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ghostlygeto · 8 months

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let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling”, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate x reader #mine !!#bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion drabble #astarion fluff

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httpsserene · 7 months

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances.

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done? he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals.

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you.

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not.

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone.

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls.

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down.

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body.

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

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superkirbylover · 5 months

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FINALLY!!! the VERY final refs for the ponified cast of pizza tower. everypony has the same name except for pizzahead, who's called pizzahoof. pizzahoof was also designed by @c0met-dr01d!! go check them out :]

under the cut is me rambling about their cutiemarks (or lack thereof) and other design choices

gustavo's cutiemark is a pizza with three mushroom toppings, because he's a chef, and earlier in pizza tower development, he was a gnome! this isn't the case anymore though, but i still like to think he is. that, and i just associate him with gnome forest, so it felt fitting. plus, i suppose it adds to the mario comparisons lmao

peppino's cutiemark is a pepperoni pizza alongside a pizzacutter. i know people are raising eyebrows at the pepperoni, but my excuse is... uhh, they're not actually pepperoni. it's like, some vegetarian alternative. probably made of flowers or some shit. the pizza is obvious, he's a chef and he cooka-da-pizza. the pizza cutter isn't just to hammer that in, but it's also a callback to the various times throughout pizza tower development where he used to have a pizza cutter buzz-saw! especially in pizza massacre

noise's cutiemark is a bomb with its fuse lit, because it represents his explosive personality and he often uses bombs. dude is wacky, unpredictable and can be a feral fucking thing. also something about acting, being a mascot or being in the showbiz somewhere in the mix. he has a tail, but it's just... in his suit. he's a dumbass

noisette's cutiemark is a ruby chocolate bar. she runs a cafe, and while she presumably has Really Weird Taste, i figured it would be a really cute fit for her. it's sweet, just like her! and pink. just like her!

fake peppino deliberately does not have a cutiemark. it's to add to the sense of "failed clone," where many aspects of peppino have been successfully recreated (body type, hair color, coat color, outfit, facial hair) but other small things have been muddled or changed by mistake (height, eyes not staying in their sockets, hair being more smooth looking, face shape). not to mention, he's made of dough, like his original clone counterpart. in the show, it's established that only ponies can have cutiemarks. while he looks like a pony, who's to say he really is one?

stick's cutiemark is that television hud you see when you have enough money to buy a boss gate in pizza tower. i chose this cause on top of being a tv, a reoccurring object throughout the game, it also has some modifications to make it more... stick-y. it has his hat and a propeller coming from the top, and if you know stick, that man likes to make shit, specifically to sell and make money. that's also why there's a money sign in the tv. stick has a tail stub but i never really draw it myself. he's completely bald. mind you, he still has his coat, but no mane, no tail. zilch. he's a bald motherfucker. also stick's magic color is green

pizzahoof also does not have a cutiemark. he's a fucking cheese pony, why would he need one? dude just exists to be silly and whimsical. giving him one i feel would go against his character of just being clownish, doing what he wants when he wants, regardless if it means others suffer because of him or not. also, he's MADE of CHEESE!!!

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robobarbie · 1 month

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Hello hellooooooo! We recently had a banner contest in the discord server, and I wanted to show y'all the awesome entries that didn't win. They're all really cool in their own ways, so I wanted to give them each a lil moment.

(by @/jestie)

Love the focus on xyx!! He reminds me almost of what I'd think teenage him would look like. Very chill, sporty, and out with friends on a beautiful spring day. The linework in this feels really soft as well -- especially on those hat details. AND THERE'S CAT!! CAT!!!

All other submissions under the cut!

(by @/hunddenseje)

I like the details in the flowers a lot for this one. The way people draw roses and how they choose those inner patterns is always neat. And the little plants and mushrooms on his shoulders are fun!! They go well with that striped shirt pattern!!!

(by @/stintsy)

The way this artist circled the boys with that pink rosy pattern will stick in my brain for a while. It's v pretty, and it's like they opened a bush and found us in there for some reason. "Hello! Happy Spring!" Thanks boys please close it back up!!! It's my cry hour in the bush!!!!

(by @/emmascient)

This person's artstyle is so unique and full of life. The little spots of light coming through the trees just adds to whole thing, too. And I really like seeing fanart of owl with textured hair!!! Also check out xyx's fucking biceps holy fucking sh-

(by @/.mewo.)

