyes slightly wide.

Though those beautiful eyes fluttered shut when Y/n leaned in and kissed him.

It was not a full on kiss, if she had to be honest. It was just a tiny peck, even that faint brush of their lips sending pleasant warmth shooting through her veins.

"Thank you-" Y/n paused, watching her husband blurt out the two words with her brows tugging together.

"What- what did you say?"

He blinked, blood climbing up his neck. "I… thank you?"

Y/n could not help it anymore. She threw her head back and laughed, unable to control the shaking of her body.

"Cass, are you thanking me for kissing you?"

"Yeah? You were mad at me-"

"I wasn’t."

He blinked again, then leaned back in the armchair. "What do you mean- why were you upset in the morning then?"

Y/n sighed, dropping her head into the junction between his shoulder and neck. "I had a raging headache when I woke up, and then I wanted to cuddle with you but you were gone. I was just upset at that."

He exhaled, raising his hands to run through Y/n’s unbound hair. "I’m sorry love, I had to go. You know the blood rite is coming soon, and a lot more priestesses and illyrian women want to partake this year. Az’s been running himself ragged, and Gwyn’s been so worried for him."

Y/n pulled back to meet his eyes. "Don’t apologise for being you, Cass. I know you love to help and train, and I am not mad when I am blessed with the most amazing husband in all of prythian."

Cassian’s eyes turned glassy at that, and he softly kissed her forehead.

"Thank you-"

Y/n groaned, standing up again.

"I swear to the mother if you say that one more time I’m going to bite you."

HIs expression morphed into a serious one, smile fading, and Y/n was once again reminded of his position in the night court. He looked more like his scheming general self that her sweet, adorable husband who pouted everytime Y/n did not give him five more minutes of cuddles.

"Y/n… thank you."

Y/n burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as she watched him leap out of his preferred seat and bolted up the stairs to their bedroom.

"Oh you cunning ass!"

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[literaila]

can we get one of those scenarios where gojo does go to reader's dorm at 3am to go get sweets?

before you came to jujutsu high, you were a very patient person.

your temper was long, if anything. a stretchy sort of thing that was folded in the hands of people who didn’t deserve it.

it took a lot to get you worked up—some might even say that you were a people pleaser. if you had a certain… distaste for anyone or anything, well that was between you and your brain.

before you came to jujutsu high, that is.

because now it takes less than a knock on the door for your irritation to rise from your chest into your eyes. stress headaches have become a newfound acquaintance.

“what?” you hiss, opening your door to be met with—to no one’s surprise—a giddy grin and a sliver of eyes so bright it makes you want to puke.

so yeah. things have changed.

it wasn’t even one knock this time, though, but at least four different pounds, each one luring you even further into the cloud of homicidal thoughts.

at least no one will blame you in jail.

“is that how you answer your door?” satoru asks, leaning against the jam, so tall it hurts your soul.

“gojo,” you say, sweetening your rough, still-sleeping voice. “unless you’re here to tell me that someone’s dead, i’m going to break your nose.”

you didn’t used to be this violent, you swear. there’s just something about him—

satoru pinches your cheek fondly. “you’re such a joy to be around. even with your bed head.”

“did someone die?”

“yes,” satoru adjusts your shirt for you, kindness a silly thing he likes to wear occasionally. “my stomach. its rotting away.”

“good for you. goodnight.”

and you move to close the door, but satoru has always been faster than you. his foot is there, and you could break it, but you won’t.

god knows why.

“c’mon, sleeping beauty,” he whines, “i want bad ice cream.”

“then go get some.”

“i want company while i eat it.”

“don’t you have other friends or something? it’s..” you turn, blinking in the dark. “1:34 am.”

gojo grins. “snack time,” he says, simply.

you groan, missing when life was simple and no one talked to you unless you were making a mistake. “i’m tired. you woke me up, and i was having a good dream, too.”

“about me?”

“about something i don’t remember because,” you scowl at him, “you woke me up.”

“i didn’t want you to miss out.”

“if you keep smiling at me like that, i’ll—“

you stop, mostly because you don’t know what you’ll do.

“are you trying to sweet talk me? because it’s working.”

“no.”

gojo laughs. “get dressed. unless you want to wear your… care bear’s shirt.”

“go with geto,” you say, trying to shut the door again. it only succeeds in making satoru flinch just briefly.

which is enough to feed the vicious animal in your head.

“he’s just not as cute as you, though.”

you scoff. “stop trying to manipulate me.”

“but it always works so well.”

and is he wrong?

…no. but who can blame you for falling victim to his whims? satoru has spent his entire life being waited on, being given every little thing he could possibly want.

and he seems to want you.

it’s such a unique, bewildering feeling that you have to follow through. you can’t let something like affection go to waste.

the girl you were a year ago would scream for this very moment. she would be at satoru’s door, hugging his leg like a child.

(and if he’s a little bit… okay to look at. well. at least there’s one plus to this arrangement).

“i’ll even wait for you to get dressed,” satoru says like it’s a generous offer. “can’t you hear the ice cream calling?”

and then he leans in, eyes peering into yours over his ridiculous shades.

his hair is a bit messier than usual this late, his mouth a terrifying pink.

some small part of you wants to desperately to lean a little bit closer. to push this even further. so what if you need more convincing? so what if he owes you something?

so what if you can’t say no to him?

it has nothing to do with the itchy feeling in your chest, or the giddy fog in your brain.

(god, satoru makes you feel… something else. different than a human, but nothing more than a prize. he makes you feel like you are something other—like you’ve been the problem this entire time—but in a good way.

satoru sees you as something to behold.

you’re the god of this small thing.

and it’s wonderful. its infuriating and painful, and still you’d rather die than attempt to let it go.)

so what?

“fine,” you almost gasp. “but you’re buying.”

gojo clasps his hands together in satisfaction. “we’ll see,” he sings.

“ten minutes,” you tell him, trying to shut the door.

“five,” he whispers back, so sweetly.

and then satoru flashes his teeth at you, so different from anything else.

your responding nod is just unconscious at this point.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Evan “Buck” Buckley: Belt 

This is my first Buck and 911 story! I'm so excited to be writing for a new fandom! If this is what brought you to me welcome!

This was inspired by complete brain rot. I couldn’t get it out of my head so I had to write it down. I’ve been catching up so I can watch the new season of 911! Damn, Buck just does something to me. Is anyone else hoping for buddie to be canon this season? I wish I could keep him for myself but if he does have to pair off with someone it better be Eddie. 

You were known to get yourself into strange and interesting situations. You blamed it on your big mouth and openness about discussing pretty much anything without thought. Usually when people had trauma, they kept it close to the vest but you weren’t ashamed of what had shaped you. Normal taboos like mental health, past trauma, and sex were easy for you to talk about. Giving voice to things took away their power.  

This situation wasn’t one you thought you would find yourself in. Sitting in a chair trying to teach Javi how to belt handcuffs and to start foreplay in a more dominant way. When he told everyone he had a date, you had been excited for him and asked about her. When he told you she was a shy introvert who liked to read things like Haunting Adeline, Den of Vipers, and Credence you hadn’t been able to hold your laughter. 

His confusion was immediate and between laughs, you had told him to look up the books to see what they were about. His reaction had been priceless. You had tried to calm him down telling him the belt or tie trick would work on any book girly. A few TikTok thirst traps later he looked more concerned than when you had started.  

That is what had landed you in the chair in front of him. You had shown him how to loop the belt into handcuffs and pull them tight. Javi knew how to do it but was just struggling with the sass of the move. He would put your hands in the belt but he was so gentle that the movement seemed awkward instead of sexy. “Alright, I’m calling it. I’m just not getting this.”  

“Javi, it’s getting a lot better. You just need a little more...” You pause trying to think of the right word. You had been giving him corrections and he had been doing better but you were struggling to give him the right feedback.  

“More attitude,” You both look up to see Buck just a few feet away. He looks at you and requests, “May I?” Your brows furrow together but give him a deceive nod. You weren’t close with Buck but with frequenting the firehouse you knew each other well enough. He was an attractive man and you wouldn’t complain about having him in your space. 

Buck's long legs ate up the distance between the two of you while one hand undid his belt buckle using his other hand to yank it out of the loops with a snap. His hands easily formed the belt into two loops for the makeshift handcuffs. You held your wrists out willingly. He stepped even closer his tall frame overshadowing you, his legs brushing yours. You could smell the spice of his aftershave, the warmth of his body making heat flood through your lower stomach and up your body.  

He briefly looked down to slide the leather belt over your wrist but otherwise, his blue eyes stayed locked on yours. You couldn’t look away. Then in one fluid movement, he pulled the belt tight, the leather biting just enough into your wrist, as he pulled your hands up and over your head and back towards your shoulders. You inhaled sharply your body naturally arching up. Buck was leaning down enough that your breast brushed his chest. Your nipples hardening in your bra. You pull reflexively against the hold but Buck holds a firm resistance and your hands don’t move. 

His face is only inches from yours and you can feel the warmth of his minty breath. The rough fingertips of his other hand caress from your chin up your cheek to push your hair back and out of your face tucking them behind your ear. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breath is coming out in pants. His nose grazes your ever so slightly.  

You think he is planning on kissing you. Your lips part eager for his kiss. Ready for his taste on your tongue. You are disappointed when instead you feel cold as his body heat is pulled farther from you. You look up at his retreating figure with hooded eyes. But his attention has turned to Javi. “You don’t want to hurt them- I get that. But women aren’t as fragile as you think. You want to put just enough force behind it to surprise them- catch their attention. Give them the feeling of being completely under your control. Not so they feel powerless but so they can let go.”  

Buck’s name is called from another room and he doesn’t even glance back at you as he quickly strides out of the room. “After watching that I think I know what I am doing wrong. Can we go again?” Javi’s voice pulls you out of your head. You shake your head as you slowly bring your hands back up in front of you. Your movements are shaky as you start to pull at the belt Buck had left tight around your wrists. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out finally getting the leather loose. You try not to press your thighs together as you feel the wetness in your panties and the now throbbing ache in your core. You need a minute. A long minute. “Let me just go to the bathroom first.”  

[lostinwildflowers]

The 4 Times Sierra Six Almost Kisses You, and the 1 Time He Does

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Sierra Six almost kisses you on four separate occasions. However, one time is different, and you both know it.

