#i need him in more ✨️situations✨️ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yxngbxkkie · 3 months

Text

freak accident (b.c)

welcome to the third installment of mechanic!chris 🫢 i had thought of this idea the other day as a way to make it angsty but it's still pretty fucking cute 🤭 i do hope you guys enjoy it! ✨️mechanic chan for life✨️

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You're out shopping for dinner tonight when your phone starts to ring. You furrow your brows, wondering who it could be since Chris is working and Hyunjin's at an art exhibit.

An unknown number is printed on your screen, and you reluctantly answer it. “Hello?” You start walking through the aisles again, waiting for whomever is on the line.

“Hi, this is Dr. Brown at SNUH. Am I speaking to Y/N?” You stop in your tracks at the question, feeling your heart begin to race.

“Yeah, yeah, this is Y/N,” you say to him, moving to a more secluded area in the store.

You can hear the background noise of nurses trying to speak to him, only to be hushed. “I'm calling in regards to Chris. There's been a slight accident at his auto shop and was rushed over here,” he explains the situation.

“Is… is he okay?” You ask, your breathing picking up.

“He's stable. I can give you more information on what happened when you get here,” the doctor states.

You nod your head, abandoning your cart as you rush towards the main doors. “Okay, I'll be there as fast I can,” you mutter before he hangs up.

As you're almost running to your car, you take deep breaths to stop you from having a form of attack. Tears pool in your eyes, every scenario of what could have happened runs through your mind.

The drive to the hospital doesn't take very long, thankful that traffic is on your side today. You quickly lock your vehicle and rush inside, stopping in front of the admitting desk.

“Hi,” you're out of breath, feeling the palms of your hands get sweaty. “I'm here to see Christopher Bang.”

The woman behind the desk nods and types in the patient's name. You tap your fingers against the desk, waiting for her to give you a room number.

“He's in room 203,” she tells you, making quick eye contact.

“Okay, thank you,” you mumble before walking over to the elevators. You take it up to the second floor, finding a sign to where 203 would be as soon as you step off.

You see a doctor and a nurse standing outside one of the rooms, finding out that it's Chris’ room. You walk closer to the pair, capturing the attention of the nuse.

She nudges the doctor, motioning her head in your direction. You clasp your fingers together as you make eye contact with Dr. Brown. “Y/N, yes?” He asks, holding a hand out for you to shake.

“Yes, hi,” you greet him with a bow, shaking the older man's hand. Your gaze flickers toward the small window in the door, seeing Chris lying on the hospital bed. “What happened?”

The doctor releases a deep breath. “He was working on a vehicle when it fell from the lift,” he starts, earning a gasp from you. “Thankfully, he wasn't completely under it and that he's quick on his feet. The situation could've been worse. He broke his left leg in two places.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter while stepping up to the door.

Dr. Brown gently rests one of his hands on your shoulders, reassuring you. “He'll be okay. The surgery went well. He had a couple of plates and screws put in. It'll somewhat be a long road to recovery,” he mentions.

“Is there anything he'll need to do?” You ask, tucking some hair behind your ears.

“There will be some follow-up appointments with orthopedics. But, that won't be for a few weeks. I'll have our nurse write down instructions you'll need for the healing process.”

You nod your head before opening the door. Both the doctor and nurse decide to let you have a moment with Chris alone. You gently shut the door behind you and walk over to the chair next to his bed.

Your eyes look at the cast on his leg, seeing that it's almost up to his knee. A frown, etches itself on your lips as you place your hand on his. You let out a couple of deep breaths, squeezing his hand in yours.

“I'm glad that it's only a broken leg,” you say out loud, not talking to anyone. You bring his hand closer to you, kissing the back of it softly.

Chris’ upper body stirs, making your movements halt. You watch his eyes slowly flutter open, squinting at the bright lights. He releases a tired groan, tilting his head towards you.

“Y/N?” He calls out your name, making your heart flutter.

You scoot closer to the bed and squeeze his hand. “I'm here,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear.

He smiles at you while lacing your fingers together. “I'm so happy to see you,” Chris mutters, turning his head again before closing his eyes.

“I'm happy to see you too, baby. I'm glad you're okay,” you mention, standing up from your chair.

You keep your hands intertwined and bring your free hand to his forehead. You brush the hair out of his face, listening to him hum continuously.

“I don't know what happened,” he mentions, smiling at the touch of your fingers. “It all happened so fast.”

“It's okay. The only thing that matters is that you're alive,” you state before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

A knock on the door captures both of your attention. The nurse from before walks in with a sheet of paper. “This is everything he'll need to do during recovery and the appointments he'll have,” she says to you while handing you the paper.

You grab a hold of it, your thumb stroking the back of his hand as you read through it. “Okay, thank you,” you smile at her, setting the paper on the table beside you. “When is he being discharged?”

“He's all set now. There's a wheelchair and a pair of crutches right outside the door,” she informs you before leaving.

“Chris, baby,” you softly call out his name, watching him open his eyes again. “Do you want to stay at my place during recovery?”

He tilts his head towards you and shakes his head. “You live on the fourth floor,” he mumbles, causing you to chuckle. “I live on the first floor. You can stay at my place. I also have a spare bedroom you can use.”

You laugh some more, combing your fingers through his hair. “What? You don't want to sleep in the same bed as me?” You joke with him, helping him sit up.

“I do, I swear,” Chris groans, leaning into your body. “I didn't know if you wanted to.”

A hum leaves your lips. “Such a sweet man,” you sigh before pulling away slightly. You stroke his cheek, watching him blink. “Are you going to be okay? I gotta grab the wheelchair.”

He nods his head, pursing his lips. You know what he's asking for, and you smile at him before planting a kiss on his plump lips.

“I'll be quick,” you mumble against his lips, placing one more kiss on his forehead.

You slowly walk behind Chris, eyeing him as he crutches into the kitchen of his apartment. It's been a few days since he's been discharged from the hospital, and he seems to be taking it really well.

He slumps into the chair, releasing a hefty sigh. “This is exhausting,” Chris laughs, lifting his head to look at you.

“You're doing well, though,” you grin, tapping his chin.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he mentions, grabbing your hand. “I couldn't ask for a better partner.”

Your cheeks blush, and you shrug your shoulders. “Of course, baby. I… I love you,” you tell him for the first time.

It's been a couple of months since the two of you started dating. He's not like any other guy you've been with. He's such a sweetheart, and he treats you like an absolute queen. It didn't take long for you to figure out that you loved him.

Chris stares up at you, his lips parted at the sudden phrase. “You love me?” He whispers, squeezing your hand. You giggle, nodding your head in answer. “Even like this?”

“Chris, baby, yes,” you laugh.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he says while resting his head against your stomach.

You wrap your arms around him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Now, what do you want to eat?” You ask him, opening his fridge to take a look inside.

“You wanna just order something? I haven't had the chance to go shopping,” he mentions with a pout.

“Sure, baby. Maybe later I can quickly go get some groceries,” you mention, having him move into the living room.

Chris walks into the living room before lowering himself onto the couch. You grab the pillow beside him and tuck it under his leg, keeping it elevated.

“If you do, I'll give you my card,” he says as you sit down next to him.

He places his hand on your thigh, stroking the inside of it. “I can pay for it, it's okay,” you reassure him, linking your arm with his.

He groans, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Baby, it's my place. Let me pay for my groceries,” he whines.

“You can get them next time,” you wink at him, patting his good leg.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, squeezing your thigh.

You cuddle into his side after grabbing the remote. He combs his fingers through your hair as you find a movie to watch.

Chris looks at his food delivery app, trying to decide what he wants for lunch. “Do you want to get a variety of things?” He asks you, showing you his phone screen.

You quickly glance at the screen and nod your head. “Yeah, that's fine. It is pretty late, and we haven't eaten anything yet,” you tell him, moving your gaze from his phone to his face.

He smiles at you fondly, moving some strands of hair out of your eyes. “Man, I really love you,” Chris sighs, shaking his head. You giggle at his reaction. “I know it's only been a couple of months, but after this is over… I wouldn't mind you staying here.”

Your heart skips a beat, sitting up slightly. “Are you saying you want me to live here?” You ask him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I've enjoyed the past two days even though my leg hurts,” he chuckles.

We'll see when you're all better,” you giggle, patting his chest. “You might get sick of me.”

Chris scoffs and playfully rolls his eyes. He hooks a finger beneath your jaw, turning your head before kissing you. “I'll never get sick of you, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, planting soft pecks after.

You kiss him once more before grinning. “We'll see, lover boy.”

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n @meloncremesoda

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spidybaby · 8 months

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can we get a gavi the type pleaaaase i love your writing

Gavi the type

Summary: A compilation of the type of boyfriend I think Gavi would be ✨️

Warnings: none 🫶🏻

I feel like he's the type to somehow always mention you in a conversation. No matter if the conversation is about grass, he would find a way to mention you.

"I prefer pasta with not that much Parmesan cheese." Frenkie says.

"I'm more into a lot of cheese, like all the time." Ansu jokes, making some of the guys laugh.

They were at a restaurant, having a nice out time, not being able to do that much because of training and the season being super heavy.

"Well, for me it depends." Pablo says, thinking of the times when he orders pasta at a restaurant or when he eat it.

"Depends on what?" Pedri asks.

"Well if I'm trying for the first time the dish, I like to eat it with no cheese so I can taste it. But, for an example if I order some carbonara then I'm asking for extra cheese, my girlfriend also loves some extra cheese with her carbonara."

Raphinha erupts in laughs, making the others follow.

"What?" Pablo asks, confused about their reaction.

"You own me 50 euros, Raph." Pedri patts his back. "You just make me win some money."

"I don't get it."

"We made a bet, if you somehow mention your girlfriend in the first twenty minutes Raph, Frenkie and Robert owned me and Pedri."

"Assholes." he says, rolling his eyes smiling at the thought of them knowing he would mention you.

He's the type to be very clingy when you're alone and kinda serious when you're with other people. But don't get me wrong, in front of his family and his closest friends he was his normal touchy one. But while you're outside and there's cameras taking pictures of his every move, he's not the most confortable. (As we know his father said he's very shy)

"Let's go, pretty girl." he says, grabbing your hand to make you spin. "that dress is ufff" he whistle making you blush

"Well you look very handsome yourself mister Páez." you blow him a kiss.

"Mister Páez is my dad." he laughs. "But thank you miss." You both join his parents at the living room. All ready to go out.

He asked you to go with him to Sevilla for his vacations, you doubt it at first. Knowing your relationship was not that new but fresh enough to not know his parents. But Aurora helped him with getting you to say yes. So you did.

You both walk hand in hand outside of the residency where his house is. Aurora and you were talking about some dress she wanted.

The streets were pretty lonely, not that much people. Mostly older people. But as you walk closer to the restaurant you notice more and more people and they also began noticing Pablo.

He let go of you, thing he usually does when you were in public. He was very touchy when you were alone, even with his parents there. But in public he's more shy, specially because he knows people often takes pictures of him.

Once you got inside and seated, he took your hand again, kissing and caressing it with his tumb.

"Omg, do you ever let her go?" Aurora jokes, making you both blush and his parents laugh.

"It's young love, rora." Belen says, "and don't talk too much because Javi and you are just like that." She makes everyone laugh.

You understand his situation, appreciating that he wants to protect you as much as he can.

He's the type to invite you to every single match he plays.

He's the type to be a super supportive partner.

As a romantic partner is even better, because he would be involved in every step of any new project. Even when he's very busy with his football career, he's there for you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, confused about your abrupt decision. "I think you need to consider this a little bit more."

You were talking with him about college, you got a full scholarship into the University of Barcelona. Not sure if you wanted to go there you quickly threw the idea out. But when he found the letter they sent you, he was confused on why not even hear the whole proposal they offer you.