Just a bunch of bros on their lunch break bayBEEEEEEEEEE!!! I like the detail of toast's coat tied around their waist and the fucking anti-societyboy shirt quest is wearing LMFAO. Also cat is ADORABLE in this. God. More cat art. Always need more cat art!!

(by @/c1nnadoll)

Every time nightowl is drawn in a croptop, two months is added to my life. I just know it's true. God bless that cute ass flower crown and the perfect little peace sign. Man looks so stable and happy. I hope he had a nice day after this picture!!!

(by @/fluffydeer21)

Toast and Quest look so content and cute with their flowers. And there's another neat rose with a lil interior pattern! Held, of course, by this artist's fave LI. Xyx looks pretty good with gold jewelry, I cannot lie. I have no idea why I made them green in game. LMFAO

(by @/noneivly)

I like how this feels like a painting. Like those brush strokes and even the palette choice just look like something you'd see hung on a wall? It's really cool. Also the little detail of the chibi picnic boys in the background makes me giggle. Small!!!!! So fucking small!!!

(by @/kiki_221)

The energy in this is excellent. You can almost hear them laughing together at Toast's expense (deserved I'm sure). I'd like to imagine they're all relaxing at a park after a big lunch. I hope they got to discuss all the good things that happened to them this week.

(by @/01noxxie10)

Another excellent chillin in the grass pic! Purple actually looks really good on Quest. I don't think I've ever drawn him in that color before? So this image made me think about that a LOT. Also look at fuckin chill ass xyx. Calm beautiful motherfucker. Fuck you!!! Fuck you!!!

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There's two more images, but those are the discord banner winner and the one I chose for my twitter! If you want to see those excellent drawings, check out my twitter here or join the discord server here!

Thank you everyone for all the submissions! I treasure them deeply!!

#fanart #xyx #quest #nightowl #nakedtoaster

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the-faceless-bride · 11 months

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In need of 'Correction'...

Summary -> You were working for the other side, and while trying to plant bugs to gather information you end up getting caught, and while you thought you would end up dead... It somehow leads to something else... It seems the ones who caught you deem you in need of correction... A sweet doe-eyed thing like you wouldn't have done something like this on your own, you've clearly been manipulated... Don't worry, they'll help you.

⚠️warnings: porn w/ little to no plot, Non-con/Dub-con, forced orgasms, squirting, double penetration, anal (reader receiving), manipulation, mind break (?), yandere behavior (if you squint), ooc task force 141, I tried my best to keep reader GN! Read is called Pretty and has a vigina, reader is smaller than tf 141, readers codename is "Bandit", smut, slapping, being held against will, forced kissing, forced touching, forced oral (giving and receiving), interrogation, threats, dark content, violence against reader, might make a part 2 if you really like it, let me know if I missed anything!!!⚠️

Characters include: John Price, Johnny Soap, Simon Ghost, Kyle Gaz, Alejandro

A/n: I'm not the best at writing in Spanish, correct me if I write something wrong or incorrect, also I've been gone for a while so I'm a little rusty, please forgive me if it's shitty, ESPECIALLY the smut. If you have any tips I appreciate it, likes and reblogs are welcome!

You woke up with a throbbing in your head, your vision slightly blurred and your skin felt gross with the amount of dried blood that had been caked onto your face under your mask. You looked around, you were tied to a wooden chair and pushed into a small table, a single bright light illuminating the small room. an investigation room?.where were you? You don't remember much but you do remember being sent to plant bugs where the information is sent and getting information on some files...

You held onto the rafters crawling across as quickly and quietly as you could. Trying to reach the vents to crawl through and get right into the main office, you needed to plant a few bugs to get important information about some files and documents.

When you got into the vents you crawled around for a while trying to remember the layout you saw on the map. But you stopped when you heard voices. "-not sure, but whoever they are, they're smart. We gotta find them. They could be useful." another voice. "Maybe they can be persuaded to join our side? Money?" another voice. "tsk- shouldn't give money to a waste of air. How the hell sells out for money?! A disgrace if you ask me." they were talking about you. they wanted to get you on their side? Why? What for? Information? Skill? Or- oh shit.

The vent creaked.