Word Count: 14.2K

Warnings: mentions of parental death(mentioned as a plot point but not described/elaborated on; mother), almost panic attack because of grief, minimal angst, swearing, Six has some self-deprecating thoughts at the end but not bad, mentions of canon-typical violence/guns/wounds/blood/etc., just LOTS of pining and yearning for thousands of words, idiots to lovers but also friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, and Six being so husband at the end~

A/N: Hello my darlings :) I'm back with another fic for Six and I have loved every minute of it. I've missed writing so much and the brain rot is never-ending. I've always wanted to write one of these types of fics, so please enjoy and lmk what y'all think!!! :) - Birch <3

The first time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you convince yourself it is just a part of your imagination.

You had just finished up a long mission abroad - weeks away from the States and the comforts of your home. Six, your mission partner, was ready for a break as well.

The two of you had successfully eliminated an international intelligence officer and were boarding a flight to head back to America. A private flight, thankfully, but it would be hours until you were in the comforts of your home.

The sky was dark, the sun having set hours ago. It had been a long day, and the dreary feeling of the rainy night had exhaustion creeping throughout your body.

Now, with yellow-toned lights shining off of the rain sprinkling on the runway, you could catch your breath. The flashing red lights coming from the plane in front of you released tension deep within your body, a silent promise that peace and quiet were mere moments away.

The stars were trying to twinkle and dance around the sky, fighting through the light rain as you and Six finalized your plans to get home. You were thankful for the coolness the rainy night brought, it helped to calm your heightened instincts after the thrill of the chase.

Your belongings had already been taken aboard the plane while you and Six regrouped, your assignment to go home ringing in the back of your mind. Clouded with fatigue, your footsteps seemed to drag up the steps leading into the belly of the airplane.

"I'm so ready to get home," you grumble to Six, the tall man just two steps behind you, patiently waiting for you to haul yourself into the aircraft despite being splattered with unrelenting rain. You can hear him hum lowly behind you, an agreeable sound that indicates you know that he's tired as well.

The sound of someone's voice calling your name through the pitter-patter of the storm halts you in your tracks just as you begin to duck inside the plane. A frown tugs on your features as you glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice, but dropping to look at Six.

The agent momentarily glanced over his shoulder to see who was calling to you, but after realizing they didn't want him, turned back to you. You can see the lingering question in his gaze, one that you had bouncing around your head.

Who could possibly need me?

You sigh and fully turn around to face the outside air, scrunching your face as a gust of damp wind whips across the expanse of the jet walk. You shuffle to stand off to the side of the stairs, making room for Six as he pauses beside you.

You open your eyes from where they had snapped shut from the wind, slowly trailing upwards from his dark boots to his tracksuit pants. Your vision swirled around the red and blue colors of his tracksuit jacket, the raindrops racing down the water-proof material.

When your (colored) gaze finally reaches his face, you have to squint up at him. Your eyes blink rapidly to deflect the droplets falling from the sky, attempting to focus on his angled features instead.

The question still lingers on Six's face when you lock onto him, and he quirks an eyebrow as he murmurs, "You gonna see what that's about?" A sigh slides through your nose as you shrug and grumble, "I suppose so."

As you begin to slip past Six's broad form, you call over your shoulder, "Save me a seat by the window!" You can hear him scoff, and his squeaky footsteps disappear into the plane.

You begrudgingly make your way down the slick steps of the plane back to the tarmac, water pooling on the not-so-level areas of pavement. There are a few CIA-adjacent men who helped coordinate your movements that are waiting for you a few yards away.

Your squinted gaze lands on the man who had called your name, and you make your way over to him stiffly. You are tired, wet, and your body is sore from the exertion of the day.

What could these guys possibly want?

The man is wearing a boring black and white suit, his hands crossed in front of him as he awaits your approach. You come to a stop a few feet in front of him and gesture with one of your hands, "What do you need?"

The man shuffles uncomfortably before clearing his throat with a shake of his head, "Agent, I regret to inform you that your mother has suffered a heart attack and has passed away. I am sorry for your loss."

The world stops.

The whirling call of the wind grows quiet, as well as the hushed whisper of the rain. Jet engines that had once seemed to roar fade into silence, the only perceivable sound now the blood rushing through your ears.

The man's words hit you like a grenade detonating. The air seems to be sucked out of your lungs as time stands still. He simply nods at you and states formally, "We are just following protocol, agent. You may board your flight. There will be officers at the destination's airport to arrange transportation for you to the hospital."

He walks away a moment later, leaving you to stand alone with tears and rain burning at the edges of your vision. You can't breathe. You can't... breathe.

Your chest begins to heave as you watch the agent disappear into the dark of the night, panic starting to flutter in your gut. You know you're going into shock, but you have no choice but to turn back toward the plane, where the crew and Six await your return.

A shaky hand finds its way to your mouth, where it clamps down to keep sobs from escaping your lips. Your body feels like it's vibrating, unknowing on how to solve this system-wide pain.

Unbalanced footsteps start leading you back toward the aircraft. Your feet, already heavy with exhaustion, feel like lead as you take each step.

Your right hand grabs onto the slick railing, the metal cool and wet to the touch as you climb up the stairs. Your mind is at war - trying to fight your emotional, human, nature while the training instilled in you is telling you to remain steadfast.

Once you make it to the top of the stairs, you release your hand from your mouth as you take a shaky attempt at a deep breath. You use the back of your hand to wipe at the wetness coating your face, and blowing air through puffed cheeks, you ready yourself to face Six.

The flight crew was already in position as you maneuvered toward the middle of the private jet, quickly closing the hatch behind you as they readied the aircraft for takeoff.

You keep your (colored) gaze focused on the floor as you make your way to the middle of the jet. You can hear Six's muffled movements, and you recognize that the agent is pouring himself a cup of water.

He casually glances over at your approaching figure once as he pours, then rapidly darts back as he reads the emotion etched in your body language.

Slouched shoulders, not from the rain or wind. Downcast gaze. A slight hitch to your breath. Something was wrong.

Six immediately sets his cup down and faces you. To an outsider, they would say he was the image of stoicism, a neutral expression on his features as he regards you.

To you, his mission partner of countless years, you could see the concern written all over his face in one glimpse. You rush to try to avoid his gaze, but Six knows you better than that.

"What happened?" he probes gently, leaning back against the bar, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. He took his wet tracksuit jacket off. The movement distracts you from your thoughts for a moment before the pain of realization sets back in.

You force yourself to look from his chest up to his face, your eyes vulnerable and slightly timid as you note the softness in his. You open your mouth to respond, but your voice catches in your throat.

Six can feel his heart lurching in his chest at the silence that falls between the two of you, and then he starts to piece it together. He sighs and looks off to the side, his gaze clouded as he mumbles, "Who died?"

The question would have been harsh and crass if not for your line of work. You know that the words weren't meant in a careless way, just that it was the nature of life. Some were created to live until it was their time, while some were created to die before the choice was made for them.

You shut your eyes tightly as you managed to croak out, "My mom," and the floodgates opened. A sob rips out of your throat from deep in your chest, and your hands come up to cover your face as it twists in pain.

There is movement behind you, and you turn to see a flight attendant through the cracks in your fingers. You know that she's coming to tell you the plane is getting ready to take off, but Six's voice cuts in, "Give us 5 minutes," and she disappears without a trace.

Six pushing off of the bar draws your attention again, another wave of tears flooding down your cheeks. He stops in front of you, his eyes laced with deep sorrow and a crease in his brow.

Opening his arms to you slowly, he whispers, "C'mere." He doesn't have to repeat himself, and you all but lurch forward into Six's embrace as it hits you.

Despite being a CIA agent with little to nothing in your file, there was one agreement you had made with the government before you started working. You would become one of their "dirty" agents, but you would get updates on your mother, the only family you had left, if anything major happened.

Now, with them following through on their word, you couldn't help but regret that choice.

His muscular arms lock around your waist as your arms fold around his neck. Six tucks your head under his bearded chin, and he slowly works his fingers up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

Your tears are soaking into the soft material of Six's t-shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is warm and firm under your frenzied touch, which you are grateful for.

You barely hear him when he quietly says, "I'm sorry to hear that," your fingers fisting at the nape of his shirt as you weep.

Then, Six shuffles and there is a brush of something over your forehead, making your crying cease for a moment. It was feather-light, a barely there touch that just seemed to tickle your skin.

You could have convinced yourself it was just a piece of hair on your forehead from your body shaking, stuck there with rainwater. It could have been your imagination - a fleeting touch from your mother, saying everything was going to be alright.

But maybe... maybe it was Six's lips grazing your skin so tentatively. So very tenderly. So very lovingly, to try to ease your pain.

You don't have long to dwell on it, as Six pulls back a few inches from you. He catches your teary gaze and with a small, sad smile, he whispers, "I saved you the window seat."

A huff leaves you, a crinkle of a smile on your lips as you give him a nod, "Thanks, Six."

The words weren't just for the window seat. He slowly pulls himself away from you, handing you the water that was meant for him, and gestures to the seats.

Wordlessly, you take your position at the window, sipping at the cup your hand was clenched around. As the plane starts to move and the stars seem to blur into the night, you trace the spot on your forehead, wondering if the whole thing was a dream.

The second time Sierra Six almost kisses you, the two of you are working undercover. You weren't the biggest fan of covert undercover missions, but when your higher-ups told you that Spain would be your destination, well... you didn't complain.

However, you were internally wrestling over the details of the mission. You and Six had cover stories for the mission - not an uncommon thing for your line of work. The inner turmoil came with the grounds of you and Six posing as a newlywed couple traveling abroad for your honeymoon.

Deep down, you knew the mission's goal was of the utmost importance. But, you can't lie. You had been surprised at the notion of being fake-married to Six.

After mulling it over for a while, you supposed it did make sense that the two of you were selected for this mission. You had worked together for so long that you knew you could trust each other in any scenario. So despite your initial reservations and Six's usual stoicism, you put on your big girl pants and doubled down for the mission.

The mission left you and Six in the middle of Spain at a dimly lit bar. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette smoke and the heat of the day, making it a little hard to breathe.

Set in the rampant and colorful streets of Madrid, Six was on alert. You could feel how tense he was next to you, despite wearing a loose cream-colored button-up and some matching slacks to go with it. You knew he was on edge, his gaze remaining sharp as he scoured the busy bar for the target.

"Take a breath," you murmur quietly as you sip at your water. You feel Six's gaze flash over to you as you focus on the opposite entrance through the bottom of your glass.

Six shifts to try to relax his body as he leans in close to your ear, "I don't like this." You finish your sip and set the drink down, your hand delicately coming up to your mouth to fix your lipstick.

You turn to face him, giving the agent a knowing look as he finally gives you more of his attention. Six lets his blue eyes flutter from your dolled-up face and hair down to your revealed collarbones.