"I don't know, what if I'm not the right fit for this?" you say anxious about the whole thing.

"Don't say that, mi amor. You are the smartest person I've ever met."

"What if I'm not what they're looking for? what if I fail? I'm scared."

"Amor, please listen to me." he says, cuping your cheeks. "You're so smart, so hard working, such a good classmate and more. You're perfect for this, don't doubt it for a minute."

"You're the best, I love you."

"And I love you more."

He's the type to always kiss you, like everywhere (when you're in private, of course). There's like a thousand videos of him kissing the boys on the shoulder, on the cheek, on the head. He's a lover boy, he loves affection and loves giving affection.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks from outside the room. "We're going to be late, mi amor."

"I'm almost done. Can you help me here?"

He walks over to you, grabbing the necklace and clipping it for you.

"Let's go, pretty girl." He kisses your shoulder multiple times, moving from there to your neck and to your hair. "Princesa mía."

You smile at him, sending a kiss over the mirror. "Let's go."

You are on your way. He has his hands on yours, every red light he takes the opportunity to kiss it.

"Aurora, hola!" You hug her, saying your greetings while Pablo greets everyone else.

"You look amazing!"

"She always does." Pablo interrupts, hugging you by the waist and kissing your cheek. Making you blush.

He's the type to always post you on ig stories. I know he's very private and we all know he doesn't even control his insta post anymore, but I feel his stories are other thing, also he would only post you on his close friends.

He's on his phone all the time. We all see the barca videos of him on his phone. So I feel he's the type to always be in communication with you.

#football fanfic #football #football x you #football drabble #football angst #gavi drabble #gavi x reader #gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi #fc barca #barca #pedri x gavi #gavi angst #gavi fluff #gavi smut #gavi x you #gavi x yn #gavi fanfic

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lunarw0rks · 8 months

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Hey✨️

could I please get a Alejandro x f!reader 18+ anything?? You can choose the themes, I just need something scandalous with that man since I'm deep in the thots, everything is permitted in ovulation time clearly🐦‍⬛

Thank You!

♱ Interruptions ♱ // Alejandro Vargas

『♡』 masterlist ♡ rules ♡ ask box ♡ ao3 ver. Warning(s): nsfw, explicit content (18+), established relationship, p^rn w/ little plot, v. fingering, p in v sex, unsafe sex, knife play, degrading, dom/sub, thigh riding, manhandling, brat taming, spanking, rank kink, fem!reader // Word Count: 2k

A/N: anything is permitted, you say?! alright bet, anon. this is filth, but this site is severely lacking in Alejandro content, especially smut. happy to deliver (｡- .•) also, probably some inaccurately translated Spanish here, so I apologize.

Frustration had never plagued you worse. Interruption after interruption; excuses followed by more excuses.

Privacy with him had become a scarce fantasy, at least from where you were sitting.

───♡─────────────

Where you were literally sitting, on his lap.

His mind was somewhere else like it always was when you visited him at work.

Alejandro was a busy man with a flashy rank — there was no denying what you had gotten yourself into. You knew that, otherwise, you wouldn't be there at all.

But the reality of his situation didn't make this aching any easier. You were practically clawing at him for attention. A lingering touch, a verbal tease, any intimacy, for that matter.

The click of him returning his work phone to its stand diverted your thoughts a bit, from swarming you to encouraging you. The hand once wrapped around the phone now found your side again, giving it an effortless rub.

It wasn’t enough — his half-focus.

"Will you be done soon?" The question sounded pure enough, but you knew it wasn't. Another dismissal, and you were going to find a way to get a release, with or without his help.

"Can't make promises, amor, you know that," Alejandro replies, barely lifting his gaze to look at you. Even if he did, you weren't sure he would do anything about your neediness. There was no way he hadn't noticed, not with his over-observance.

Every hitch in your breathing, every gentle murmur to yourself, the way you had a permanent sulk written on your face.

His words were followed by a sigh of discontent from between your lips. You couldn't take it anymore, not after hours of a suffering ache between your legs. Those legs straddled his thigh seconds later, your palm tracing along his shoulders and peck. It was both another tease and a relief, the friction against your clothed core.

The scribbles of his pen intensified as if expressing his irritation with each drag of it. "Maldita sea..." Alejandro mutters to himself, unconsciously bouncing the leg you are sitting upon.

The sudden spring of his thigh results in a whine, then a tense clamp around his clothed shoulder. Your achy clit is pressed further into his toned thighs the more you squirm around it, dooming you to a touchless finish — all derived from something on his report irking him.

Your fingers slid down until you found the hem of your skirt, rolling it up until you've exposed your undergarments. A small splotch of your wetness had soaked through the cotton, leaking onto his pant leg. With every grind of your hips, the slick spreads further — translucent strings of it.

The swirl of release came faster than you could've imagined; no doubt from two hours of clenching your thighs and writhing in his lap. A string of vulgar nothings, the quickening of your rocking hips, and it was over in seconds. At the sound of your loud gasp and unsteady rolls, Alejandro's fingers tightened around your waist to prevent you from tumbling off his knee.

“You made a mess, mi vida.” He had set down the report, letting it slide across his desk and flutter in the air. Alejandro's fingers dug into your flesh more, resulting in a wince. His expression had hardened rather than glossed over; instead of passion, it was authority. "I didn't give you permission to finish, did I?"

The clarity hit you like a truck once you came down from your high. You didn't consider the consequences when so lost in the pleasure, even though it was a hasty decision in the first place.

"I wasn't thinking— I needed you so bad, Ale." You shifted a bit, releasing the grip you still had on your skirt. You had climbed off his lap, suddenly feeling the weight of his displeasure.

With a breathy chuckle, you were yanked backward by the same hem you had just let go of, arms restricted behind your back with his wrists. "No, no, you don't run from this. You can take what I give you. You asked for it, right? Sé bueno para mí... hm?"

The nod you respond with is pathetic and oozing meekness; a stark contrast to your confidence while having his thigh at your disposal. The silver lining to the pleasure in the pain — you had gotten what you wanted. His touch. Hands constricting you, then they're bending you over his desk, and roaming your clothed curves.

Your palms were flat on the desk as you rested your cheek against the smooth wood, catching only small glimpses of his movement in your blind spot. All you could rely on was touch and hearing, heightened now that your eyes were fixed on the wall adjacent.

Flick.

His pocketknife being unfolded, the one Alejandro always kept on him — in uniform or out. The flat edge of the blade danced along your clothed shoulders, straight down your spine to make you shiver. The caress of it resulted in instinctual writhing, which was smothered by his unoccupied hand pressed firmly on your hip, preventing any movement grander than a shiver.

Things had gone too far to plead forgiveness. By now, you knew it was better to take the penances rather than end up earning more for arguing.

A rush of his warm breath enveloped your ear as he leaned forward, modeling the knife in his hand for your viewing, as nothing more than a taunt. "This knife could kill a hundred men, mi amor. Do you understand?"

"You need to stay still," he returned to standing behind you, hiking up your skirt. With haste, he pulled on the fabric of your underwear, cutting through the fabric with one slice. "Otherwise, accidents happen. No queremos eso, ¿verdad?"

The sliced panties slid off your body until they fell to your feet, soaked and now ripped. Your silence wasn't enough, nor was the rapid shake of your head.

He sighed heavily, making his frustration known. "Dime. Use your words."

"No," you breathed, screwing your eyes shut briefly. "No accidents, Colonel."

"Good." His thumb caressed your inner thigh at an agonizing pace, and then his index slowly eased its way into your saturated core. You moaned softly as he curled the digit, solely fingering you to play with the pools of slick.

Alejandro unzips his cargo pants with his free hand, pressing his bulge against your backside. "Soaked for me so soon, you learn quickly, no?" He lets out a sadistic chuckle, arching a second finger and pumping it steadily, watching you writhe from pleasure.

Your thighs are parted wider with a nudge of his knee, not a suggestion but a shove. His fingers pump unpredictably; sometimes slow, other times so fast your body can't catch up.

It's an irresistible torment — one you have to endure if you have any chance of him fucking you right here, right now.

Then, it's the absence of anything stimulating you, his fingers withdrawn with haste. He rolls down his briefs to spring his erection from the tight, restricting cotton. Seconds following, the tip of his length is rutting against you at the same agonizing pace his fingers were. Before you can let out another whine, or anything for that matter, he plunges his entire length inside of your soaking cunt.

Muscles all across your body tense and arch at the sudden fill — whilst your core was relishing in the insatiable stretch of Alejandro bottoming out, the one you had been so viciously craving for hours.

"Fuck," he grinds deeply, tossing his head back when you clench around him. No matter the number of times he's been deep inside of you, he still pleasures you it's his last time. Especially when there's no spare time to waste — like now, on the clock, exposed in his office during daylight hours.

His hips snap rapidly, knocking the air out of your lungs with each thrust. Your walls clench tighter after each jerk of his cock burrowed inside you, arching your back while your fingers clamp around the desk for dear life.

You got what you wanted, after all, but it came at a price. Being fucked-dumb in the middle of his office, doomed for an interruption right as you teetered on the edge of your second orgasm.

The Colonel's fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips firmer with every brutal thrust, "pinche putilla, letting me fuck you like this." One of his palms raises and clashes with your bare rear, enough to make your knees buckle from the twinge. "You're going to cum too, aren't you? Of course, you will, Cariña." Alejandro's words come out a frustrated mutter, one restricted slightly by the grit of his teeth.

The harsh edge of the desk digs deeper against your pelvis, destined to leave a lasting mark as a reminder of your blatant disobedience. Stinging and aching, heightening the sensations you were experiencing. The words he uttered couldn't have been more truthful, either — because you were going to finish, any second now.

Underneath your fingertips, his workspace vibrated; methodical, spaced buzzes of his other work phone. His pumps only halted for a brief moment as he palmed his desk in search of the cell, raising it to his ear when he did. You were about to come undone, and he'd decided to answer the call?

It was torture in its most pleasurable way ― the risk of your moans echoing through the speakers, the deeper breaths and groans Alejandro had to mask.

Your eyes rolled when he jabbed into you firmer than before, daring you to lose your composure. But, based on his rambling to the other line, he truly couldn't risk this one.

As the caller's muffled voice was heard, even to you in your state of extreme restraint, a cloth napkin he used to clean a coffee spill found your foggy view. He stuffed the caffeine-stained linen into your agape mouth for you to sink your teeth into as you gushed around his cock. Your fingers dug into the oak, trembling wildly as your climax overtook you.

Whatever moans or mewls you let out, they were soaked up by the napkin in your mouth, as was all of your remaining saliva. Alejandro's voice had faded into a faint whisper whilst you were in the thick of stimulation. The sounds of your orgasm echoed through your parched mouth and throat, a stark contrast to your dripping core lubricating his thrusts.

Alejandro watched you come undone with a smirk, still engaging the caller with short, nonchalant replies to every question. Oh, how he reveled in watching you like this ― ass jiggling as your body swallows his length, eyes lidded and drowsy, and even with the napkin in your mouth, you're making your best attempt to stifle your sounds.

It seemed like forever, before the phone clattered against the desk again; powered off and with notifications hushed temporarily. You had well-earned this high, after being so good for him. He did notice your attempts at getting his attention during lunch, or when he would exit a meeting and you'd be waiting in the hall for him with ogling sheep's eyes ― how your attempts at masking desperation weakened as the hours passed.

His fingers plucked the linen from between your teeth, allowing him to observe your delirious expression. Alejandro's palm struck your backside again, this time giving the tender skin a soothing rub; his futile attempt at soothing you for taking his pounds so well. The little control he had while on the phone had dwindled.

His thrusts halted in speed, stopping completely when he spurted his cum deep within you. Warm, stringy splotches of his seed coated your walls, spilling down your shivering thighs when he withdrew from you.