All hell broke loose. Everyone in that room from what you heard got up and scattered to block off your only exits. You had to move fast.

You thought for a moment and chose to take the long way. You kicked open the grate beneath you and drop to the floor below. You ran out of the room. Taking turns. Trying to remember the way out.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Then your luck ran out and you slammed into someone's chest. You might know all their names, but you would be an idiot to not know him.

Ghost.

Then after a moment, he held you tightly the mask over your face becoming suffocating. And your vision began to blur.

He let you go and your head hit the wall, and you finally blacked out.

You didn't have more time to think before the door slammed open and a group of men walked through. They were all eyeing you. A dark hunger in their eyes.

One takes a step forward. You assume he is Captain Price. You try not to flinch as he rips the mask from your head. You still flinched. Some parts of your hair stick to your face. You fight the urge to try and wipe it off. Not wanting to risk taking your eyes off of the group of men that stood in front of you.

"hm-" a man huffed looking at you "When I pictured you, I didn't think you'd be so... Pretty?" a man with a Scottish accent thought out loud, the man next to him chuckled. "Soap, Gaz. Please. Keep it in your pants... For now." Ghost sighed.

Soap. And Gaz. That was their names...

You looked back to Price, he pouts in mock sympathy. Before pulling over a chai and sitting across from you.

"what's your name." he wasn't asking. He was giving you a command. His voice was deep and dripped with authority. In other circumstances, you would've felt flustered. But at this moment you were just scared. You weren't an idiot. These men were all bigger than you. You were a good fighter. But you knew if you tried to fight you would lose. And you didn't want to die here.

You looked up, making eye contact with Price. "I... I'm Bandit." you tried to hold eye contact but it was difficult. It felt like he was looking into the depths of your soul. You looked at your feet. Only to jump when his hand slammed on the table.

A faint, "aw" could be heard. You felt pathetic. "well. Bandit. You don't seem cut out for this kind of work. Too soft. Too jumpy. I don't wanna have to hurt that pretty face. So why don't you just tell me what you know? Confirm who you work for, and why you are on their side. And I might think about letting you go without a scare on you."

You look from him to the men behind him, back to your feet. You couldn't tell them anything. Even if they let you go after this you'll be tracked down. From where you sit. Both end in death. You didn't know these men well. But you knew the men you worked with. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and would skin you alive and leave you for the rats to pick at. You chose to take your chances with these men.

"oh? No longer interested in talking? Fine. But you asked for it. Alejandro. If you wouldn't mind?" Price stood from his chair. And the man Alejandro walked towards you. Your heart rate picked up.

You didn't get a moment to think as a hard smack was sent to the side of your face, fuck did it hurt. You tried to hold in the tears as a whimper escaped you. Blow after blow to your ribs, cheek, legs, and hands. All dealt with the same amount of unforgiving force. Ten minutes in you were a whimpering tear-stained mess. Small gasps of "stop." and "please." you were never cut out for this pain. You had always stayed in the shadows away from the fire. Now you curse yourself for not training your body and pain tolerance.

The strikes stopped and the man named Gaz took a step forward, his hand coming up to your face and you flinch away. He coos at you. Mocking you.

"you poor thing. You just want this to stop." you lightly nod your head as he takes a rag that he dipped in a bucket of freezing water - was that bucket always there? - he softly runs the rag over your face cleaning you of the blood and sweat. Using a hand to move hair from your face. The softness makes you mean into his touch. No longer wanting the painful touch.

"If you want this to stop, all you have to do is tell us what you know. What they know and why. Okay?" your lip trembles, "I can't." you whisper. "It was just meant to be a quick cash grab. I needed to help pay off a debt and this money was meant to help. If I tell you I either end up dead or tracked down and beaten to death later." Gaz looks into your eyes for a moment before they shift to the other men. They all seem to nod their heads, having a secret conversation with themselves. "we can protect you. As long as you work for us instead."

"b-but I don't know anything important about the people who hired me. I-" he and the rest of the men let out low chuckles, "no, we don't mean that kind of work. Just, allow us to show you how you've been wrong and do some... Physical work for us."

"physical work? But I'm not as strong as you guys and I don't have that much pain tolerance when it comes to this stuff and-" you were cut off, "don't worry, you'll get more of a tolerance and you being weaker is just how we like it." you were so focused on trying to put the pieces together to notice the rest of the men closing in on you, "I can see in your pretty eyes that your confused, allow as to make it nice and easy for you to understand."