His gaze seems to slow when it reaches the curves of your light blue sundress. There are flowy sleeves that stop in the middle of your bicep, patterned with small white line art of flowers.

The dress cinches around your bodice, not uncomfortably tight though. You can't lie, the girls look good. From there, the dress flows out around your hips, the material light and airy to beat the heat.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, coughing as he looks down at his feet and then allowing his gaze to sweep over the crowd. He shuffles and rubs his hands together once, his gaze flashing back to you.

Confusion pulls your eyebrows together as you rest your hand on his shoulder and ask, "Everything alright?" The frown on your face eases as Six holds your gaze, clears his throat, and whispers nonchalantly, "Uh huh."

You leave him to his thoughts for a second, the warmth of the bar sending heat waves through your body. You shiver with some kind of anticipation, and you move to stand up off of your stool.

"I'm going to use the restroom real quick," you say lightly to Six with a kind smile, one that you know people won't see through. Truly, any smiles you share with Six come naturally. But, you are supposed to be pretending, right?

Six is almost flush against you the second you stand up straight. It makes your heart lurch in your chest at his sudden proximity, but you take a shallow breath to calm yourself down.

His right hand comes to rest on the side of your waist, his eyes sharp as he pinpoints the location of the restroom. "I'll walk you there," is all he says.

Six turns and starts to guide you around the edge of the bar, his hand shifting to rest on the small of your back. The warmth his touch brings combined with the smell of alcohol and smoke makes you dizzy.

Any other day you might say his hand drifted too low to be casual, but then you remember. He's pretending too. You take a deep breath as you reach the bathroom, turning toward Six with a practiced smile.

You let your hands flatten against his chest slowly, testing the waters. You can feel his pecs tighten on reflex but then quickly relax, and you move to straighten out the fabric of his shirt. With a soft blink you chirp, "I'll be out in a minute."

At that, you step back and push through the bathroom door. You gravitate toward the porcelain sinks, catching your reflection in the mirrors lining the walls. You grip the edge of the sink as you attempt to straighten out your line of thought.

He's just pretending. It's all for show. Focus on the mission. Don't let your desires get in the way.

Desires? Where did that come from?

You take a deep breath to center yourself and then you glance up at your reflection in the mirror. You see where your lipstick is still a bit smudged, so you reach for a paper towel to tidy up the line of your lower lip.

The air conditioning helps cool the sweat starting to form at the back of your neck, and you pat your face with the clean side of the paper towel to remove any excess oil. You throw the paper towel away and quickly wash your hands, remembering that Six is waiting outside for you.

You pull the door open, your (colored) eyes finding Six's broad frame almost instantly. You see his gaze snap over to you, his eyes once again slowly trailing up the length of your body.

He's not checking you out. He's making sure you are still put together. He's making sure no one laid their hands on you.

You pause beside him and motion with your head toward a free table. "Want to go back in?" Six just looks at you blankly for a second as thoughts race through his head.

No, I don't want to go back in. I want to take you back to that bathroom and -

He stops himself. This is you. He can't be thinking about you like that. This is work. Even if he has to pretend to be married to you, he can't think like that.

But God, he wants to.

"Six?" you question, stepping closer to him as a woman slides past the two of you into the restroom. Six seems to snap out of his thoughts at your proximity, and quips quickly, "What do you want, sweetheart?"

The pet name rolls off of his tongue before he can stop himself, and his stomach drops when he realizes the implication. He should have asked you before you went into the field if anything was off-limits.

But, when that smile of yours slides back across your lips, he knows everything is okay. You giggle for a second, selling the love-sick look of newlyweds as you rest your hand on his chest again.

"Can we get some food?" you ask with a dreamy sigh, and Six's lips tug into a smile as he nods, his hand finding its place on your back again.

As he guides you in the direction of the free table you had motioned to, he stops in his tracks and pulls you to the side quickly. He ducks down close to your ear as he rushes out, "Target is at the table in the corner on the other side of the bar."

His lips and goatee brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you just giggle and let your hand come up to the back of his head, pretending he told you a funny joke.

Your hand threads through the dirty blonde locks as you lean into him and whisper back, "I see him. I'll sit down, go order me a drink or something over there."

Six nods briefly into your neck, pulling back ever-so-slightly but positioning himself in front of you. The only time Six has ever been this close to you was when he hugged you on the plane.

You swear you can almost feel his breath on your face, and your heart stops when he leans in. Every movement he makes is calculated and slow, giving you plenty of time to move.

His lips land on your right cheek, gentle but firm. You could have seen sparks shooting out of the lights on the wall at the electricity humming through the air.

Six pulls back, a slight twinkle in his eye as he nods, "Anything for my girl." At that, he steps back, shoots you a wink, and walks through the smoky atmosphere to the other side of the bar.

He leaves with such a swagger to his walk it makes your knees weak. You can't help but let your powerless gaze follow him before you see movement coming from next to you.

It's the woman who slipped into the restroom after you. She catches sight of Six walking away, and with a friendly jibe she says, "You are one lucky girl!"

She doesn't wait for your answer, instead disappearing into the other side of the bar. Your hand comes up to brush your cheek where Six's lips had been moments before.

Your heart was finally slowing down from beating erratically at Six's intimacy. A puff of air pushes through your lips as you force yourself to walk over to the free table, your mind racing as you replay the fleeting touch on repeat.

Once you sit down, you close your eyes to regain your focus.

The mission. I need to focus on the mission.

And so, you push down any feelings bubbling in your stomach, your eyes flickering to the door you had originally been watching from the bar.

There will be time later to think about Six's actions.

The third time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you are on a mission following the fake-marriage ordeal. There hadn't been much time to think about Six's actions, because you were exhausted and on a flight with said man sitting next to you.

This time it was a standard, run-of-the-mill operation. Nothing too crazy or high stakes, just get in, eliminate the target, and get out. Thankfully, your higher-ups were kind enough to give you a night's rest in between the missions.

Truly, you believed it was so that you and Six could plan out your movements and be prepared, not so much as to catch up on rest. But, you weren't going to complain about catching up on some sleep.

The flight goes by silently, and after a short car ride, you and Six are left at your hotel for the evening. Apparently, there must have been an event in town that night, as the hotel lobby was crowded with people waiting to get their rooms.

Always one to pack light, Six had one medium-sized duffle bag slung over his shoulder and was standing in line just a step ahead of you. He was silent as he grabbed for his traveling card, his eyes scanning the crowd looking for threats.

You also had packed light, with just a small backpack hanging off of your shoulder and your traveling card already in hand. While Six is on alert, you can't help but let your tired eyes wander down the figure of your companion.

He's standing right in front of you, how can you not look at him?

He's tall, but you knew that. His shoulders are broad, and not even the loose tracksuit jacket he loved could hide that. Despite the flimsy material, you know there is hard, thick muscle covering his back from his meticulous workout routine.

Just as your eyes land at the bottom of the jacket towards his hips, the line moves forward. This seems to help pull you out of your thoughts and taking a step closer toward Six, you shuffle slightly off to his side.

The two of you hadn't talked about the mission you had just finished, and you were afraid to bring it up to the stoic man. You shift your weight as you glance over at Six, who now has secured his card in his hand.

His blue gaze is slightly downturned, tired, but still on alert as always. He looks over at you as you come into his peripheral vision, and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question of, What's up?

You shrug, "Waiting, same as you." The words come out a little hollow, but Six doesn't push. The interaction is slightly awkward, and you bite your tongue and pull your backpack higher up onto your shoulder.

Six sighs through his nose as his head tips back, rolling his neck to loosen some tension. Your mouth runs dry as you get a view of the tendons and ligaments flexing and releasing under his tanned skin.

It looks so inviting. So soft. So... kissable. You almost slap yourself as the thought rolls over you, you tear your eyes away from Six to look at the front desk.

Thankfully, Six doesn't seem to notice, and you rush out, "Looks like we're up," and take a step forward toward the front desk. You give the receptionist a tight smile as you start, "Hi, two rooms, please. One bed in each."

The receptionist takes both of your traveling cards to swipe you into the system, working as fast as she can. She turns to you and replies, "Here are the key cards to your rooms, top floor."

The walk to the elevator is quick but quiet with Six leading the way. It seems as though the crowd from the front desk dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

Six presses the "up" button and steps back to resume his place next to you. You rock back and forth on your heels for a second, waiting for the elevator to make it to the ground floor.

"Antsy about tomorrow?" Six's voice comes, low and barely audible. Your head just about whips around to face him, but his gaze is still trained on the elevator.

You turn your head to look straightforward again, clearing your throat and replying softly, "Not really, just been a long week." This gets Six to look at you, a frown pulling his eyebrows taut.

"Hopefully not because you were stuck with me," he tries to joke lightly, but there is a very small hint of unease to his voice. You swear a million thoughts run through your head at his words.

No, I loved spending the week with you. I wish we could have spent longer in that fake, perfect world. Yes, it was a long week of pretending. But I wasn't really pretending, was I?

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You use the opportunity to step forward, head ducked down. Six's arm darts out, grabbing onto your bicep to hold you still.

Your heart jumps to your throat at the contact, and then he's pulling you back against him. A second passes, and a little girl and her mother walk out of the elevator, sharing a kind smile with you and Six.

You internally groan at your own stupidity, and you hear Six murmur, "That desperate to get away from me?" You pull away from him, only to turn around and glance at him.

You frown at the uncharacteristic insecurity Six seems to be displaying, and you quickly grab his hand that had pulled you back. You sigh, exhaustion settling on you as you reply, "I'm sorry, I'm just not paying attention. I'm glad you're here with me, Six."

At the end of your words, you gently squeeze his hand. His palm is warm against your own, causing heat to bloom all across your body. This seems to ease his doubts, and now he's the one to move, pulling you into the now-empty elevator.

It takes him a second to release your hand, the doors to the elevator sliding closed behind the two of you. He silently reaches forward, pressing the button for floor 20.

There is a quiet jingle humming through the speaker, but it does nothing to ease the obvious tension between you and the CIA agent. You could kick yourself for your actions and lack of words, and you open your mouth to speak at the same time he does.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable-" "I'm sorry if I made you feel-"

You both clamp your mouths shut and Six gestures for you to go first. You turn to face him, uncertainty lacing your features as you gush, "I'm really sucking at talking tonight, but I'm sorry if I made you feel like I don't want you here."

You take a quick breath and continue to blurt out, "I'm honestly really glad it was you on that mission and not some random agent. I don't think I would have been comfortable with anyone else and you were just so reassuring and kind to me."

You hold your breath as you try to gauge Six's reaction. You don't realize your body goes rigid as you wait, your attention focused on Six's face.