This time, the next spank was that of a playful one ― a barely-there smack on the flesh of your inflamed backside. Still, he caressed the marks he left from the harsher ones, feeling the gentle heat radiate off the sore spots.

『 "Next time you want to cum, nena ― you ask." 』

————— ୨୧ ————— divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic #task force 141 x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #colonel vargas #alejandro vargas x you #los vaqueros #cod x reader #alejandro vargas smut #141 headcanons #tf 141 x reader #cod x female reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #alejandro cod

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queermentaldisaster · 3 months

Text

Shifter!Au.

(this is stemming from my own need to learn more about animals plus an obsession with shifter AUs)

Okay, so Price, he's a little difficult. I wanted to give him a strong animal, one who typically leads the pack...but then I did a little research and decided he's an ✨️Emperor Penguin Shifter✨️, hence why he NEVER shifts in the field. The base has a freezer area to accommodate for arctic animal shifters, and Price literally built a slide to slide around in there. When he finds the others shifted when they didn't want to be, he'll shift and kinda corral them into a safe and comfortable space? If that makes sense.

Gaz. Wild Water Buffalo shifter. Just like the actual Wild Water Buffalo, these types are RARE. They're also endangered. They have a 'pack' mentality, although these are called clans among both shifters and the actual Buffalos themselves. Him and his family are all Wild Water Buffalo shifters as well. They're all scattered across the world, so it's rare to see them. He's got the largest bloodline of Wild Water Buffalo shifters. He often wrestles with Price when he's shifted and Price isn't. Also he gives Price bull-back rides. He tends to shift when mass destruction is needed in battle, because Wild Water Buffalos are like fuckin tanks. They're fast, tough, and can deal mass amounts of damage.

Soap. He's a Red Fox shifter! They're playful, quick, stealthy, territorial, but also really friendly! A perfect match for our silly Scot! He's also the one who shifts the most, because he's the most comfortable in his animal form. He's got two packs. His family and the Force. He doesn't shift in the field unless he's needed to complete stealth missions or get out of a situation really fast. When shifted on base, he'll often tear up the spare punching bags, leading Price to have ordered more than the usual amount, just in case. He also likes using the other three as a jungle gym.

Ghost. He's a Black Panther shifter, originating from the Jaguar shifter line. His mother was a shifter, his father was not. Tommy was also a shifter, as children of shifters tend to take after their mother. The whole shifter thing contributed to both his abuse from his dad and the torture from Roba. He really doesn't shift unless absolutely necessary, so most people think he's not even a shifter. When he does shift in battle, it's often for the increased agility and claws. Ghost suppresses his shifting which is damaging and dangerous. This leads to increased irritability. Soap is the one who eventually gets Ghost to start shifting more.

Tags: @bringinsexybackk69 (if you wanna be added to the Shifter!Taglist, lemme know!)

I'm still figuring out what everyone else is, but I figured I'd bring out the main four first!

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty mw2 #ghostsoap #ghoap #soapghost #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #price mw2 #captain john price #shifter!au #black panther!ghost #red fox!soap #emperor penguin!price #wild water buffalo!gaz

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readychilledwine · 3 months

Text

Pet Play

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

If you like total power play exchanges, welcome to the world of Pets.

Pet Play is a type of power exchange, typically a total power exchange, between a dom and sub. Your dom in these situations typically falls into 1 of 4 categories: owner, master, trainer, or alpha-pet. There are a variety of different roles the subs can take, but the most common are puppy play, kitten play, bunny play, or horse play, and each type of pet play tends to lead to different forms kink mix ins, how play is handled, and what role the dom falls into.

In pet play, a variety of kinks can be mixed in, such as bondage, degradation/humiliation, punishment, praise, and reward. It also isn't uncommon to see food play, breath play, and collar and leashing (a kink we will dive deeper into with Hunt) as well. Pets will have a variety of outfits based on their moods, from full latex hound masks to something as simple as a pair of bunny ears, subs get to decide how deep into play they are before handing over their submission.

One consistent with pet play from everyone I've asked in the community is tails and ears, especially in bunny play, which won the poll post. Bunny play is known to be a gentle form of pet play typically done with a submissive who enjoys praise, cuddles, and more of a gentle interaction but enjoys being "fucked stupid like a dumb little bunny." And let me tell ya, hearing that come out of the doms mouth has me sweating.

I hope any of you who partake in pet play enjoy this fic, and those of you who don't still enjoy Eris and reader banging it out. This is a type of play I've always found interesting but never tried, so I did a lot of digging and talking to my friends and people in the BDSM community who do partake

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Warnings - degradation and de.... defaeitazation of reader, reader sleeps in a cage, bondage, tailplug, smut

The growl that left Eris was primal and dark as he made eye contact with you. You sat in your little cage on your calves, wiggling with anticipation. "Did you get out and get dressed all pretty for me, baby?" You only smiled waiting for him to open the gate and let you out despite the fact that you could, and clearly had.

During his meeting with his father, you changed out of the pink lace babydoll you had been wearing and into a tight white corset with white lace panties and stockings. You had put in your bunny ears after curling and putting your hair in low pigtails. Eris knew there was a fluffy little tail waiting for him in those crotchless panties.

This was his favorite bunny outfit you owned. You wore it on nights when you knew Eris needed two things:

1) a submissive sweet little bunny to love and cuddle.

2) a sweet little bunny who loved nothing more than himself cock pounding into her until she couldn't think.

He picked up the collar and leash, bending his knees to be eye level with you, and opened the gate. He secured the collar around you, kissing you gently before standing and walking. You stayed on all fours, following him while looking up to him and waiting for commands. Eris settling into the sofa, coiling the leash around his hand a few times before yanking you between his legs.

His cock was already straining and leaking in his pants. Your submission alone was enough for Eris, but the outfit, the trust in him, that really got the heir.

He felt you kissing and mouthing at his pants, already aching for him. "Gods, you are a desperate little thing, aren't you? My sweet little bunny with not a single thought in her head but my cock, isn't that right?"

He took your chin in his hand, forcing you to nod while he smirked. "The big question is, do I pamper my little bunny tonight, or fuck her?" You didn't let the whine escape, continuing to look at him with wide desperate eyes. He chuckled darkly. "You should have thought about it harder when you agreed to no noises or speaking until I gave permission, huh?"

You didn't nod, blinking twice at him and wiggling again. You were shamelessly and completely soaked, mind falling into that pretty petspace as you waited for play to begin.

He began unlacing his pants, pulling them down enough for his waiting cock to spring free. He yanked the leash again, forcing your face against his length. "Well? Go head, bunny. Master doesn't have all night."

You wasted no time. You ran your tongue up his length before taking it into your mouth. Eris used the leash to guide your speed as you bobbed up and down, sucking and licking as you went. You smiled when he released a loud groan, head falling back to the couch and relaxed. You began using a hand to work what wasn't in your mouth, pumping and twisting in time.

You could taste his precum, causing a soft whine to leave your throat and your thighs to press together for friction. Eris looked down at you through his lashes before putting his leg between your thighs. "That's all you get until I say so, bunny. If you want to get off, there's your treat for being good."

It would have been more humiliating as you rolled your hips along his boot and shin, relishing in that much needed stimulation, but you couldn't find it in you to feel shame. Eris was moaning above you again, sighing in bliss as you picked up pace, needing more of his taste in your mouth.

You had soaked through his pants, moaning softly as you brought both of you closer and closer to the edge. He pulled your mouth down onto him all the way unexpectedly and came, releasing into your mouth for a few moments before pushing you back and working his cock to shoot the rest of his cum onto your tits and face.

He leaned back again, looking between you and his leg slightly annoyed. "Did I say stop, sweet little bunny? Get yourself off on my leg, and I will consider fucking you." You leaned back slightly, using your hands to brace yourself a little more and feeling that leash pulling taunt.

The angle you were at gave Eris a better view of your puffy glistening folds as you continued riding on his boot and lower leg. He switched the angle of his boot, forcing your clit to be in constant contact with him as he watched you move faster and faster. Moans and whimpers were constantly leaving your mouth, making his length hard all over again. "Cum," the command was gentle. "Been such a good girl. Need you to cum."

A desperate cry left your throat, head tilted back as you came. You continued to ride him through the high, soothing yourself as could. Eris stood, lifting you once you were finished before walking up to the bed. "Y/n," you broke character at the name, looking up at him. "I won't last long tonight. I've been pent up thinking about this all day."

You smiled at your mate, kissing him before bending over the mattress and allowing him to secure your ankles to the spreader bar that was built into the frame. "Me too, Eris. Missed you all day."

"I know. I felt it." Flames came tying around your wrists and pulling to ensure you could not move away. Eris ran his cock through your folds once, twice, and then pushed home, a needy noise escaping you as he did.

Eris began slamming into you. Hands holding your ass so he could admire your little tail. The plug had your walls feeling tighter than normal. Doubling the pleasure of each drag for both of you.

He opened the bond completely, the constant flow of pleasure sending shockwave after shockwave through you until you were no more than a drooling mess. "Fucked my sweet bunny dumb already I see." His voice was airy, strained with soft moans mixing in. He was so close, and you were too.

He reangled you, arching your back more to ensure he was brushing your gspot with each movement. At the same time, a hand went to your swollen bundle of nerves, making you scream in surprise and pleasure. "I know you have another one in there," he grumbled more to himself than you. "Cum little bunny. Cum on master's cock."

One more harsh thrust has you seeing star light and flames dancing in your vision as you came. Eris's name was a mantra on your lips, tumbling through them over and over. The squeezing of your walls on his length had him following behind you, sloppy deep movements ensuring not a drop of his cum was wasted.

The fire and spreader bar disappeared, allowing you and Eris to fall forward and completely into the plush mattress. You both laid there, deep breaths panting in and out as you did.

No words passed as he began to care for you, unlacing the corset, removing the ears and plug, getting you comfortable and naked before moving you both to the bathroom.

"Such a good bunny," he praised as you fell asleep in his arms. "And all mine," he whispered to himself. "My beautiful sweet little bunny."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@cumuluscranium

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

#acotar #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra smut #eris x yn #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris smut #eris acotar #readychilledwine valentines day bingo

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asimpforyagami · 3 days

Note

heyyyy, ur writing is very scrumptious ✨️✨️ can i request prompts 1, 6, 9 and 12 for fyodor?

thank uuuuuu

↷ A/N ─ the way i wrote 12 on the prompt list JUST for fyodor 😩 ily anon

★ PROMPT ─ 1, 6, 9, 12

!! FT. ─ fyodor

─ wearing his clothes

Fyodor raised his eyebrows at the sight of you near the door, clad in another one of his long white shirts. He never understood what you thought you would achieve with this action.

"Again?" he asked.

"Again," you smiled and hopped over to where he sat, before taking off his ushanka hat and putting it on your head.

He blinked at you momentarily in surprise before letting out a small chuckle and inviting you to sit on his lap.

Whatever your reason for stealing his clothes was, he didn't mind it one bit. You looked too cute with his hat on for that. Maybe it did look better on you than him.

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

─ cuddling with him

You lay in your bed, arms tangled around Fyodor. He was staring right up at the ceiling, thinking of something. You leaned your head towards his chest, an indication that you needed your hourly dose of attention.

Fyodor looked at you and smiled softly. He let his own arm wrap around your waist and pulled you closer so that you could lay on his chest comfortably.

"What are you thinking of?" you asked.

"Me? Nothing much," he said quietly, pecking your forehead lightly. "You're more important."

"Yes, I am," you grinned and rested your cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat faintly. He shifted his position slightly so that his legs could intertwine with yours and hummed a soft lullaby.

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

─ waking him up

You had never woken up before Fyodor. Still, he had given you 'instructions' on what to do in such a 'situation'. So, after freshening up, you crawled back into the bed where he was cuddling a pillow.