It goes from being blank to a softened, kind look that lets you exhale. Six nods once in thoughtful understanding before stating, "I was just going to say I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable on that mission with anything I did. I should have asked if you had any boundaries before we got thrown in."

You shoot him a grateful smile, butterflies welling in your stomach at the level of concern he had for making you uncomfortable. It's quiet for another moment and you mumble, "I appreciate that. But I don't think there's much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you."

Heat burns across your cheeks and ears as you finish your words, facing back to the front of the elevator as it dings for the 20th time. Quite literally saved by the bell, you step out, this time making sure there is no one in your way.

Your eyes start scanning the hallway for room numbers, looking for room #2007. You hear Six move behind you, positioning himself next to you as the elevator doors slide shut, descending to a lower floor.

Six clears his throat, seemingly trying to distance himself from the conversation in the elevator, and asks, "What room are you in?" You blink and look at your room key even though you know the answer and stutter, "Uh, 20- 2007. What about you?"

Six sighs and grunts, "2045, I guess I'm down the other hallway. I'll walk with you." He doesn't give you much of a choice, starting down the hallway with the lower numbers.

You feel your stomach flip again, the feeling of butterflies making you teeter nausea. You move to follow him though, shuffling the backpack on your shoulder and taking another breath you release as a sigh.

It only takes a few moments to find your room, and you quickly swipe the key card, deposit your stuff on the bed, and check the main room for anything hidden or suspicious.

Six had a similar thought, checking the bathroom for you before stepping back out into the hallway. You step out with him, leaving the door propped open with the door stopper.

"Thanks for seeing me to my room," you voice, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You raise a hand to your face to stifle a yawn, and you see some emotion wash over Six's face.

You can't quite pinpoint what it is exactly, but you try not to think about it as you wipe at your eyes. Six steps closer to you, his duffle bag plopping to lay on the floor near his feet.

His hand slowly comes up to your face and you instinctively drop your hands to your sides to give him access. Your breath catches in your throat and the lull of exhaustion is seemingly gone as a rush of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

The air is suddenly thick and it's hard to breathe. His hand settles under your chin, the supple touch making you shiver. He tilts your chin up ever so slightly, his gaze dark as his eyes flit around your face.

You try not to notice how they linger on your mouth for a second, but then you realize your lips have parted at his touch. You can't stop yourself from whispering, "Six, I-"

And he steps back.

His hand falls to his side and he quickly reaches down to grab his duffle. Not making eye contact with you, Six nods and dryly states, "Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

At that, he turns and walks down the hallway, steps even and methodical. You stand there, dumbfounded for a second until you see his figure turn into a small dot at the other end of the hall.

You lean your head back against your door, a solid thud sounding out. It may have hurt a little, but what the fuck was that?

Only when he disappears from view do you slide into your room, shutting the door with a click. You make sure to turn the lock and fasten the deadbolt, but with your mind racing, you can hardly focus.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and recognition sets in your brain that it's late. You go through the simple steps of your night-time routine, your head swirling with thoughts of his touch. His gaze.

Just, Six.

That night, you went to bed even more confused.

The fourth time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you need him more than you care to admit. The mission had gone south, fast. Too fast.

One second, Six is next to you, firing shots toward enemy men. The following, he is getting sucker punched out of nowhere, leaving your flank uncovered.

A lone gunshot rings out, and a second later pain erupts in your thigh. The bullet grazes the outside of your right thigh, causing you to cry out as agony starts to crawl through your system.

Your yelp must have caught the attention of Six, who is in a hand-to-hand tussle with another enemy soldier. He quickly smacks the butt of his gun across the face of the man, sufficiently knocking him out.

As you regain your bearings through your bleary pain, you hear another shot ring out. This time, you locate the source of the shot instantly.

It was Six.

He has his gun pointed at the falling figure of a man who had been hiding behind boxes on the balcony above you. The now-dead man had been the one who shot you in the leg.

With the last of the targets eliminated, you slowly hobble over to Six, hissing as you shuffle around fallen weapons and men.

"You good?" you wheeze out, trying to put the throbbing sensation of your leg out of your mind as you look him over. You can tell he is mainly unharmed. He's got a cut on his forehead leaking blood down to his eye and some light bruising to go with it, but otherwise no major injuries.

Six finishes one last sweep of the room with his eyes before they lock onto you. His blue gaze darts around your face first, checking you over for wounds.

When he doesn't see anything on your head, his eyes scan the rest of your body and they freeze on your thigh. He ignores your question as he asks gruffly, "Can you walk on this?"

The material of your tactical pants has been blasted away by the gunpowder from the shot, the area now wet with dark red blood. You stumble a bit as the pain wells up, and Six's free hand flies out to steady you.

"Y-yeah, I can," you groan, and then pant, "I may need a bit of help but I can walk out of here." Six moves to stand behind you, leaning you back to rest against his chest while his hands release you.

Fingers working faster than you can comprehend through your pain, he reloads his weapon and wraps his arm around your waist. He offers you silent support as the two of you maneuver out of the room and to a planted, but safe, vehicle.

Six helps you get into the car before hopping into the driver's seat, setting off for an unknown destination. It's all a blur, though, as you flicker in and out of consciousness due to blood loss, pain, and exhaustion.

Time smudges by as trees whip past you, everything becoming a haze of blue skies and indistinct greenery. You don't realize the car has stopped until Six opens the passenger door next to you.

"We're here," he grunts as he bends down toward you, motioning for you to start shifting your way out of the car. You nod and shuffle toward the edge of the seat, your arms reaching for Six.

The Sierra agent is there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around your torso to help haul you to your feet. Pain soars through you as the movement, your leg screaming with a sharp pulsing.

"Gah!" you yelp angrily, your weight shifting onto your left leg which is unharmed. Six slings your arm around his neck, his left hand wrapping around your waist. Another hiss of pain slides past your parted lips, and then you grumble out, "Where are we?"

Six starts guiding you toward the small building and muttering, "Safehouse, we should be good to get you cleaned up here." Your head nods in relief, your whole body feeling a wave of relaxation at the thought.

It does make you slump against Six, but he doesn't say anything as he shifts your weight to press against his hip. His fingers fumble under the railing leading up to the building, reappearing a moment later with a hidden key.

This gives you a moment to give the safehouse a once-over from the outside. It's small, no bigger than two or three rooms. The outside is simple, unassuming, and not entirely in style.

As Six unlocks the door and does a quick sweep of the place, he leaves you gently at the entrance of the house. You take a second to glance down at the throbbing in your leg, seeing dark red liquid slowly oozing.

Six reappears in front of you, grabbing your attention from your leg. He stops next to you and gives you a silent thumbs-up.

You grip the doorframe tighter as you shuffle and start, "Can you-" "Yeah, I got you," Six cuts in, moving next to you again before instructing, "The bathroom is just up here and to the right."

"Thanks," you wheeze out as Six's arm regains its place around your waist, pulling you toward what must be the smallest bathroom you've ever seen. There is hardly enough room for both of you to stand comfortably, with Six basically flattening himself against the wall to try to give you space.

"I'm sorry, there's not much room in here," Six mumbles, his voice getting quiet as he flicks on the light. You reach forward to grab the counter and you huff through clenched teeth, "It's gonna have to do unless you want to get blood on the carpet."

Six scoffs at your forced joke, slipping behind you to a cabinet above the toilet. He fishes out some medical supplies, and you stumble as you lean back against the counter for support.

"So, uh," you start, your voice catching in your throat. You clear it, trying again, "How are we going to do this? I can put the lid down on the toilet and sit on it, but that won't leave a lot of room for you."

Six glances over at you as he sets the supplies on the very edge of the counter. He lets a sigh out through his nose, his blue gaze sliding to the minimal remaining counter space and then back to yours.

You raise an eyebrow at him, your mind swirling as you picture how to get up there. "You think that'll be best?" you ask with uncertainty, and Six gives you a nod with a quip of, "It's gonna have to do unless you want blood on the carpet."

A smile tugs on your mouth as he throws your words back at you, and you playfully go to swat at his shoulder. He easily catches your punch, moving closer into your personal space.

"I'll help you up," he says gently, his free hand sliding under your thigh. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him to brace them on the counter behind you as you give the bearded blonde a nod of confirmation.

"1, 2, 3," Six counts before lifting you onto the counter, his hands firm but gentle as he sets you down. You have to awkwardly avoid the faucet, but you manage to shift until your back lays flush against the wall.

A groan quietly slides through your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as a new wave of pain washes over you. Six's brow furrows as his hands slide from underneath you to the side of your thighs, being careful to not touch your open wound.

"You alright?" he asks lowly, trying to keep the energy in the room calm as his right hand works small circles on your uninjured leg. You hiss as you shift, "Y-yeah, I'll be good. How about you? You didn't answer me earlier."

Six mentally curses at your observation skills. Even despite your pain and wounds, you were still thinking about his safety. He turns his attention to the medical supplies and tuts, "I'm doing better than you, there's nothing I can't clean up."

Without making a big deal of it, Six gently parts your thighs to give himself more room. He does it slowly and methodically to avoid your wound hitting the coolness of the countertop, centering himself as he starts to rip open the supplies.

"Let me help you," you urge, sitting forward and biting your tongue to keep a grunt of pain at bay. You move to grab a washcloth, but Six is one step ahead of you, swiping one from the rack next to you.

He quickly dabs at the blood running down his forehead near his eye, his sharp gaze focused on his reflection in the mirror. You take in the angle of his jaw, the slope to his nose.

You let your eyes wander over the face you know as Sierra Six. His cheek is a little busted from where he got sucker punched, and you know it'll be sore in the morning.

You reach up and skillfully swipe the cloth out of Six's hand, the agent's eyes widening in surprise at your movements. You turn the cloth over in your hands to find a part not smudged with blood, and you flick on the sink to wet the material.

Six moves to grab the washcloth out of your hand again, but you quickly tug it toward your chest and light-heartedly snap out, "Let me help you!" The Sierra agent knows there isn't any malice in your voice, and that you are stubborn as hell.

He sighs and glances up into your (colored) eyes, slight but playful annoyance resting there. Six leans forward, resting his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, waiting for you to move.

After waiting another second to make sure Six is going to let you work, you slowly bring your hand up to his face. Brushing his scruffy cheek with the back of your hand first, you feel his warmth just by the simple touch.

You then spin your wrist, allowing for the dampened cloth to make contact with the trail of drying blood on his temple. Six's gaze is almost piercing as he watches you, and suddenly you wonder if this is what Six's enemies feel like before they die.

You swallow as you pull your gaze from his, your fingers delicately swiping the cloth over the blood trail until it is gone. You then flick the washcloth to another clean side, softly bringing it up to the cut on his forehead.

When the material makes contact with the cut, he flinches in surprise, his hands moving from the counter to grab at the meat of your thighs.

In his haste, he brushes against the wound on your thigh, making you whimper in pain. Six steps back rapidly, his back thudding against the wall as he removes himself from your personal space in a flustered rush.

Surprise and guilt flood his features as he rushes out, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" "It's alright," you cut in, setting the washcloth down next to your leg, "I know you didn't."

Six swallows and tries to redirect, "I can step out if you would feel better cleaning yourself up alone." You roll your eyes at him, trying to bring the lighter mood back as you jibe, "Yeah, okay, Mr. Gentleman, Sir."

Unfortunately, Six doesn't find your joke nearly as funny as you do, and you sigh and mutter, "Sorry, can't help it." You point to your leg and continue with a softer tone, "I could use some help, though."

Six glances from your injured thigh back to your face and he gestures to your pants, "Those are probably going to need cut off or taken off to get full access to that blast wound. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You groan and lean your head back against the wall with a thump, "For goodness sake, Six, help a girl out!" The desperation in your voice is what finally gets Six's resolve to crumble. He steps forward from the wall, still uncertain, his hands reaching for the scissors next to the supplies.

"You tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?" Six pushes, not wanting to overstep. You reach forward and grab his free hand the best you can, and giving it a squeeze you whisper, "I will. There's not much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you, remember?"

Six shoots you a quick, but more assured smile before turning his attention to the blast on your leg. He gently works the scissors around the fabric, cutting the material loose to give him access to the bare expanse of your right thigh.

You shiver as the metal of the scissors brushes against your skin, your fingers moving to curl around the edge of the countertop. Six does his best to work efficiently, cutting your pant leg completely off to reveal the wound.

He takes a moment to look at it, scanning it for any debris or dirt chunks that need to be plucked out. After not finding any, he glances up at you and murmurs, "Just gotta clean this up and you'll be good."

You give him a nod, resting your head against the wall again as a shaky breath falls from your lips. You knew that no amount of mental preparation would brace you for the sting of alcohol against your open wound. But, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, forcing oxygen into your body in an attempt to calm your nervous system down.

Six glances at you again, his gaze kind as he looks over your figure. You were waiting on him to bring the alcohol wipe over your leg, and you both knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Ready?" he asks as he finishes ripping open the packet containing the alcohol wipes. His fingers gently rub at your uninjured thigh, trying to distract you for a moment.

You take a quick, short breath and chirp out, "Yep, get it over with." Six doesn't waste a second, tenderly brushing the alcohol wipe over your wound. It immediately stings.

A gasp of pain forces its way out of your mouth, and your face scrunches in agony as your right foot swings out and then slams back into the cabinets below the counter. The reflex is one you couldn't have controlled, and you clamp your teeth down on your tongue as tears rush to the edges of your vision.

Six somehow avoids your involuntary kick, trying to work as fast as he can as he bloodies wipe after wipe. His blue gaze is focused as he works, and he murmurs after a moment, "You're doing good."

He grabs a new alcohol pad, applying it directly over the heart of the wound. You cry out hoarsely, your body crumpling forward toward Six's.

He holds pressure on the wound, not allowing the alcohol wipe to slip despite your wriggling to get away from the pain. Your forehead lands at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you brace yourself against him as tears slide down your cheek.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes, his free hand continuously rubbing circles on your unharmed leg. When his soft touch doesn't seem to help or distract you, he kneads at the flesh instead, trying to draw your attention away from the intense burn.

This seems to help a little more, but you can't stop the sob that jumps out of your throat as waves of pain work through your body. Six is patient as he waits for you to settle down, his hand sliding up and down your left leg in another attempt at distracting you.

Only when your hand clutches at him, does Six stop. Your fingers try grabbing onto the material of his shirt, grasping for anything solid to ground you.

Six slowly turns his head to look at you leaning against his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His hand moves steadily as he runs it over the back of your head and over your hair.

You hear him clear his throat and mumble, "Are you alright? I know this sucks."

The burn of the alcohol is the only thing your mind seems to fixate on. You want to answer him, but it feels like your blood is on fire. You open your mouth to reply, but you can only let out a strangled hiss.

Six frowns as he glances down at you, now bringing his hand from the back of your head to gently cup your cheek. The rough texture of his hands initially distracts you, your vision blurring as he pulls you away from his chest.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and you can barely make out Six's figure as you hear his voice wash over you, "Hey, hey, eyes on me. Eyes on me, okay? Do you trust me?"

Six's fingers gently tilt your head back, his thumb pad brushing away your tears as he looks over your dampened cheeks. You blink a few times, trying to focus on the man in front of you as the burn of your wound begins to ebb away.

You nod and sniffle, "Y-yeah." Your voice is weak and quiet, deprived of energy. Six gives you a warm smile, his fingers moving from cupping your cheek to quietly brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You suddenly realize your proximity to the Sierra agent has decreased rapidly. Your face is only a few inches away from his own, and he is the only thing you can focus on.

With your vision focusing, you can now see the concern lacing his stormy gaze. There is a furrow in his brow that you know is there because of you.

Six is holding you so tenderly, so patiently. It makes your heart flutter and a lump form in the back of your throat. A second passes and you swear you can feel Six's breath on your face as he silently waits.

Waits for what? You aren't really sure. He is staring at you, calculating.

Then, he leans in slowly. You swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest as a strand of his hair tickles your forehead. At the last second, he shifts and turns his head.

Six's lips land on your cheek softly. You can feel the tickle of his beard against your skin, and it makes your fingers tighten their grip on the material of his shirt.

You feel like you could vomit, your nerve endings are in pain, confused, and happy? You are instantly brought back to your senses as he lingers close to your skin, painstakingly slow to pull away from you.

He pauses as he pulls back, now only an inch or two away from your lips. Six's eyes had fluttered closed, but now, they flicker open, gauging your reaction.

Your eyes are half-lidded. From pain? Maybe. From pleasure? ...you aren't really sure. Six is so close to you, you can't think straight. You have never felt this way before, both excited and terrified.

You know all you have to do is tilt your head and you could close the gap. But you are hardly breathing. And when Six's hand slowly removes itself from pushing your hair out of your face and cups your cheek again, you think you're going to have a heart attack.

A moment passes and Six leans into you ever so slightly, the two inches now becoming one. He subconsciously tightens his grip on you, his fingers holding your face pulling you closer.

At the same time, his hand holding the alcohol wipe on your thigh also increases in pressure unconsciously. A new, fresh wave of pain roars through your body, tearing you out of the dream-like state you had been in.

You involuntarily gasp and drawback as pain floods your system, a pang of hurt flooding over you at the way Six immediately pulls away from you.

His face is instantly stone-cold with no emotion, and he pulls his hand holding the alcohol wipe off of your thigh.

The silence is painfully loud.

You can hear every movement around the safehouse. The wind is knocking into the roof and the heater attached to the wall is creaking. Otherwise, it's just the quiet rustle of medical supplies as Six silently finishes patching you up.

He puts an ointment on a gauze pad, avoiding eye contact with you, before placing it over your clean wound. You bite your tongue as hard as you can to avoid making any noise, and you try to not move or shift as he works.

Your heart rate is slowing down, but you are left with an uncomfortable feeling of hurt, guilt, and something else you can't place.

Six finishes patching your wound by wrapping your leg with a pliable gauze and taping it off. You know the wound will need to be redressed in the morning, but you don't want to think about it.

As Six throws away the used supplies and starts to gather up the clean stuff, you clear your throat. Your voice is shaky and quiet with uncertainty when you offer, "I can-, I can finish cleaning the cut on your head."

You gaze at him nervously, your hands having released him and now lay awkwardly in your lap. Six doesn't spare you a glance as he finishes putting the supplies away and mutters, "No, I'll be fine. You should go get changed, there are clothes in the bedroom."

His words are straight to the point and very matter-of-fact. You sigh and nod, forcing yourself to move despite your leg protesting. With wobbly movements, you hop down from the counter and begin inching toward the bedroom around the corner.

Six had slipped out a moment before you, heading toward the kitchen across the hall. You grunt with effort as you latch onto the door handle of the bedroom, and this makes Six pause, turning around to look at you.

Whatever silent treatment you both shared in the bathroom seems to have dissipated. He motions toward you and prompts, "Just yell if you need help."

You know he's offering as a courtesy, but you can't help but crack a grin and call over your shoulder, "I will, I don't want to get blood on the bed too, you know. Unless you're into that sort of thing."

You don't wait to see if he responds, instead slipping into the bedroom with as much grace as you can muster. You shut the door behind you, leaning up against it as your eyes flutter shut.

On the other side of the door, Six is left with pink flooding his cheeks. He walks to the kitchen, and leaning over, grabs the countertop with both hands.

He huffs out a deep breath, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his... muddled thoughts. After a moment, he can't help but let his head drop as a chuckle falls from his lips.

A pleasant smile sits on the curve of his mouth as he replays the scene over and over in his head. Gosh, he was ruined by you. However, his smile quickly fades as he starts to mull over the interaction in the bathroom.

What a pussy you are, he thinks to himself.

Similarly, you aren't much better. What kind of wuss am I? you ask yourself as you push off the bedroom door toward a small closet tucked around by the window.

You sigh as you unbutton your pants, trying to carefully shimmy your way out of them. Thankfully, your heart seemed to have calmed down. You weren't sure how Six was going to take to you resuming your normal banter, but you hoped it would ease the obvious tension.

The tension?

It was all you could think about. And now? You knew you needed to confront whatever feelings you were experiencing. Because after today?

Sierra Six was driving you insane.

You slept on and off that night, fits of restlessness followed by sheer exhaustion that pulled you under. It was a rough night, to say the least.

The combination of your injuries and the torment of your interactions with Six left you flat-out tired. So when your body finally gave up and forced you to sleep around 3 a.m., you weren't complaining.

Six, ever the gentleman, slept on the couch in the living room and gave you the bed for the night. It was an unspoken agreement - you had basically collapsed on the bed after getting changed and didn't move.

Six knew this, and figured that he would be up for a while as the events of the day replayed in his mind. Not wanting to disturb you, he knew the couch would be his solace for the night.

The following morning, Six woke up early out of natural instinct. His muscles were sore and stiff from being crammed on the small and uncomfortable couch, but it wasn't anything a good stretch and walk couldn't fix.