Sensing something better than a pillow to cuddle, Fyodor immediately latched onto you in his sleep and pulled you on top of him. You chuckled slightly.

"Fedya?" you said softly.

"No..." he groaned. "Not now."

"Good morning," you said.

"Not yet," he buried his face in your neck.

To think that he could be this affectionate to someone was a dream, you thought.

"It is, now," you replied. "Wake up."

"No," he said again. You sighed and stroked his hair, softly tugging at it sometimes. You didn't try to wake him up anymore. Rather, you stayed in the intimate position for about an hour.

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

─ styling his hair in silly ways

You shook your legs around from your position on his lap.

"Don't do that," Fyodor said calmly, and you paused before resuming it again.

"I'm bored."

Fyodor sighed. Being with you was like babysitting a child, he thought.

"Well, what would you like to do, myshka?"

You sat upright on his lap and took the clips and hair tie on your hair off.

"Welcome to my parlour. What hairstyle would you like to get?"

Fyodor blinked at you, startled, before replying, "The one you like."

You nodded and immediately began to work, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tying it in a small ponytail. It was as if his hair was made to be styled. You sighed dreamily as you leaned away to look at him after finishing.

He had a little ponytail surrounded by little pink Hello Kitty clips that you had bought, not for yourself, just for this occasion. You stifled a laugh before pulling out your phone and immediately snapping a picture.

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

#fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #fyodor dostoevsky fluff #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x you #bsd x you

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ilys00ga · 4 months

Text

life after his enlistment.

pairing: yoongi x reader

synopsis: how life/the relationship was like after he enlisted.

genre: fluff, established relationship, yoongi enlisted, they are trying their best, idk if I should call it angst or hurt/comfort, but there's some kind of ✨️melancholy✨️ in this (predictable much), I effing miss him sm more now :(.

warnings: t.w: if u are just like me, prepare to be missing yoongi sickeningly after this. gosh, it feels like a hole in a chest rn. idk what to do w myself. oh btw some ideas mentioned here are purely my own opinions, so it doesn't have to be "facts" or "all true." if u have different opinions or if u disagree with any it u can reach out to me about them, I would like that, but that's that, enjoy!!!!!!!!!

A/N: this was a request made by @kimvante2013 I hope it meets ur expectations! this was so fun to write, I liked this a lot. feel free to send more reqs or anything u want :)

PS. English is not my first language, so you know the drill.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

the problem wasn't that you couldn't see him, no.

since his duty was different from that of an ordinary individual, you both were able to spend the nights in each other's arms.

when he comes back home after duty, sometimes he's met with an empty house where he'd wash up and start preparing something for you to enjoy munching on once you get back home at a later hour of the day. other times, he comes to a busy, warm house. you blasting your favorite drama on the TV while doing the laundry in the middle of the living room, or just chilling and waiting to welcome him with mellow hugs and kisses.

and when he's on duty, he can't always contact you, but he whispered kisses laced with promises into your lips before leaving on his first day, and he would never dare to break them. not that he wants to anyway.

sometimes you'd wake up to post-it notes sticked on random surfaces and items around the house, or good morning messages of love and kisses. sometimes he calls during lunch breaks to check up on you, reminding you to drink water and eat well because that's yoongi's most precious habit of showing that he always just cares.

"don't forget to layer your outfit today, I just saw that it's gonna be awfully cold."

"did you like the bouquet I sent? want more? cook me ___ tonight xx"

"hi, don't forget to drink a cup of water right this instance or you'll shrivel up and die."

"it snowed on my way here this morning, let's go out this weekend and have some fun :]"

when days are too hard to handle, weighing one of you—maybe even both of you at the same time, cause life is a bitch like that—down and burying you under the ground, you'd send long voice messages to the other. never expecting an immediate reply. just simply pressing record and spilling all the bottled negative energy that clogged your brains and chests.

so, the problem wasn't really that you couldn't see or talk to him..

the problem was that neither of you were used to any of that.

you weren't used to being away from each other for long hours throughout the day (even though he often went on tours and job events aboard), or not being able to talk and/or see him whenever you wanted to—atleast whenever your shift agreed to let you. you're stuck on this routine for months. you were so not used to that.

over the years, you and yoongi grew to become a pen and a paper: two different items that are meant to only function and be paired together. one can't be capable without the other.

yet you try to avail yourselves of the situation and take it all easy. slowly, like waking up and leaving a warm, comfy bed at 5 in the morning to gain some purpose somewhere out there.

so, while staying away from one another for several hours a day comes with heavy challenges and even melancholy at times, that doesn't mean it can't be fruitful for your relationship.

since for it to grow healthier, a couple, intentionally or not, sometimes needs to take some "time off" to preserve the connection and intimacy between them.

you always remind yoongi of how much you had missed him during the day, which is something that never failed to put a smile on his face and trigger a stream of butterflies in his stomach.

love and yearning are two inseparable powerful emotions that one can't defeat, and absence makes the heart grow fonder. that's the beauty of the challenge your relationship was subject to at this new stage.

"I am still me, you are still you. everything's gonna be alright." yoongi would say as he hugs your face into his chest.

he always reminds you that this new chapter the two of you have entered together, hand in hand and with shaking hearts, is one that he'd been dreading but looking forward to for a very long time.

a chapter that made him understand how much he needs your existence in his life. to be himself and to be the somebody you need and deserve.

and he makes sure to translate that into your skin as he traces it with his lips and fingertips when you finally fall into each other's embrace.

#yoongi #bts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #agustd #yoongi angst #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts fic #bts army #bts yoongi #bts enlistment

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russellsppttemplates · 3 months

Note

Finn wondering if Jimmy and Sassy feelings would get hurt if he ask for a dog

"Hey, darling, how was your day with grandma?", you wondered as your little boy ran to your arms. Since you and Max were renovating your home office, you thought it would be best that Finn spent his day with his grandparents, allowing you and Max to work quickly without the added worry of your son accidentally touching something dangerous and hurting himself. Your husband had been the one to pick him up from your parents' house, "Finn, do you want to tell mama what you told me in the car?", Max nudged, pulling your son to sit on his lap once he sat in the office chair next to yours as you tidied your desk, organising your materials into the drawers and pots.

"Oh, that's right!", he beamed, "you know grandma and grandpa have Juno", he mentioned your parents' dog. She had been in the family even before you moved out and the sweet labrador was the delight of both the older and younger family members, even Finn didn't escape it.

"I was just asking papa if he thought Jimmy and Sassy would be mad or hurt if we got a dog", he stated, looking at you as he explained the situation, "I know we've had them in the family for a really long time, they were here before I was even born!", he exclaimed, "and before mama, too!".

Chuckling at his antics and at his cuteness, you nodded, "That's right, Jimmy and Sassy have been with us for some time", you noted, giving him your full attention.

"But I don't want to hurt them because they'll think they're being replaced, but they won't be! Our hearts will grow bigger to have another pet in our lives!", he extended his arms before he slumped down, "what do you think mama? Papa said I also had to run the idea by you", he pouted.

"Well, having a dog is certainly different that having cats, Finn", you tried your best to no destroy his hopes straight away, "cats are very independent, they mind their own business, and a dog requires a little bit more attention, and with papa being gone for a good chunk of the week at times, it might be a bit too much for us, and the cats might not react well", you said, "not because they will think we don't love them, but because it will be someone new in the house".

"I get what you mean, papa said the same", he looked up at Max who nodded, "it's going to be another responsibility that, realistically, will fall on you and maybe we should wait until we have more time in our hands", he smiled, holding your hand in his and playing with your fingers and your wedding band.

"How about we go and play with the cats, though? Me and papa spent the day drilling and I think we need to gain some extra points with them", you winked at your little boy, seeing him run off to find his furry friends, "I know I'm biased, but he's so cute when he's like this, makes my heart all melty inside", you cooed, pretending to squish his cheeks, "your genetics made him incredibly cute!".

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

#max verstappen blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

Note

WIBTA if I reported my manager for being inappropriate with me?

(🍰🍓✨️ to find this easier later)

I (24NB, AFAB only because I feel like it matters here) work an overnight stocking job, where all of my coworkers are cis men. I've never had a problem with it - they're all fairly nice to me and don't treat me any differently than they treat one another.

All of them except my overnight supervisor, who I'll refer to as M. From the moment I started working there, I've felt like he looks down on me for being the only AFAB person working with him. He's always nitpicked everything I do, especially when it comes to detailing (pulling product up to the front) shelves at the end of our shift.

In the beginning, I could understand it. I was new, and had never worked a job like this before, so I assumed M was just laying down expectations of how our work needed to be done. But now, I've been working there for nearly two years, and he still acts this way with me. He still talks down to me like I have no idea what I'm doing, when I've proven to be better at detailing shelves the way he likes than the other men I work with.

Now we get to the point of this whole post - being inappropriate with me. To clarify beforehand, I'm fairly certain I have GI issues and need to use the bathroom more often than most people. It's been an issue in past jobs, and I can remember it being an issue when I was a child as well. However, medical neglect has left me with no clear official diagnosis, unfortunately.

M approached me one night after leaving the bathroom and preparing to take out a pallet. He asks me, almost verbatim, "Why do you use the bathroom so much?" I was confused at first. Nobody had ever outright asked me that, so I responded, "What do you mean?"

M went on to say that he noticed I was using the bathroom more frequently than he would have liked, I guess? And made a point to say that I would "take 10 to 15 minutes in there every time" (not true at all, as an aside; I try not to take more than 10 minutes at the most), which made me incredibly uncomfortable. Why was he taking note of every bathroom break I was taking, and why was he timing me?

Feeling the need to defend myself, I explained that I frequently have "stomach issues", to which M responded, "Every day though?" I was flabbergasted. I told him I suspect I might have IBS and left it at that before getting back on with my work.

On some level, if my frequent bathroom breaks were causing me to slack off in my work, I would understand being concerned. For all he knew, I could just be hiding in the bathroom to use my phone or something. But the thing is, I would often do a great deal more work than he would. By the time M would have two pallets of stock done, I would have four. And he knows I use my phone while I'm working, too! We don't have a job that cares that much about phone usage, as long as the job gets done.

I don't get it. I'm a good employee otherwise, I was given employee of the month and my other managers don't ever have an issue with my work. Would I be the asshole if I told one of the higher ups about this situation? I don't want to get him in trouble, and I honestly don't know if I would be justified in saying anything. I feel like I'm overreacting, but everyone I've talked to about this agrees that it was inappropriate.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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spidybaby · 11 months

Text

Gold Digger | Part Two

Summary: A broken plate can't be fixed.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: hello, it's been a long time, but here it is. I want to apologize for the wait, I was sick and ended up at the hospital, but now I'm good. Thank you all ❤️✨️

Part one | Part Three

It's been a week since the whole incident. In that time, Kylian was blowing up your phone with calls and texts. He even tried to talk in person, but Ethan and Fayza weren't having it.

You were thankful with both Ethan and Fayza. They made sure you were okay. The night you left Kylians house, his mother was the shoulder you cried onto.

She was so embarrassed for his actions. Ethan even called him to berate his actions.

They loved you as family. For them, you didn't need a paper or a ring to become part of their family, your loyalty and unconditional love for the whole family was enough.

You planned on leaving Fayzas house and going to a friend's house, but she refused. Insisted on you staying for a little more.

But at the same time, the fact that you couldn't really mourn the feelings was taking a toll on you. So you explained that and your best friend and you became roommates.

Kylian wasn't at his best either. He fought with his father. But also blame himself for being so naive, believing things he knew you would never do.

He missed two games, faking being sick. Missed a whole week of training. Until Sergio and Achraf went to his house to check on him.

When he explained the whole situation to them. Sergio slapped him, and Achraf almost did the same but control a little more.

"You're so stupid," Sergio says angrily. "Es que, si sabes que ella no lo haría por que no la defendiste? Kylian, what the hell?" (It's just, if you know she wouldn't, why didn't you defend her?)

"Okay, time out." Achraf says, pushing Sergio away from him. "Go get something to drink, calm down."

Sergio did that. He was so mad at his friend.

To sergio, you were like a little sister, always helping him and Pilar with everything you can. Even Achraf held you to a big standard.

You were that person who's always looking for everyone and trying to help as much as you can without expecting anything in return.

"Bro. Look, I'm not judging, but why did you do that?"

"I'm so stupid Haki, I'm so fucking stupid."

"You fucking are" Sergio yells outside the room.

"My gosh, fucking kids. It's what you are." Achraf says, hands caressing his forehead. "My child is more mature than you, and he's not even five years old."

"Tell me what can I do?" Kylian cry out. "I don't want to lose her."

His friends didn't even know how to help him.

"Take this, you look like the shit you say you're." Sergio hands him some water.

"Sergio." Achraf growled. "Stop it, we both know he fucked up, he knows it, his mother, brother, and whole family knows it. Stop it."

"Hey, that's mean." Kylian says, finishing the water Sergio brought him.

"But the truth, asshole."

"Enough, I feel like I'm with my kids. If I wanted to fight, I would've called my ex-wife." Achraf says frustrated.

"Mira Kyky, I'm going to be honest with you, I don't know if you can get her to forgive you. Maybe some therapy, maybe some expensive ass gift, but you already know that's not her." Sergio sighs. "What you need to do is let her breath, take her time to cool down, as much as you think you can't fix everything. This is not a match. This is your life. So what I recommend is for you to let her have her time. Text her saying that you'll wait as much as you have to, for her to be able to listen to you. And then apologize, man, because that shit was terrible. Pilar me hubiera cortado los"

"We got the point, Sergio, thank you." Achraf interrupts. "But he's right. She needs space. This shit is fresh. You also need to think what you're going to say. Apologizing is not enough. But don't make excuses. That's not cute."

And that's exactly what Kylian did. He texted you saying that he was going to stop with the text messages and the calls. He was giving you the space you need. And it was up to you to decide how much time you need for him to be able to see you again.

You never answered, but you did read the text. Thankful for his decision.

When Kylian texted you that as much time as you needed, he meant it.

What he never expected was for you to take a whole two months. And counting.

His mother and brother were in talking terms with him. It wasn't easy, but he apologized with them too.

Now, his father was another story. Wilfrid tried everything to reach him. Nothing.

Kylian understood that it was his fault. But, he didn't feel comfortable with having a talk with him.

On the other side of the city, you were closing a very hard finals week. The last finals of your whole college career.

"So, now that we finished with everything." Your friend says. "Are you going to text him?"

You told her that as soon as your finals ended, you were reaching Kylian. Two months in her head were enough of a punishment for him.

Not for you. You want him to understand that what he did was something you were not okay with.

You could take his father disliking you. But you can't take the lies and accusations. You weren't a thief.

You can tell how many times you denied your boyfriend to pay for things for you. Dinners, vacations, even your college debt.

You also were the one in charge of his whole financial situation. You knew how much he earned in a month. You helped him with the payments and saving.

So, for him to even believe you were in possession of his cards was crazy. Even after you made the calls to block every single one of them. Making sure there wasn't any new charge.

"I don't know." You say. "I'm not sure if I feel ready."

"Well, you know you can always count on me. But if you ask me, it's been enough."

After that, you both said goodbye to each other.

You were walking back to your new place. It was close to your college and it was pretty.

Just when you were about to get there, you smelled the fresh coffee aroma, coming from a small coffee shop you loved.

"Well, I deserve it."

And you did, after the amount of deprived sleep and hard study sessions you went through.

You order your usual to go. Wanting to go home and relax.

"Y/n?" Someone calls you from behind.

You knew who it was. You even thought that acting as if you didn't hear was the best, but when he repeated your name, you couldn't.

"Hi," you say.

You felt lucky when, after that little, "Hi" the girl called your name and handed you your order.

"I have to go." You say getting out quickly.

"Can we talk? Please". He asks following you outside.

You wanted to be nice, you do. But you can't do it. His words, his accusations, everything is replaying in your mind.

"If I'm not even giving that benefit to your son, why would I do that for you?"

"Just let me apologize."

"I don't need your apology, sir."

"One minute."

You stare at him. You didn't want it. But at least after this he was going to stop.

"One minute, after I'm leaving." You say watching the time on your watch.

"I'm sorry for the accusations, for telling you those awful words and treated you like a thief and someone you're not. I'm sorry for ruining the best thing Kylian ever had. But you had to understand me. He's Kylian Mbappé and everything he has worked so hard for it's been also my and Fayzas work."

You scuff.

"Of course." You say laughing. "He's Kylian Mbappé and I'm just a broke college student who was ready to take all his money, right?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, you didn't?" You ask sarcastically. "So let's see, if all his hard work is also Fayza and yours. Why does she trust me? Why can she see me for more than just my school debts? Why can she see me as someone who loves your son and not his net worth?"

"I worded this wrong."

"No, you didn't. And even if you want to fix it," you say, quoting the last two words. "Your time ran out. Please don't bother me again, I'm done with this situation for good."

You walked to your apartment, mad at everything. At him, at Kylian, at yourself. Even when you didn't even have a reason to be mad at yourself.

Without thinking you texted Kylian.

"Let's meet up at your house in an hour."

It was not the smartest thing to do, but the rage inside wasn't helping much.

You ask for an Uber due to the time all the cabs were busy. Plus, his house was a good forty-five minutes from where you live.

You knock on his door.

Even when you have your own key, this wasn't your home anymore. This was his.

"Hey," he says happily, opening the door for you to get inside. "It's kind of chill for just that cardigan."

You ignore him. Walking to the living room. The house feels different. The home you used to love is now just a place.

You feel like crying. It's like having an intense flashback.

"Can we talk?" He asked.

You nod, blinking the tears away.

"Yes, go ahead."

"Don't you want to sit?" He asks, confused. Your posture is like a rock. Hard and not easy to break.

"No, go ahead."

"Okay." He clears his throat. "I have to apologize. I know I fucked up. I was so wrong for not saying anything to defend you. I just want you to know that I don't believe any of that, never did, never will."

You interrupted his speech by laughing. "You don't? Then why did you let your father belittle me in that way?"

Your question take him by surprise. He wasn't expecting this.

"Well."

"No, I'll tell you why." You interrupted him again. "You're so up your ass, Kylian. You don't have an idea of what the real world is like anymore. You've been so glorified by everyone. Specifically your father."

The way his eyes are about to pop out of his head.

"And I'm so mad at you." You laugh again, trying to calm yourself down. "I've been the one who denied your offer to pay my whole debt, I was the one who helped you with money, with savings, with payments. I was the one who turned your additional cards when you offered them to me. Because I wasn't here for the money, I was here for you. I was here because I love you. Because I saw myself staring a family with you. I saw myself growing old with you."

"Let's just pause." He says breathless, even when he's not the one speaking.

"No, I'm not pausing."

"Okay, just, please let me finish."

"Save your apologies." You say.

"Amour. Y/n. Wait, I need."

"I needed you." You interrupted again. "I needed you to defend me. I needed you to say something, and not doubt me. I needed you, Kylian. And you failed me."

The burning sensation was consuming you.

"Please, we can go to therapy." He tries.

"Kylian, don't you get it?" You ask. "Even if I say yes. What's next? You stop talking to your dad for good? That's not what I want. Do you really think I can come back here? I can hear his words in my head, I blink and see him accusing me of stealing from you, and I see you taking his side, even when you didn't believe it."

"We can sell the house," he grabs your face. "I can have a new property tomorrow morning. Better, pick one, the one you want, as big as you want, as expensive as you want. But please, don't give up on me."

His eyes are shining with tears.

A part of you is saying, "forgive him," but the rational part of you is throwing that option out of your head.

"It's not about that, Kylian."

"Then what do you want? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Everything." He cries.

You shake your head. Tears rolling down.

"I want you to let me go."

"No. Everything but that."

"Let me go, Kylian." You take his hands off your face. "I can't do this."

He hugs you, crying on your shoulder.

"Please don't go. You're my everything."

You only caress his back. Letting him cry.

He keeps begging, and with every word, with every sob, every tear you feel yourself breaking more.

"Kylian. Please let me go."

He hugs you tighter. "Please, no."

"Baby, please."

You can feel him tense because of the nickname. He let go enough for him to be face to face again.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore, and I'll let you go."

You shake your head. You can't.

"Don't do this to me."

"Tell me, look at me in the eyes and tell me."

"Let me go." You repeat. "Please."

"You can't say it because you love me. And I love you. We can get over this. I promise even if I have to spend my whole life apologizing, even if I have to tell you every day, how important you're for me."

"Stop, please." You cry. "We can't. I can't. I need time kylian. You say everything, I need time."

"How much?"

"I don't know, but I need it. I can't just forget and swipe this under the rug like it's nothing. We can't build each other again if we're both broken." You say holding his face. "You promised me years ago that you would never doubt me. And here we are, so I need you to give me space. Let me heal and heal yourself in the process. Make up with your family, go to therapy. And then we can go back."

His eyes were burning, and the tears fell like cascades.

"Can you promise me that you will be back to me?" He asks

You didn't have an answer because time and life were unsure. Life can change in a moment, just when you less expect it.

"I promise you that I'll work on healing. I promise you that if you need me I'll be here. I'll be your biggest cheerleader from afar. But I can't do it alone, you have to make your part."

He hugs you again.

It wasn't a goodbye.

But it hurt like it was.

He let go of you. Looks you from head to toe. It's like if he's taking a mental photo of you.

You pick your purse from the floor. Walking to the front door.

"Y/n" he calls.

You turn around.

"I love you."

"I love you too." You smile at him, closing the door.

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@slayweirdosaway @voguebikini @ironmaiden1313 @magicalfundragon @nightlockcornucopia @christianpulisic10 @bellinghambby22 @noodle81937 @moonlightholland22 @germanapples @paniwiaderko

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dindjiarin · 2 years

Text

Six Days, Part I - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

Being stuck in a room with Sierra Six for a week causes more drama than you thought.

This was a 16 hour fever dream. It's probably going to be a two-parter, but this one ends satisfyingly anyway! I had to get this out of my head because ✨️Sierra Six deserves a lil kiss✨️ 😌

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

TAGS: Smut, One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, blood/wounds/death, poor knowledge of wound care.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

The knife slashes diagonally across your upper thigh, cutting deep enough you see … yellow? That’s probably not good, your mind flashes. You stumble forward, holding the wound.

The man who had just given it to you tries to grab you again; he was careless where the knife in his right hand went, as long as you weren’t killed. His gloved hand snatches at your left arm, but his attempt ends abruptly. You feel his body fall to the floor with a thump. You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, but there in front of you appears a disheveled Six, his firearm still pointed down the hallway behind you.

His eyes drop to your hands clutched around your bloody leg, and he closes the distance between the two of you in a second.

“You’re okay. Can you run?” He sounds calm.

One hand reaches out to gingerly touch the side of your face; he tilts his head to peer into your eyes. It won’t cross your mind until later that he’s trying to keep you from panicking.

“I-” your voice breaks. “I think so, yeah.”

Six nods, thankful that your adrenaline has taken hold; even he'd be making noise with that kind of injury. That wound was certainly going to require several stitches.

“Hold on to me.”

He indicates his belt, wanting to keep you close behind him but needing to keep his arms free. You comply gladly, curling your fingers through a belt loop. Though still scared, your body responds automatically to the protectiveness emanating from the man who has watched over you for the last four months.