With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, which read 6:25 a.m., Six knew he had a while until you woke up. You hadn't come out of the bedroom since you had disappeared the night before, and he didn't want to bother you.

So, Six makes a quick pot of coffee and does a couple of stretches to loosen his body and wake up his mind. Pouring the coffee into a sealed thermos, Six makes his way to the front door.

He slides on his boots and shrugs on a jacket that he had left on the coat rack. It was pretty cold outside - a sharp wind that cut to his core and knocked the snow off of the branches of the large pine trees around the safehouse.

A sigh falls from Six's mouth as he takes a sip of his coffee and sets out to do a perimeter check. He can't be too careful, not when you are basically out of commission. So, he does a quick scan of the vehicle he parked outside before setting off toward the edge of the property.

With the cold air biting at his cheeks, Six can't help but let his mind wander to you. You. You were... irritating to him, to say the least.

You just had to be the best thing that had ever walked into his life. From the moment he met you, Six knew that you were going to change him. And you certainly did.

His feet crunch over the snow as he walks the tree line, his blue eyes darting in and out of the wintery trees. Six watches two white-haired rabbits jump around in the snow 30 feet in front of him, pawing through the frozen flakes toward the hidden grass below.

He can't help but smile at the small animals as his mind drifts back to you. He knows you would love their cute whiskers covered with snow. Hell, you would probably try to chase one and pick it up.

The bearded blonde pushes forward, skirting around the rabbits and taking another sip of his coffee. The sun is just barely over the horizon, the woods still dark with the chill of the night. There is enough sunlight illuminating the snow that Six can easily navigate through the deep dawn, his eyes scouring the nature around him.

Six's smile fades as last night's memories flood his brain as he walks. He had been a coward. Truly, he had been a coward for a lot longer than last night.

There had been seemingly countless times when he had wanted to tell you how he felt. Deep down, Six knew you would listen to him make a fool of himself.

You were his best friend.

He didn't think he would ever have one of those, but then you showed up and flipped his whole world upside down. You were kind, reliable, and always quick with a bad joke.

You loved to banter with him, playfully jibing and quipping at each other until you got Six to smile. You had seen him through tough missions where things almost went south. You had had his back when he miscalculated things, picking up the slack like it was second nature.

You had the biggest heart despite being a part of a cruel, cruel profession. He knew he wasn't special to you when you smiled or said something kind. That was you, being you.

Six knew this from the beginning. And yet he still somehow found himself falling for you, even after telling himself he wouldn't jeopardize your partnership and friendship like that.

So now, here he was, having almost kissed you four separate times. And it was driving him crazy. It irritated him. He knew he was being a coward.

You deserved a good, kind, brave man. And Six wasn't any of those things. He lived in a kill-or-be-killed world. He didn't get to settle down and live a white-picket-fence kind of life. You deserved that.

But damn it, you had his mind bewitched. He couldn't summon the courage to tell you how he felt because he didn't want to ruin your friendship.

He knew you would be sweet about it when you let him down easy. He can picture the way your face would twist into a sad, apologetic look as you told him you didn't see him that way.

And he can't stand that.

But then another part of his brain says that you feel the same. Six knew you found some comfort in him. That was proof of when you crashed into his arms after finding out your mom passed away.

He knew you trusted him when you followed his lead on the mission in Spain, letting him guide you as if you were truly in love. Then when he helped you at the hotel? His self-restraint had barely kept him composed.

Then with last night looming in his mind... Six knew he was fucked. He had to get his shit together and tell you. It was going to eat him alive until he did something about it.

Maybe, just maybe, things would go his way. If they didn't? ...well he would figure it out. You may ask to get reassigned or pretend that nothing happened.

Six didn't want to think about that, though, and instead forces himself to continue on his walk around the perimeter of the safehouse.

Inside, you had woken up. You had heard the front door swing shut, despite Six trying to keep it from closing with a loud thud. It was slow-moving for you to get out of bed, but you carefully took your time to avoid causing yourself excessive pain.

You figured Six was probably securing the perimeter, so you didn't think it was a bad idea to get a shower and try to make breakfast.

Surprisingly, getting in and out of the shower was pretty easy, and redressing your wound seemed to breeze by. However, getting to the kitchen was a bit of a struggle, with your thigh now aching from being used and the fresh sting of ointment.

You have to hobble and hop to get the short distance from the bathroom to the kitchen, but you are immediately drawn toward the cabinets around the coffee pot.

You grab a glass from one of the cupboards above you, fiddling with the faucet to pour some water into the plain cup. You take a quick sip as you peer out the window above the sink, the sun slowly sliding up over the horizon.

The snow is tinged with pink and orange, casting an illuminating glow over the peaceful scenery. A sigh falls from your lips as you set your glass down, putting your attention on trying to find something to eat.

There probably isn't anything fresh in here, it's a safehouse for goodness sake, you think to yourself as you start rifling through the other cabinets. Inside one of them, you find a box of pancake mix that hadn't expired.

You smile at it and huff, "This'll do!" You set to work, finding a bowl to mix the batter in, as well as an old cast-iron skillet to cook with. As if it's second nature, you pour batter onto the skillet, carefully watching and flipping the pancakes as they turn golden brown.

Just as you start digging through the freezer, you hear the front door creak open. You swivel on your uninjured leg as you turn to face the source of cold air swirling into the house.

Six is standing at the threshold of the front door, surprise evident on his features as he gazes at you. You note the thermos in his hand and the heavy jacket he has covering his shoulders.

As he moves to step inside, you sheepishly smile and mumble, "G-good morning! I'm making some breakfast, if you want any." Six makes quick work of his boots by the door, shuffling out of his jacket a moment later.

"You should be resting," his voice comes out low and firm, and hearing it makes you realize how much of a comfort it brings you. You turn back toward the freezer as you try to ignore his words, but he doesn't seem like he's going to let it go.

Six moves into the kitchen with a couple of long strides, the smell of pancakes hitting him as he stops next to you and sets his thermos down. He gazes down at your shy figure digging through the shelving of the freezer, and he crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"You should be resting," he repeats pointedly, "Not digging through an ancient freezer." You ignore him for another second before smiling at something you pull out of the rusty ice box.

You finally turn to face him, shutting the freezer door by taking a step closer to the bearded blonde. You try to push down the wave of nerves you feel at the closer proximity, images of last night flashing through your mind.

You offer him the package and remark, "Then you, also, should be resting. Not taking adventures around the property in the snow." Six's gaze hovers on you for a second, a look on his face knowing he'd been beaten by his own logic.

Instead, he focuses on the frozen package you hand him. He recognizes it as a bag of frozen breakfast sausages and glances back up at you with a question in his gaze.

You shrug and motion to the stovetop, "Wanna help me? The pancakes are almost done." You start hobbling past him, a quiet grunt sliding across your lips as you stop in front of the pancake skillet, flipping the bready goodness over with relative ease.

Six can't help but watch you for a moment, his fingers growing cold with the bag of frozen meat in his hand. His heart warms as he realizes you don't hate him for his cowardice the night before.

You want his help, and damn it, he's going to help you. He moves to stand next to you again, waiting for you to finish with the pancakes.

As you pour the last of the batter into a final, very large pancake, you smile up at Six with a glance and a chirp of, "My dad used to always do this with the leftover batter. He would always eat it, no matter how ridiculously large it ended up being."

Six lets a small, close-lipped smile pull across his face as he listens to you recount the memory. Setting the bag of breakfast sausage on the counter next to the two of you, he says, "That sounds nice."

Your smile fades as you watch the pancake start to form bubbles, and you shrug, "It's just a faraway memory now." Six watches you silently for a moment before pointing at it and mumbling, "I'll take it."

Your (colored) gaze makes its way over to Six, and you see a kind look resting on his face. It makes you feel better, calming the swirling thoughts in your mind.

You give him a nod before focusing back on the large pancake, flipping it over with more difficulty. Without looking away from the pancake, you ask, "Could you open the bag of sausage and grab 2 plates for us?"

Six, without hesitation, replies, "Yes ma'am," and cuts open the bag of sausage with his pocket knife. He leaves it next to you before beginning to look through the cabinets to find the plates.

After a minute of digging around, he returns with two plates and sets them near the coffee pot. You pluck the large pancake off of the skillet and slap it down on one of the plates.

You and Six continue to quietly and comfortably work through making breakfast, with Six cleaning the used utensils while you finish frying the meats.

After the food is made, eaten, and cleaned up, Six nods his head toward the bedroom and states, "I'm going to grab some clothes and get a shower. Just yell-" "if I need help", you finish with a smile, "I got it."

Six lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth before he backs up and disappears from view, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You breathe a sigh of content as you are left alone with your thoughts.

That was... surprisingly pleasant, you ponder as you shuffle toward the living room on the other side of the kitchen. You let your curiosity get the best of you, skimming through the simple decorations and furniture.

You are drawn to the small side table next to the couch, and you see a blanket piled up next to one of the pillows. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings when you realize Six slept on the couch and let you have the bed.

You hadn't even thought to ask him about the sleeping arrangements. You try not to dwell on it, though, and focus on trying to find something to do.

Your eyes catch on a few books on a shelf near the wall, but you don't quite feel the energy to read something. Instead, you are drawn to a deck of cards poking out next to a small book.

Faulty footsteps eventually lead you to the shelf, where you easily pluck the box of cards up. You maneuver back to the center of the small living room, ungracefully plopping yourself onto the floor and positioning yourself with your back to the couch.

You lean back against the cushions and slightly grimace at how firm they are. You were going to have to apologize to Six for making him sleep on these all night.

Focusing on the cards in your hands, you fish them out and fumble with them for a minute. You had never been one who learned how to play cards, so you initially struggle to shuffle them. After toying with the crisp cards for a second, you start to get the hang of it.

Triumphantly, but still awkwardly shuffling the cards, a smile eases across your face. Just then, the bathroom door swings open and Six steps out, freshly dressed and showered.

Your smile widens when you see him and hold up the cards to show him your find. Six is running a towel over his head as he notices you, and he shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes before asking, "Where'd you find them?"

You point toward the bookshelf and shrug, "Just sitting over there by the books. I don't really know any card games though." Six slings the towel over his shoulder, his face thoughtful for a minute before he offers, "I can show you a couple."

The cards almost fall out of your hand at his suggestion, but you cover it up with a wide grin and a giggle of, "That would be great!" You turn around to lean against the couch again, fiddling with the cards while Six hangs up his towel.

He joins you a minute later, flopping down on the ground next to you with a groan. You snicker at him playfully, and he shoots you a glare with no malice behind it.

Six reaches over and plucks the cards from your hands, and in doing so, makes you pause. His knuckles are busted, something you hadn't noticed before. There are a couple of scrapes across them, as well as bruising around several of the joints.

You frown and reach out, gently grabbing his hand. Six stops his movements, looking over at you as you turn his palms over to look at the angry red skin on the other side.

"You're hurt," you mumble, the frown on your face deepening as a crease forms between your brows. Six lets you run your digits over his own, enjoying the soft touch of your skin on his.

Six is quiet, not uncommon for him, and you look up at him with concern etched into your features. The bearded blonde is taken aback by the intensity in your (colored) eyes, and averts his gaze, shrugging, "I've had it worse. Nothing to get upset over."

Your grip tightens on his for a second, but then you release his hand and shift to face him. You lean your elbow on the hard cushion of the couch and prop your head in the palm of your hand.

"If you say so," you reply quietly. You give him an apologetic smile and murmur, "I also owe you an apology for letting you sleep on this couch last night. This thing is terrible."

You finish your words with a giggle, your hand slipping from propping your head up to whack at the stiff material. Six brings his blue eyes to watch you, a soft look on his face. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and this time it's you who has to look away.

He clears his throat and turns to shuffle the cards as he says, "It wasn't that terrible. As long as you were comfortable last night." There's a double meaning to his words that is so subtle you almost miss it.

As his fingers flip through the cards to shuffle them, you reach out and rest your hand on his bicep closest to you. Your features have relaxed, and you whisper, "I was comfortable last night. I- I wasn't sure if you were."

Six pauses halfway through shuffling the deck. It's quiet in the safehouse, again. While you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, this time it's not the kind of silence that makes you want to scream.

It's the kind of silence where you want to see what happens next.

He sets the cards down on the ground next to him, still not meeting your eyes. You shuffle so that you are sitting facing Six, with his back leaned up against the couch.

The bearded blonde is quiet, pensive. You slide your hand from his bicep to the hand now resting on his lap, gently grasping for it. He lets you thread your fingers through his own, and you continue quietly, "Last night, I- I thought that maybe..." and your voice trails off shyly.

"Maybe, what?" he whispers, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb across the back of it. He glances up at you, catching your gaze. You see an unusual expression there - one of vulnerability that you hardly ever see.

It hits you with a wave of butterflies so hard that you look away and try to backtrack, "I-I don't-" "Just-" he cuts you off, his voice still gentle as he urges, "Maybe, what?"

You sigh as you feel heat burn up your cheeks and start curling down your neck. You want to shove your face in your hands, but instead, you tighten your grip on Six's hand as you mumble indistinctly, "I thought that maybe last night there was a change. A, a shift or something."

You chuckle dryly as you try to pull your hand away from Six, but he holds you there in place. His grip tightening on your hand finally makes you look at him, and your wave of nerves hits you all over again.

He swallows thickly, his blue gaze stormy as he replies, "There was a shift, I felt it too." You hold your breath as you wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn't come.

Six takes a moment, his mouth parted as he tries to come up with words. He sighs in frustration, his free hand coming up to rub at his face before he mutters, "Fuck it."

Before you can ask him what he means, Six is pulling you into his lap, letting your legs delicately straddle either side of his hips. He releases his grip on your hand to grip the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair and pulling you down to him.

Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize what's happening. Your hands fly up to brace yourself on his chest as his free hand finds its place on your hip.

Despite all of this being completely new, you can't help but feel comfortable and almost as if you were made to sit on his lap. He doesn't give you long to think as he pulls you down to him.

Only when your mouth is hanging open in mild surprise, inches from his own, does he slow down. His gaze is half-lidded, but now when you search for the name of the emotion on his face, you can place it.

Six whispers hoarsely, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop. We can pretend this never happened." You slide your right hand from his chest to the back of his neck, letting your fingers slide through the drying locks there.

Your (colored) eyes flit between his blue ones, and you whisper back, "It's all I've ever wanted, Six." And that's all it takes for him.

With electricity crackling in the air, Six closes the distance between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat the second his lips meet yours, and you can't help the soft gasp that you let out as sparks shoot up your spine and your eyes flutter closed.

Your hand unknowingly tightens its grip on his hair, and Six lets out a throaty groan as his mouth starts to move in sync with yours. Butterflies that had once bloomed with nerves now flutter with excitement as your lips chase his, moving in perfect synchronicity.

Six pulls you closer with his grip on your hip bone, angling your head with his hand tangled in your hair. He deepens the kiss, his soft lips slotting over yours in ways you never could have dreamed of.

Your nose bumps against his as you take in the sweet taste of his mouth, something that is minty but reminds you of home. His kiss is soft and gentle, accompanied by the tickle of his facial hair on your chin and cheeks.

You find yourself becoming desperate when your lungs start to burn, but you don't want to stop. Not now, not after so long. Six seems to be in agreement, his mouth hungrily chasing after yours despite knowing you are both running out of oxygen.

The bearded blonde gives into the burn, though, and pulls back just long enough for the two of you to gasp for air. You can't stop the fire burning in you, and you lunge forward, crashing your lips against his without respite.

He catches your kiss eagerly, his hand resting on your hip sliding up your back and pulling your chest flush against his own. The angle causes your legs to burn, but not because of your wound.

Your mouth falls open at the pain, and Six seizes the opportunity to let his tongue swipe across your lower lip, testing the waters. When you willingly open your mouth for him to explore, Six swears he is in heaven.

His tongue gently explores your awaiting mouth, trying to memorize the taste of you. A soft whine pulls from the back of your throat, and Six slowly brings the kiss back from hungry to tender with his hand moving from your hair to cup your cheek.

His hands are rough on your skin, but you don't mind. Not when he is kissing you senseless. You follow his lead, though, and slow your mouth and heart down as you pour every ounce of affection into the kiss.

Six is the one to pull back, but not far. His chest is heaving, as is yours, leaning his forehead against your own. His nose brushes yours tenderly, and his blue gaze flutters open to meet yours.

Your cheeks are burning with heat when you finally make eye contact with him, and you are hit with a sudden wave of shyness. You go to glance away, but Six's hand keeps you right where you are.

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and gentle peck, sending another wave of butterflies through your body. The hand resting on your back gently rubs up and down your spine, and you look up to meet Six's gaze for the umpteenth time.

When you gaze at him, you suddenly have names for all of the emotions you've been feeling and seeing.

But Six beats you to it.

"I have wanted to do that for so, so long," he starts, his voice scratchy but tender. He sweetly brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes before continuing, "But I have loved you for even longer, Y/n."

Your heart swells in your chest at the simple confession, and you bring both of your hands up to cup his cheeks as you smile up at him. You giggle once as you hold him close to you, basking in his words before replying, "I've wanted that for a long time, too, you know."

Six smiles at that, but you keep talking before he can respond, "I love you, Six. I- I didn't want to read too much into things and ruin what we had."

The bearded blonde gives you a grin and chuckles out, "Well I think we might have ruined what we had, there's no going back for me now." You smile at the meaning of his words and nod in response, "I suppose you're right. You could've been kissing me like that for years."

Six's grip tightens on you as he all but growls out, "Guess I'll have to make up for lost time," and he crashes his lips against yours without another word.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold on. It may have taken Six a while to get his timing right, but you weren't one to complain now.

After all, Six would make sure he made it up to you.

[polakina]

Nonnie from that Javier request here again 👁️

Javier has been rotting my brain for days now but an addition to this is Charles.

We know from that bar fight mission in Valentine that Javier and Charles have different tastes in women but what if they somehow land their eyes on the same lady? Who just happen to be someone the gang newly recruited.

Javier who makes the funniest jokes with flirtatious undertones and keeps the drinks and songs going(definitely the more fun of the two), but also Charles who's more touch than talk and ALWAYS has his hand on her lower back (I'm frothing at the mouth for this).

nonnie i love u, never stop sending these requests

i took this on a slightly different route than what i was expecting to write, but i hope you still like it :)

rating: mature

hard to ignore

It had been a few months since you had joined the gang. Time had flown by, with the heists, the jobs, the hunting. Everything. But you’d gotten to know the people quite well.

Arthur was quiet, but he was sweet. Hosea was one of the loveliest men you’d ever met, which also made him one of the most dangerous when it came to his scams. John and Abigail argued so much that it became white noise to you at night. Micah was an ass. That’s all you had to say about that man. 

Javier was…an interesting personality. He was kind to you. He played guitar well. He always managed to catch your eye across the fire at night in camp. You always smiled, meeting his gaze.

“Morning, querida,” he’d always say in the mornings. “Looking beautiful as ever.” His accent always did something to you. The purr in his tone, the gravel in his voice, especially in the morning. He was a smooth talker, and he knew it. From your perspective, this was how he acted with all women. How you thought he approached every lady who came his way.

But when night fell, he turned into a different person. He was a confident man. In the way he walked, he talked. How he moved through the camp, interacting with everyone on his way to the campfire. How he presented himself, bringing life to the party. Camp always seemed more lively, more fun when he brought himself into the centre of it.

Drinks were flowing just as the sun dipped behind the hill. The guitar was pulled out and its strings were plucked in a melodious tune that got everyone dancing.

It was almost as though he was singing for you. To you. His eyes never left yours when he sang those songs. Those songs that made everyone sway in couples, in a harmonious dance. God, he was good at it. Good at making you feel seen. His entire focus was just on you.

“Enjoying your night, conejita?” He smiled as he made his way over to you, two bottles of liquor in hand, passing one over to you.

“Don’t call me that,” you rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips upturned. He called you bunny. A playful little endearment you’d noticed in your first week of being here. You only realised what it meant when you were strolling through the south end of Saint Denis; an older gentleman called his wife the same thing and you’d asked him what it meant. “Bunny,” he’d said. “My wife, she’s like a cute little bunny. So the name stuck.”

Javier smiled brightly at you. “But it suits you so perfectly, conejita.”

You rolled your eyes again, unable to hide your smile at this point. He was always so upfront with you, never left anything to the unknown. If he didn’t like you, it’d be blatantly obvious. But if he liked you, the entire camp knew. There’d be signs. Not even subtle ones. With you, he found an excuse to come and talk to you, even if you were doing menial tasks like laundry. He’d keep you company, sometimes help out with whatever you were doing. Javier liked to compliment you a lot. Like, a lot. 

Compliment you in ways that made you hide your blush sometimes. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in this light, conejita?” “Don’t look at me with those eyes, they’re too pretty to look away from.” The man had a way with words, and you never knew how to respond.