He sweeps through the house, following the escape route he’d had planned from the very day he got here. You try not to see but the specter of death is unavoidable. Black-clothed, anonymous bodies lay strewn across broken glass. Debris extends throughout the house, but mercifully the kitchen is corpse-free. Six guides you across the room, and he reaches out for the garage door. As it swings open, Six curses.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper to his back.

He hesitates, then states, “A friend did me a favor.”

He doesn’t move toward the broken body lying next to the vehicle - it’s clear by the angle of the man’s neck that he’s beyond help.

“We’re even,” Six solemnizes over the man.

He says it so quietly that you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear. You feel a prickle in your nose like you’re near tears. You don’t know if it’s the situation or the fact that you’ve never seen the reticent man show any strong emotion, but you scrutinize the back of his head, trying to understand what’s inside.

“I’m sorry, Six,” you breathe. You drop your hand from his belt to give him space.

Six doesn’t respond.

You can’t really tell the difference between the man lying there and the other bodyguards that had been rotated through over the past week. Six had hidden the fact that he knew the man well; you’d never seen them interact.

He steps over to the driver’s door cautiously. You wince as your adrenaline starts to fade and the distraction of Six’s body is gone. Ensuring no joy-riders are hiding in the backseat, he climbs in and starts the car. As the engine springs to life, he observes you standing still in the headlights and deadpans, “You stayin’ here?”

*****************************

The two of you burst into the tiny apartment, not initially noticing the fact that it’s shockingly small: one chair, one bed, one bathroom. Without warning, he scoops you up into his arms and heads into the bathroom, flicking on the single bulb. He sets you gently on the countertop. He bends to grab a first-aid kit from the cabinet, and you wobble without his support, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion. His hands steady you and he stares into your eyes, willing you to be composed. You blink twice, realizing his face has never been this close to you - ever. You smile shyly, and he frowns. Clearly, he thinks you’re in shock. Your heart is racing but it has very little to do with the night’s events.

You’d been half-expecting an assault for some time now, and you’d prepared yourself as best a normal person could. Sure, you were scared - nothing would ever be the same now. But you had survived, thanks to Six, and the cold, animal part of your brain knew that was all that mattered. No, the thudding of your pulse was the fault of the ever-present magnetism you felt for the man working before you.

“I’m going to cut your jeans,” Six states.

You nod, mind racing with thoughts too silly to vocalize. He pulls a folding knife from his pocket and gingerly slices away the front half of the already-cut pant leg. You’re left with what resembles a pant-mullet and you giggle a little hysterically at the ridiculous thought.

He peeks up at you, now certain you’re in shock, “Lean against the mirror.”

You obey, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you recline. Six rises from his hunched position, standing so close that you can still see his face out of the bottom of your vision.

“Tell me when you need a break.” His voice is gentle, but you notice his jaw clenching. His hands settle on your skin. “Deep breath.”

Then the pain blinds you. You’d been silently crying in the car, the constant burning feeling in your leg causing you to grind your teeth, fidget, do anything you could to distract yourself. But the bite of the needle through your torn, pained flesh as he stitches you back together is much worse.

You slam your palms down against the edge of the counter, gripping tight - your sheer willpower the only thing keeping you from thrashing against him. You take deep breaths as he instructed, trying to leave your body behind.

Your mind wanders to earlier in the night, before chaos reigned, when Six had actually agreed to play a video game with you. You’d let him pick the game, and he’d chosen a first-person shooter (because of course he did). You’d still beaten the trained assassin. He’d sat beside you on the couch, his body heating your right side, and when you won the match, you’d sworn the side of his mouth turned up a little at your gloating. You’d spent most of your time together trying to make the man laugh, so you’d take anything he gave you. When he beat you in the next round, you’d been a sore loser - accusing him of cheating. You had poked his side, gently, and he had actually laughed. Okay, you checked yourself, it was more like a snort, but it counted.

But then he had admitted to it, “Gotta use everything to your advantage. I could see your location on your side of the screen.”

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

“A what?” He scoffed. “There’s a name for it? And not even a creative one.”

“Yeah, for cheaters who screen-look.” You glared.

He’d rolled his eyes, then met your stare with his own, much more intense one. His face might be guarded, but his eyes expressed his feelings. He always tried to hide it, but everything was written there among the blue. Your heart had lurched, your breathing requiring thought. For God’s sake, he was so close. His eyes weakly flickered down to your parted lips; but then he had stood, walked a few paces away from the couch.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Rattled, you followed his lead. You knew he wanted you in your room; he always did his rounds once you turned in for the night. You had stood and stretched upwards, relieving your back. You never saw the guilty way his eyes followed the curves of your body as you moved, nor the way his jaw ticked as you bent to turn off the gaming console.

When you’d turned around, he had been perfectly composed. You had passed by him as close as you dared, close enough to hear the gum he was chewing, and muttered, “Goodnight, cheater.”

“Goodnight, loser.” He’d said, shrugging at you as you closed the bedroom door. You’d laughed at that, and as soon as your door had closed, he’d allowed himself to smirk.

He stuck the needle through a particularly sensitive section of your leg, and you were thrust back into your new reality. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore, and people had died because of you. Including Six’s friend. He’d probably request an entirely new team now; one that would replace him. He’d be free of the assignment he’d had for too long. You’d heard him say once that most assignments don't last longer than a week, and he’d been stuck babysitting you for months.

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

He stops, “I'm just over halfway. You need a break?”

You shake your head, “Get it over with.”

The next stitches are as painful as the others. But then you feel his hands leave your skin, and you hear something fall in the trash can - bloody material, maybe. You hear Six wash his hands in the sink next to you, then dry them with a towel. Exhaustion tinges your every thought, now. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d slept.

Tears fall from your closed eyes, unbidden. Gently, but quickly, his fingers wipe away the liquid, and your eyelids flutter open at the contact. The ugly light causes you to squint, but you see Six lean toward you. His right arm slips under your legs, his left snakes around your back, and he lifts you from the counter. You softly cling to his neck. He’s careful not to jar your leg as he maneuvers out of the bathroom and across the room. The bed dips with your weight as he sets you down on top of the covers. Instead of moving you again, he lays a different blanket across your body. He leaves your wound uncovered.

“Don’t let that touch your leg. Need to keep it as clean as possible, and the last time these were washed, cell phones still had visible antennas.”

“Yes, sir.” You say sleepily. It’d been a long day, a longer night, and though your leg was still paining you, the temptation of the abyss was greater.

Six watches you fall asleep from the red wingback chair in the corner. He was grateful it was thickly padded - he wasn’t sure he could sit in a plastic chair with the bruises he had. There was no couch, and only one bed, but he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

He wanted to believe that this safe house, two hours away from the previous, was off-the-books enough for his enemies to have overlooked it.

We’re fine here, he was nearly chanting to himself, willing it to be true. But he wasn’t going to relax, wasn’t going to get complacent. Not when he had a job to do.

*****************************

Six’s entire body ached. He hadn’t moved from his chair except to use the bathroom. He was completely still, his arms folded across his body. He wanted to check the perimeter; he wanted to see what was going on outside. Maybe they were setting up for a raid out there. Maybe they were already on their way inside. Or maybe they had one or two agents doing recon, trying to get a confirmed sighting of him or of you. And if it was the latter, him exiting the building would be the opposite of helpful. But god, he hated sitting here feeling useless.

His eyes kept dancing over your sleeping form. You’d slept fitfully at first, but you seem peaceful now, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon. Six wouldn’t dream of waking you unless necessary. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face.

How could he have found out? What didn’t I do?

He couldn’t carry the heaviness in his heart. His whole life had been about protecting others; his brother, buddies in prison, strangers, and now you. It’s all he knew, it’s all he wanted to do. Now, because of him, Denver was dead.

Six had asked him to help beef up security for a few days. There’d been word that something was likely to go down soon and Six had looked to one of the few men he truly trusted for help. He grimaced, mourning the dead man; he’d saved Denver’s ass three separate times, each one becoming a joke between them about life debts. Six wished he could’ve been there a fourth time, but he also knew he wouldn’t have altered a thing.

You hadn’t been asleep like he’d assumed so he had broken the pattern in their established rounds to find you. He’d felt nearly panicked searching the house, and when he recognized what he was feeling, he’d grunted, trying to shake it off like a broken toe or a stab wound. It had hurt nearly as badly. He’d shot two men and gotten into blows with a third before finally seeing you at the end of the hallway as you left the bathroom, and of course, he had shot the fourth: your friend, the knife-wielder. Six would never forget the way his body had sagged with relief at finding you.

No, even if he had known that he had a choice that night between you and Denver, he wouldn’t have hesitated in his answer.

And there’s the problem. He somehow knows my answer, too.

*****************************

You sat up quickly, knowing you’d slept longer than normal as the golden light streamed through the small, frosted window. Hoping to neutralize the hunger pains, you threw off the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the new pain.

“Well, don’t undo all my hardwork.” Six’s favorite tone with you was exasperation; like a man whose patience was always at its limit, but never beyond.

“It’s fine, doctor,” you toss back sarcastically, “I just forgot about it.”

“You - forgot - about the gash in your leg?”

“...yes.”

He rolls his eyes, a hand passing over his face. You’re about to thank him for stitching you up, since he’s apparently sensitive about it, when your stomach growls.

“Is there anything to eat?”

“Yeah.”

You bite your lip and narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, I guess I will make us some food.”

He doesn’t move except to pick up a book from the shelf.

You hobble over to the kitchenette and see the world’s worst pantry. Canned peaches, olives, green beans, and chicken - the latter of which you gag over. There’s a mini-fridge on the counter next to the hot plate. You open that and see a carton of eggs. Wonder how old those are. The carton seemed new, so you open it and are pleasantly surprised by twelve fresh eggs.

A few minutes later, you’ve made two chopped olive omelettes. There are no plates, but there is a roll of paper towels. You walk slowly toward the chair Six has taken up residence in, an omelette on a makeshift paper plate in your hand. He sees the movement and looks up from the book. He stands and leans forward to take it from you, with a curt, “Thank you.”

“So, what do we do now?” You ask. Your mouth is half-full of egg and you’re nearly unintelligible.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.”

“Mmm.” You nod, still chewing. “Okay, then what?”

He looks up from his own food, answering, “We move. Further away.”

“Okay. And by ‘we’, you mean you’re not leaving?” You keep the nervousness out of your voice.

“What-? Where would I be going?” Genuinely not anticipating your question, Six’s eyebrows knit together. He blinks, gears turning in his head.

It finally clicks for him and he frowns; you’re a little confused how your question could irritate him, but you can’t stop the satisfied grin blooming on your face. The soulful eyes, the little curl of hair resting on his forehead, Six is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met, as well as a good friend, and the thought of leaving you apparently never even crossed his mind.

“And now you’re smiling?” He’s now totally bewildered.

Six is doing his damndest to put distance between the two of you emotionally, but you seem to be happy about …him staying with you? After assuming he’d leave you in this mess? He is speechless, his food forgotten momentarily.

“Nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. I just woke up, I’m still loopy.” You awkwardly smile again. You realize he’s not going to be satisfied with that, but you’re definitely not admitting your thoughts. So, you edit and try again.

“Okay, well, I figured since the original team is gone, a new one would be coming. Also,” you pause, knowing he’s against emotional oversharing, “I am very sorry about that. I know it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but I feel terrible. How do you get used to a life like this? People dying for you? My project wasn’t that incredible. There are more intelligent, more experimental chemists than me. There is no way my knowledge was worth that.”

You set your partially-eaten food down beside you, no longer hungry.

“You don’t get used to it.”

He answers your first question in the rawest voice you’ve heard from him. His eyes bore holes into the floor, desperately wanting to come clean, to relieve you of your guilt. They didn’t die for you, they died for him.