Charles was quiet when you had first joined the camp. Kept to himself mostly, just like Arthur did. But there was something about him that drew you to his nonchalant personality. His large build, strong hands, deadset glare. He was handsome. So goddamn handsome. Never a part of the group, not really even during parties or meals. 

He stayed by himself in the first few weeks of your introduction. He always kept a wary eye out in the camp, and you’d caught his eyes lingering on yours a few times, but often times you thought it was your imagination. He’d not spoken to you for a long while in camp until you were the one to approach him.

But now, months down the line, you knew it wasn’t your imagination. He looked right at you now, not staring in a strange way that made your skin crawl, but observing you. Fascinated by you.

Charles didn’t speak much. He didn’t have to. It was his touches and how he handled himself around you that told you everything you needed to know about the man.

No matter how many times you assured him you could dismount your horse, or scale a wall, he was there. To help you. Always offering a hand, or stabilising you on unsteady rocks. The two of you often paired yourselves together on jobs, since you worked well together as a team. 

Around camp, he’d become a lot closer with you. His hand finding your lower back when he was behind you, so you knew he was there as he reached around to grab another bottle of liquor. His hand outstretched to help you up after you were sitting on the floor by the campfire for too long, your legs aching from the weight of your body resting on your ass.

But his favourite thing was when the wind blew a little too hard, and he had the excuse to brush your hair out from in front of your face. He stood taller than you, a lot taller. His build was wider than yours, more muscles in his arms and chest. The muscles in his back contorting and stretching when he mounted his horse. You looked. Of course, you looked. It was hard not to.

Javier and Charles had different ways of getting your attention. Javier was more talkative, complimenting to you, a lot more confident with his words. Charles, however, took his time with things. He liked to watch from afar, casting small smiles your way whenever you looked over. He communicated with his touch, his hands, his light hold. But Javier communicated with his words. You couldn’t tell which one you preferred more. 

Both of these men knew that they equally vied for your attention. They saw it everyday. They didn’t mind. They didn’t see it as a game to compete for you. They liked how flustered you would get from each others advances.

So maybe…you wouldn’t have to choose between them. Since they seemed perfectly happy working together to get your attention. Maybe, just maybe, you could be selfish and have both.

[leaawrites]

Literature and feelings

Eli Hewson x fem!reader

Summary: when she can't sleep, he's the one to hold her.

This was a short story of my own originally, not a fanfic, so it's a lot of yapping in there, but I didn't have anything other to post and I do like it a lot and it'd be a waste if it was rotting away in some document.

Warnings: mentions of insomnia (I don't personally have it, I just go to bed late, still I hope this is as accurate as possible), pet names, College AU (I'm solely focused on school atm if you can't tell), friends to lovers

Wordcount: 2k

Masterlist

When you are having a sleep disorder, your eyes will stay open when they should be closed and your mind is active, noticing the slightest of details. You will hear the branch outside your room hit the window when it’s a windy night, you will hear the people talking outside the door when they should sleep (wondering if they feel the same way oneself does or if they just do it for the other), you can hear your brain work through the sleepless nights, noticing every thought it has.

If it isn’t occupied by all the noises surrounding it, it begins thinking about all the people you give your time to. You begin counting the people who hate you, that did something bad to you and before you can fall into the rabbit hole of self-hatred, you remind your mind that there are people that like you. You’ll remember phrases they’ve said, secrets they shared, feelings they opened up to; if nothing about them comes up, or you already went through it, you begin to think about what you’ve said, what secrets you’ve shared, how you feel about them.

Her mind begins at the start, when the sun goes down and she lies in the comfort of her bed, surrounded by old coffee cups, stacks of books, flowers (fresh and dead next to each other), and the smell of old paper, oranges and ink. She notices the willow tree hitting her dorm room window together with the slight rain drops that come falling down from the sky.

Mary and Rose are outside, taking advantage of the only time when no one will see the affection they share for each other, talking and sharing a kiss here and there, until the first person comes out and they decide it’s saver to go to bed, alone. The door next to hers makes a sound as it is opened and then melodies of kissing and further love fill the room; Bobby and Martha could never spent more than two hours without the other.

She turns on her other side, leg draping over the bed sheets, one of her arms crawling under the pillow, holding it up so that her head can lay comfortable. Her eyes close and the only thing on her mind is static silence. The hope of finally falling asleep is near, it’s hanging from the wall and in front of her eyes. She stretches her hand out to grab it, her fingertips touching it.

But then the pedestal she stood on cracked, making her fall to the ground.

The noises of Bobby and Martha make her head turn to the wall that separates them, disgusted by hearing what they are doing.

Throwing a shirt over her pyjama, that consisted of a pair of shorts and a bra, before walking out the door. In the hallway Mary and Rose gave her a look, asking if she knew, to which she only smiled at them, both going back to their cigarette and conversation after; Josh stood a few feet away, leaning out the window talking with someone about going out, the smoke of the cold winter night coming from his mouth as he spoke.

With her arms around her chest she made her way through the boy’s hallway. Some giving her a weird look, as if they never went into the girl’s chambers. Ryan, a guy from her English class, greeted her as he stood in the doorway talking with someone on the phone.

“Wait, Y/n.” He called after her, hanging up the phone. “Eli isn’t in such a good mood today, went to bed early, he might as well be asleep already.”

“I will be quiet and try to not wake him up, even when I don’t think he went that early to bed to already sleep. But thank you for informing me.” she thanked him, walking a few steps backwards, waving him good night and the turning around again.

Eli’s room was at the end of the hall, making it easy for him to stay up late or letting out his anger at 2 in the morning, about something stupid or feelings that he swallowed into his own existence rather than making them known, without anyone noticing. Sat with his guitar until the sun came up.

Inhaling deeply, letting the air fill her lungs, feeling her chest go up and down, she pushed the handle down slowly and stepped into the dark room. Eli was laying with his back to the door, his blanket pulled up to his chin. Curtains not fully closed, making the moon shine down on him; the light reflecting on his white skin in a room floated by darkness, making it seem like the shimmer of the sea.

Closing the door behind her, she took one step after the other, making her way towards his bed. The mattress shifted as she sat on the edge of it, and even though his eyes are closed, he’s not asleep. His breath was still static and his jaw looked more tensed than relaxed.

“I was almost sleeping.” He mumbled, his tone harsh, opening an eye to see who interrupted his peace.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at her fingers that were fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“Don’t be,” He answered, lifting the blanket and moving over so she could fit under it as well. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, turning his body so they were facing each other, when she laid beside him. His eyes looked genuine and soft, a small hint of tiredness laying in them too.

“Yeah, something completely new,” she answers sarcastically, trying to play the guilt off that she felt for waking him up.

“You wanna do something?”

“No.” Rest her head on his chest, she let her breathing settle to his heartbeat. In the moment of silence, her mind makes up different ways of how this night could end; good and bad. Trying to push the bad one’s away, knowing that whatever her head made up wasn’t what he would say, not out loud to anyone she knew, at least.

“What is going on in that pretty little head of yours, that keeps you up all night, love?” His fingers began stroking her hair, combing through the knots that were created from her tossing and turning in the dark. Her mind relaxing when he does that, calming her nerves and realizing that it’s just them two in a world so full of people that were always acting so hectic and stressed, when sometimes it could be so easy.

“Everything,” she answer, her leg laying over his, her foot resting between his own. “Can you tell me something different to think about? Anything. I just don’t want my old thoughts anymore.”

Silence filled the room as he thought of what he hasn’t told me already. “Today in Russian we talked about ‘The Brothers Karamazov’ and we went through our favourite lines in the book. The moment I heard the task, I knew which one I loved the most,” He said.

“What was it?”

“‘You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.’” He answers. Quoting the sentence without hesitation, as if he had it read over it so many times that it was burned in his head; sitting in his bed with the light on on the night stand, reading the same sentence, over and over again, getting shivers every time he finishes it and can’t believe what he just read, having to do it again. It’s like a painting engraved in his head, he couldn’t look away from it when he first saw it and now it’s still visible when he close his eyes.

“Why?”

“I believe, that if you come back to life, you need something or someone to do it for; you can’t do it on your own. When I was burning and needed a helping hand to get me out of the fire, you held yours out for me. You didn’t care if you got burned in the process, you just wanted to help me. When I realized that, the quote was since then about you and always will be. I picked it, because it reminds me of you,” He explained, his eyes set on the white ceiling that closed the space, creating something where they could be just two kids, talking about literature and feelings.

She looks up at him, her voice stuck in her throat, before breathing out, “Us.”

“What?” He asks, looking at her as well.

“It should remind you of us; you were also there not just me. It’s about us.”

He smiles down at her, his eyes sparkling with a strange desire of affirmation. It will always be them, no matter who gets between them, until this day, the quote reminds her of them.

“Did you explain it this way too?” she wondered.

“Not exactly.”

“How then?”

“I just said it reminded me of a certain time in my life where I met someone really important to me.”

“I’m really important to you?”

“More than you know.”

The way he said it made her heart stop. Could there ever be a right time for them? From kindergarten until 8 months ago, she never saw him as more than a friend, but after that one night in her room, she couldn’t forget the way his eyes and lips are shaped. Her mind was full with him and he didn’t know. All the little things start to taste bitter sweet, knowing that her mind is too full of skeletons and bones he doesn’t know of, that when he finds them out, he will run down the hill she’s build for him.

“You’re thinking again,” he muttered, tapping her arm to make her come back to reality.

“What’s so bad about me thinking?” she said it, like it wasn’t the reason she was here, with him.

“You don’t sleep when you think.”

“I don’t sleep even when I don’t think,” she shot back.

“You sleep when I’m with you.”

“Must be some superpower of yours then.”

“I’ve got many, love. Don’t underestimate me,” Eli answered, laughing as he began tickling her sides. Making her squirm in his crib and moving away from his reach.

Turning towards the edge of the bed, his fingers still moving over her skin, almost falling out. She could already feel her body hitting the floor, until it didn’t. Two hands holding her waist. Holding her up from hitting the ground.

“Got ya,” Eli mumbled from behind her, making her breath hitch.

Turning around in his crib, she came face to face with the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about having so close. Her breath hitting his face and his fanning over hers. Goosebumps appearing on both their arms, both feeling a shiver run down their spine. Both feeling the magnetic like pull between them. Both feeling their lips pressed together, moving against each other. Hearts exploding in their chests. Hands tangling into the others hair and shirt and skin.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep now,” she said, breathing heavily. Looking him in the eyes, she knew that he was feeling the same. They didn’t have to say a word about it, they knew, because they knew each other.

“Might have to give you a good night kiss then,” he said, smiling widely before leaning down again, connecting their lips once more. This time it was softer, lighter.

They definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.