You try to catch his eye, to raise him from whatever mood suddenly snagged him, but he won’t look at you. He’s conflicted. Not only is he hiding the truth from you, but you still believe he’s capable of leaving you at the first bit of trouble, that he’ll give you up to another protection detail at his earliest opportunity. Six decides he cannot sit any longer. He rises, still avoiding your face, checks his gun, and walks to the door.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check; probably be gone ten minutes. I’ll knock in that pattern I showed you.” He pauses then adds, “If I don’t, there’s a trapdoor in the bathroom.”

“Alright,” you say quietly, your eyes on his back. Confused by his behavior and unable to let him leave in that manner, you can’t help but stage-whisper, “Please be safe, Six.”

You can’t see the way his throat constricts, the way he closes his eyes and lets your words soak in. Then he’s gone.

You mark the time with the analog clock on the bookshelf, and busy yourself by exploring the infinitesimal room. Your college dorm had been larger than this. The bathroom door is closed, and when you open it to find the trapdoor - just in case - the door hits the toilet bowl.

“Wow,” you wonder. “How did we both fit in here last night?”

You crouch to explore the grimy linoleum for the hidden seam, but you don’t see anything. Your eyes strain and your head bobs from side to side, trying to see something. But you find nothing. Maybe he’s confused this place with a different tiny, foreign safe house. Unwilling at the moment to actually feel around the gross floor, you’re content to just believe he’ll knock in the correct pattern.

You turn back into the main room, and pick up the book Six had been reading off the chair. A trashy bodice-ripper? How in the hell had he kept a straight face? You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. There’s no way he’d actually even read the title. He - for sure - had been trying and failing to seem preoccupied while you cooked. You’d get even with him for that.

You sprawl out on the bed, the book still in hand. You skip to a third of the way through, hoping to find the good parts, and sure enough: pure bodice-ripping. Again, you laugh out loud at the absurdity of the emotionally-repressed man you know reading this. Feeling this.

That sparks an idea in you; it had been a good long while since you’d been allowed to be completely alone. The waistband of your mangled jeans is loose enough to slip your hand down, and you engross yourself in a particularly dirty passage.

You're totally absorbed by the filthy story when the front door flies open and Six barrels through, shutting it as quietly as he could compared to his violent entrance. He flinches at your aborted scream, watches as your hand rips out of your jeans and you scoot up against the wall, trying to seem like you were not doing what you were definitely just doing.

The two of you stare at each other for a breath too long. Knowing he won’t - or can’t - you break the silence, “See anything?”

He short-circuits for a second, “No, you’re wearing jeans.” And then he realizes what you were actually asking about, “Oh, no. Nothing.”

His face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes anymore. You’re under the impression you’ve mortified him, but he knows if he keeps looking at your excited, glowing face for a second longer, he’ll make a decision you could both regret.

“I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you knock?” You titter at the ridiculous situation. But you’re less embarrassed than you thought you’d be. It hits you suddenly that Six has always made you feel safe in a multitude of ways, and maybe... maybe you don’t mind being caught by him.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Hence the busted door.”

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

He doesn’t make a reply, so you question, “Why were you pretending to read this?”

“Hm?” He settles his firearm back in its holster.

Six takes a long, calming breath, then meets your eyes. He’s as stoic as can be - except, now you're starting to wonder if it’s a front. You’d long felt like there was an electricity between the two of you. You’d seen Six’s eyes on you more than they should be, you’d feel his hand hover over your lower back sometimes when he walked you to your room, sending chills through you. He was reliable, protective, witty - he was also kind and selfless, though he let few people see it. But only in your daydreams could you believe he had any real feelings for you.

…so why did he just react that way? Wouldn’t a normal bodyguard apologize (right or wrong) and move on? They wouldn’t have to stand there and collect themselves, surely.

Or I’m just seeing what I want to, you chastise yourself.

“I know you were not actually reading this.” You tease, waving the book in the air.

“And how do you know that?” It’s clear he doesn’t even know what the book is about. He folds his arms across his chest and you attempt to discreetly ogle the vein on his bicep.

The smirk on your face warns him that you’re about to say something he’d rather not hear, “You wanna know how I know you weren’t reading this book of trashy erotica?” You heavily emphasize the words, and his eyes go wide. “Want me to read some aloud?”

He lunges toward you and snatches the book. “No. No, I do not.”

He absolutely cannot let you read porn aloud to him, he would lose all semblance of control. Six was already losing it, and that thought has him grumbling under his breath. Unthinkingly, he glances at the page you had open and he groans. This is what you were masturbating to? Fuck, shit. He shouldn’t have looked. His teeth grind together.

Oblivious, you bounce off the bed onto your good leg and say, “Since there’s no one out there, we need food for dinner. Is a store nearby?”

“I’ll go." He immediately takes the diversion. "Gotta find a new doorknob, anyway. You stay here, and listen for my knock.” He pins you with another exasperated look.

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

You want to push him, ask him for the book back, ask him if you’re allowed to continue, but you can see he’s on edge. So you let it go.

He tosses the book unceremoniously on the highest shelf which you can’t reach. You glare at his backside, but he’s gone without turning around.

Six doesn’t get surprised. He doesn't let emotion get the better of him often, and in the past hour you’ve done it twice in two very different ways. He takes a deep breath, and swears again to build one more wall. He can’t let you continue being in danger because of him.

But, part of him knows there’s not much he can really do; leaving would only make you vulnerable and leave him lost. He couldn’t leave your fate up to strangers. No, he knew staying was still the best option. He just needed to stop entangling himself in you. Six’s best chance at protecting you long-term was to convince everyone else that you meant nothing to him. That meant getting through this current shitshow, and disengaging from you. You deserved a normal, boring life. A life where you wouldn’t be hunted, used as a pawn, just to hurt him.

*****************************

Six didn’t speak to you again the entire night. He hadn’t been able to get much with the cash he’d had on hand, but dinner was satisfying enough. You’d handed him his portion on another paper towel, and he had nodded his thanks, but that was just about the only communication he gave you all night. He’d fixed the door and you’d teased him about being handy, but his only response had been to stick his palm out for one of the screws you'd been holding.

He then picked up a book, pointedly avoiding his earlier choice, and actually read all evening while you snuck glances at the way the light from the dusty reading lamp caught his fair hair, his tense face. He had pretended not to notice, but each time your head tilted toward him, he realized his feelings might not be quite so one-sided.

Sure, he knew you were attracted to him; after all, he was trained to notice the little things. The difference between your genuine smile and the polite ones you gave the other bodyguards; the way you unconsciously broke his personal space, brushing past him, poking him; and the way you tried to take care of him. He'd never had that, never had someone bring him glasses of water while he sat at his laptop, ask him how he felt about a certain song, what his favorite flavor of gum was.

But he was afraid it was more Stockholm Syndrome, or boredom, than genuine affection. You were a good person, and bringing someone a glass of water wasn't a Declaration of Intent. So, he had ignored the numerous times you turned to him - written them off as restlessness.

Now, the sheets scratch your face and you rub your eyes, sleep calling you once again. You roll over to face Six, still in his chair, to ask him to join you. Not for anything nefarious, but because you know he must be exhausted. The past thirty-six hours had been stressful, and your method of coping with humor had been at his expense.

Your eyes adjust with the dim lamplight and you see the book drooping from one limp hand, his eyes closed and head tilted to the side. Happy he was finally getting some rest, you shuffle off of the bed, take the book and mark his place before setting it on the shelf. You grab the plush blanket he had given you last night and drape it over his much-larger body. It didn’t fully cover him, but it’d do.

You gaze down at him, admiring his vulnerable form. Six meant more to you than you cared to tell him. No family, a workaholic with coworkers for friends, you’d let yourself grow fond of the reserved, self-sacrificing blonde man with the affinity for chewing gum. It was the closest you’d been to a person in over a year. No matter what he considered you - a client, a ward, a burden - you considered him a friend.

“Thanks for always being there, Six,” you whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear. You softly kiss the top of his hair, then get back in bed. The abyss welcomes you back. You must’ve been dreaming when you heard what sounded like a defeated groan.

*****************************

III

You wake the next morning to Six seated on the opposite corner of the bed, his gun in pieces. You prop yourself up on your left elbow and watch as he painstakingly cleans each part.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

He lowers the barrel in his hands, turning to you. You’re backlit by the small window on the far wall, and he curses inwardly. You look sleepy, domestic. Something pure and stable that he knows he’ll never have.

“Yeah, I can.”

He twists a little in place to fully face you, and you crawl a little closer to see the parts. He picks up a piece and hands it to you, extremely careful not to touch you.

“This,” he explains, “is the slide. It’s what chambers a new round and ejects the old casing.” He hands you a paper towel, again obviously avoiding your skin. “I like a softer cloth, but I don’t have anything blood-free. Gently rub the interior.” He instructs.

You do as he asks, working in silence. You hold it up to him for inspection, a smile, disproportionately proud of your simple task, beams on your face. He responds with a faint smile, and places the slide on another towel designated for finished parts.

“Can you show me how to-” You falter as he turns his heavy eyes back to you. “Like, if I needed to, how to use it?” You hesitantly ask, hoping you weren’t bothering him. You’re not a fan of firearms, they’ve always made you nervous. But if push came to shove, you’d prefer not to be using the gun as a club.

Six is not quite so nervous around guns, and he nods, agreeing that you should have every possible manner of defending yourself.

“Sure.”

You watch in silent admiration as he puts his weapon back together faster than you’d ever be able to, meeting his eye at the end and giving him a dramatic, impressed look. He smiles again, a shade more than earlier.

You slide over to sit beside him, your legs dangling off the bed. He spends the next few minutes helping you find your way around the gun. He still refuses to touch you, and it gets more noticeable with every second. He even sets the gun on the bed for you to pick up rather than hand it to you. You wilt a little at that, sure now that you’ve pushed him away even further than you thought. You can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. He’s never been a touchy-feely, overly-friendly person; why did you make him so uncomfortable yesterday? You want to kick yourself.

You watch as he stifles a yawn.

“Didn’t you sleep?” You ask incredulously.

“I slept enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Six sneaks a quick, longing glance at you, replaying last night’s feeling of your lips on his hair. How he’d woken up at your touch. How could he have slept after that? He’d warred with himself about climbing up beside you, holding you close. But Six didn’t want to push this now. He knew there was a power imbalance here (although most of the time it felt to him like you were the one in control) and he didn’t want your feelings out of gratitude or survival. He’d compromised with himself by letting his mind free; he imagined your breathy sighs as you slept curled against him, how perfectly you’d fit alongside his body, the feeling of your hair between his fingers. He tears himself away.

“Please take a nap. You’re no good to either of us dead on your feet like this.”

“For a corpse, I think I look pretty good.”

“Six, for god’s sake, it’s daylight and it’s been silent for days. I promise I will wake you at any noise.” Your voice drips with earnesty, “I promise.”

He rubs his brow, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes are intent upon you, “You promise.”

You nod twice in quick succession and he makes a face like he’s accepting a plea bargain. He stands, then all but collapses onto the same side of the bed where you’ve been sleeping. You take up vigil in his chair, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

After an hour, your legs begin to cramp, and you start pacing the tiny apartment. Still feeling a little guilty for yesterday, you wonder if there’s any gum nearby. Maybe a vending machine? You assess Sleeping Beauty: still breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to the door and unlock it. Six’s rhythm is unchanged by the sound of the deadbolt, so you slowly pull the door open. Peeking your head out, you see a featureless, white hallway; several other plain-looking doors leading to God-knows-where; and there, at the end and nearly out of sight due to the alcove it’s in, is a glowing vending machine. You pat your pocket and find two coins. Should be enough, you hope. You’re unfamiliar with the local currency, and honestly you’re not even totally sure which country you’re in. You prop the door open, just in case, and cautiously step out into the hallway.

Ears straining for any noise at all, you begin your trek. Keeping your feet as close to the baseboards as you can, you make as little sound as possible. Eventually you reach the vending machine, and you’re right - you have no idea which country this is as you don’t even recognize the language. But you can identify a pack of chewing gum anywhere. It’s only one of the coins, so you pop it in and get your reward. Uneventfully, you return to the room, quietly slipping the door closed, and deadbolting it shut.

Six sleeps for another few hours, while you spend time making lunch for when he wakes up, and reading some of the other, mostly boring, novels scattered around. One novel piques your interest with a convoluted plot which helps time pass. The book makes you feel uneasy, makes you start to wonder about your own situation. It really doesn’t make sense for Six to still be assigned to you over some biochemical project that never even made it to the testing stage. The fact that someone had actually attacked you made even less sense. None of your research was on your person, and it’s not like you had memorized every single formula. Maybe Six knew more than he’d told you.

Thinking about Six makes you grow lonely, wishing selfishly he would wake. You’re debating getting in bed and taking a nap with him, your only inhibitor being your promise, when he stirs. He shoots up like a dead man raised from the grave, his hand going to his side where his weapon usually rests.

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

“Mmph,” he grumbles. You’re trying not to stare at him, but he looks so uncharacteristically soft, you can’t help it. He pretends not to notice, thankfully. Six tosses the covers off, and picks his gun up from the nightstand. He walks to the door and listens. Satisfied, he turns around and sits back on the mattress.

“I can make lunch-” he starts to offer, but you cut him off.

“I already made you some,” you swiftly grab the sandwich from the mini-fridge and deliver it to him. After he takes it, you pull the gum from your pocket, extending it towards him, too.

His eyes jump from you to the gum and back again twice. “Where’d you squirrel that away?” He jokes, thinking you took it from your previous residence. Then he remembers the machine outside. His face tightens, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”

“... don’t be mad at me,” you begin slowly, dropping your hand to your side.

“Dammit.” Six hisses. “Dammit, you promised.” He’s off the bed again, towering over you.

He shakes his head, disbelieving. He’s still in the hyper-alert mode he has been used to for twenty years. But his eyes keep catching on your pouting lips. He’s finding temptation difficult to ignore when all he can think about is how those lips would make him feel.

“I upheld my promise! There were no noises!” You know it’s not a real defense.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind on the problem. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”

“No to the first, and honestly, I can’t answer the second.”

His mouth opens to retort, but he closes it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He raises his hands in supplication and slowly states, “You can’t go out there alone.”

“I wanted to do something nice.” You explain. “But I am sorry. I was trying to ease some small amount of stress for you, not add to it.”

Six snorts and looks away. You'd put yourself in danger to make him happy. How was he supposed to react to that?

When he turns back to you a moment later, he reaches to take your wrist. Goosebumps appear down your arm, but he tries to ignore them. You loosen your grip on the small paper package, allowing him to take your peace offering. You don’t want him to let go of your wrist, and he doesn’t. His hand is hot, his thumb rubbing languidly across your skin.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But shockingly, you take priority over gum.” His tone deepens and he orders again, “Do not go anywhere alone.”

He’s not trying to turn you on, but with his rough hand holding yours, his authoritative face inches from your own, and his protective demands, you feel the tension coiling.

“Mhm, noted,” you respond.

Your blood feels hot. Surely he can feel your pulse thrumming? You try to shake yourself out of the rising heat you feel. Take a cold shower, you thirsty bitch, you mentally jar yourself.

“You wanna relax? Make my job a little easier? It’s like you’re trying to kill me yourself.” Six accuses playfully, finally releasing your wrist, where - yes - he had been enjoying your quickening pulse.

His soulful eyes dance between yours. You feel flames licking up your body, your stomach tightening in anticipation. Am I killing him? The way he’s killing me? Your heart is hammering, body screaming for him to touch you again.

“Little dramatic,” you snort, surprised it comes out in a normal tone of voice. Turning away from him, you walk towards the bathroom.

And you’re not sure what possesses you, you’re half-sure he can’t stand you, but still you hear yourself say, “I’m going to shower. Am I allowed to do that alone, Six?”

His head snaps, his intense stare nearly stopping your breath. You watch him swallow hard and you wonder what he’s thinking. Your chin tilts upward, eyes locked with his, confirming every pass you’ve ever made at him.

And well, he tried, didn’t he? Six is a strong man. He’d been stabbed, shot, he’d fallen from great heights, been pepper-sprayed - and through everything, he’d kept on fighting. But this? The slow drip of you over the past few months had been bad enough, but stuck in this room with you nearly begging for him? He wasn’t strong enough for that.

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

He crosses the room in two strides, his arms enfolding you. He grunts as he lifts you up and backs you into the wall; at the same time his lips come hard against yours, months of repressed feeling apparent in his grip, his fevered kiss.

Your legs curl around his waist, tugging him closer, and your hands move down him - everything you can reach, you want to feel. Your hands press in his hair, his beard, they caress his throat before dropping to feel the beat of his heart through his wide chest. Your frenzied movements send him wild. He had no idea giving in would feel this good; he’s already forgotten about the shower.

You feel the wall disappear as he moves toward the bed. His knee bends on the soft surface as he lays you onto the blankets. You feel his weight pressing into you, grounding you to him. His left hand slides up your shirt, breaking his kiss to remove it fully. He tugs his own off by the collar, and the sight of his bare chest makes you gasp. Intensely defined muscles riddled with scars and tattoos decorate his body. He's lived a hard life. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving, and he makes a lustful noise at the sight. He unclasps your bra, replacing it with his mouth.

“Oh,” you throw your head back at the feeling, and he makes another deep, rumbling sound at your approval.

His pants go next, leaving him in dark red briefs. He pauses and regards your pants, your wounded leg.

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.

He moves his hands appreciatively along your sides, stopping when he reaches your waistband. Six’s beard scratches your sensitive skin as he plants kisses lovingly around your thigh. He’s hoping you understand it’s his apology for not killing the man before he ever touched you. He unbuttons your frayed, fucked-up jeans and places a large hand over the cut on the outside of your leg to protect it while he pulls the material down, your underwear also going.

As he leans back over you, you can’t help but admire him, your eyes brimming with fondness at his care. His burning chest presses into yours, and you can feel his muscles flexing as his hands grope your body.

Your hands go to his hair once more, clutching him to you. His tongue skates over the hollow at the base of your throat - you inhale sharply at the sensation. His thigh shifts between your legs, and the pressure on your most sensitive area causes you to tilt your hips back and forth, riding him a little. Six notes your reaction greedily; he presses his thigh into you harshly and you whine. He places a large hand around the base of your throat, and continues his mouth’s path upward until he reaches your jaw, spurred on by the obscene moans you’re making.

“Sweetheart, you’re making me blush," his breath caresses your ear.

One of your hands cradles his chin while the other snakes along his body, pushing his briefs down - he kicks them off. The feeling of his thick, naked thighs against your own nearly distracts you from your goal. But you find him quickly - you knew he would be big there, too - and you relish the way his powerful body goes slack at your touch. In your peripheral, you can see his biceps shake at the tension building in him. Your thumb brushes over a vein, and you shiver as he lets go of the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard him make.

You lean up to capture his lips and swallow the sound he just made. His hand plunges into your hair, cradling your head while the other palms your lower back; he grunts as he leans back onto his heels, easily taking you with him. His mouth connects with yours, and his hand slides to the curve of your ass.

Your thighs straddle him in this kneeling position, and you grind along his smooth erection. His hand on your ass encourages your rhythm. His other arm falls from your hair to wrap around your midsection, holding you tight to him. Six’s kisses are deep, desperate, but tender somehow. It makes you want him everywhere - you want to know nothing but him. You rock forward far enough that his tip catches at your center.

He stills your movement, keeping you in limbo. He leans his head back to see you. You can feel the strength in his muscles, so you don’t even attempt to fight him for the friction you’re craving. Artlessly pushing back the hair that had fallen in your face, he then rests his palm on your cheek, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.

He shifts his body for a better angle, then slowly - so slowly - pushes up into you. Six’s eyes are almost entirely black, the smallest bit of blue rings his blown pupils as he drinks in your whimper. You didn’t think you could be more turned on, but the look in his eyes is so hungry. He sucks a line of kisses up your neck and the sensation of the warm trail cooling on your skin causes you to clench down on him; he grunts again at that.

You sigh in relief when his hip bones sit flush with yours. You’ve been so ready for this man, the considerable stretch doesn’t hurt in the slightest. You breathlessly laugh; utter bliss surging through you. You don’t try to move, knowing instinctively that he’s in charge.

“Mmm,” he hums gruffly, running a hand through your hair.

You feel him twitch inside you, and you want to ask him what he just thought about, but he pulls out and thrusts up into you without warning. You cry out, but he’s not done. He does it again, then again, snapping his hips brutally. You’re getting what you wanted, he’s driving up into you and it is overwhelming; Six is destroying you, piece by piece. His arms flex as they hold you still, his stomach muscles jump at the strain underneath your slack hands. Sweat begins to shine on both of you; the slick reward for his exertion somehow making you wetter elsewhere. A lock of dirty blonde comes free, swinging against his forehead; and you’re mesmerized by the masculine beauty of Sierra Six.

His pattern slows briefly to lay you both back down. His right hand finds its home in your hair, before he begins a deeper, more sensual pace. You gasp out his name at the new feeling, the intimacy. He’s weakened your body so thoroughly that he is absolutely fucking you senseless into the mattress despite his slower pace. You grasp at the bedsheets above your head; you can hear the bed creaking with the force of him. His lips press against your forehead, breathing heavy. One hand cradles the base of your skull while the other plants against the wall for leverage. He tilts his head to rest against yours, and it’s clear he’s all but making love to you at this point. The knot in your stomach gets more tenuous with each and every one of his touches.

You try to reign in your gasps, your cries, but his left hand falls between where you’re joined, and your attempt at being quiet ends entirely.

His lips brush your ear and he growls, “Should’ve known you’d be as loud in bed as you are every other fucking day.”

“You love it,” you choke out, smiling smugly.

His voice is heady, “It is that obvious?”

You’re in sensation overload, the feeling of Six pushing inside you, the rhythmic motion of his hand, and that look in his eyes has your body taut as a bowstring. Your hands reach up to frame his face, wanting to hold him, when you're surprised by the tension in your abdomen snapping viciously. You writhe up beneath him, fucking him back, never breaking eye contact. You feel yourself repeatedly clench down as you come apart for him, finally closing your eyes when you breathe out his name. Six possessively parts your lips with his, groans echoing in the space between kisses as he lets go, too. His hips begin to stutter; his abdominal muscles jerk as he buries himself deep within you, spending himself nearly as powerfully as you did.

His head drops to your collarbone and you press another kiss to his hair. Six raises up on his forearms, memorizing the way you look underneath him. His lips meet yours again softly before he carefully eases himself from you. He wraps a muscle-bound arm around you, tugging you to him. Six scoots both of you a few inches onto a pillow and throws the covers over you.

Diffused, indigo light from the window indicates that sunset has just occurred, and you can’t help but hope tomorrow doesn't come. Staying here in this comfortable, intimate twilight world was the only place you cared to exist. You feel Six’s chest press into your back then retreat, and his exhale tickles your ear. The tattoo on his left forearm lay across your naked breast, and you don’t stop yourself from tracing it.

“That feels wonderful,” his sigh is gravelly. You shift further into him and he responds by pulling you tighter, settling you flush against his body.

“I won’t stop, then,” you promise him quietly.

He sighs, and within a few moments, you feel his breathing deepen. You keep your promise until you drift away, too.

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