The ropes around your hands and legs were snapped and you were lifted onto the table. Soap and Alejandro held down your legs, as Ghost and Price help your arms, Gaz worked on unbuckling your belt. After a moment of shock, the pieces finally fell into their place.

You began to struggle. "wait! I- you can't! Let go! Let me go!" Alejandro laughs at your cries, "More vocal now, aren't you pequeña? Just enjoy it. It's better than the pain before isn't it?"

Your pants are now around your knees, you wish you could close your legs or cover them but you can't. "don't worry love, I'll be nice. I'll prepare you a little." Gaz smiles at you as he lowers his head. Pressing a kiss to your clit before taking a long and slow lick up your cunt. "no please!" you struggle to keep yourself composed.

He kisses and sucks lightly on your clit, coaxing more sweet slick to drip from you. You don't wanna like it. You've never felt such pleasure in this way before. You didn't have sex a lot with your job but when you did it was rushed and didn't focus solely on you. But at this moment that was the only thing happening.

You felt him push a finger in, searching for that sweet spot that would make you cry out. And after a moment a gasp from you told Gaz that he had found it. He then pushed in another finger, both pushing against that spongy spot within you, sucking your clit at the same time. Your back arches. Stop it! You don't want this. You don't want to like this. This was wrong. Gross. So why did your body respond so willingly to him?

"she's fighting it." Ghost groans out. Clearly enjoying your sounds of struggle and strangled whimpers.

"awe, com'on hen. Let go. Enjoy it."

You gasp as you feel the knot start to tighten more and more. Don't. Don't you dare. If you do they'll win! You can't! Don't!-

You gasp. you feel a gush of liquid as the knot pulls tight and snaps. You look up, your vision around you blurring as you look into the one light above you. After a beat, you look down between your legs. Gaz's lips, chin, and even his nose were covered in your slick. You felt your face go warm with embarrassment, you had never done that before.

"oh fuck yeah-" Soap groans out and the others make a sound of agreement, all of them now all over you. Your body feels numb and you don't know if you have it in you to struggle. Soap kissed his way up to your chest playing with your chest, Alejandro kissed and left marks on your hips, Price and Ghost kissed your neck and collarbone.

You heard the sound of a belt buckle before feeling something warm, soft, and round rubbing against your entrance. You whimper knowing what's coming.

"oh lovie don't whine like that, you'll almost make me feel bad." Gaz teased slowly pushing in with a soft sigh as you clench around him. He leans over careful of the others and kisses you. The kiss is sickeningly sweet and soft. The soft whine he makes also does no favors in helping you keep your composer.

Soap pulls away with a light, "fuck it" as he makes his way over to the other side undoing his belt, "Hen, mind given me a hand?" you don't really get to respond as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, using your hand as a fucktoy the precum oozing and making your hand slick and sticky. "oh, yeah hen~ such a good little pet~" he sighs Alejandro soon joining his making you use both hands, both men grinning as they chase their pleasure.

Gaz thrusts a few times testing to see if you've relaxed a bit more so he could slide in and out easier. Once he was satisfied he pulled away making a motion towards the other men, they all move to the side. Soap and Alejandro stroking their girths, Price and Ghost finally undoing their belts.

You were now laid onto of Gaz as he pushed himself back into your dripping pussy, Soap and Alejandro taking your hands to stroke their cocks again, Price and Ghost finally picking their spots.

Ghost pushes his angry red tip against your plush lips, his eyes giving you a warning to dare and disobey the Silent order. And Price made his way behind you with Gaz, he wasn't as kind as Gaz was he simply spreads your ass apart before spitting and letting his tip do the work of spreading the makeshift lube.

You lick your lips nervously as you slowly open your mouth for the man looming over you. He wastes no time pushing his way into your mouth and thrusting his hips making sure to touch the back of your throat each time. And Price simply pushed in, no warning, no stretch, the burn was painful. It made you whine and sputter around Ghost who was starting up an unforgiving rhythm that would surely leave your throat raw.

The mix of Pain from Price, the pleasure from Gaz and his perfectly arched cock hitting the most sensitive part inside of you, and the lack of oxygen due to Ghost's unforgiving thrusts and the dirty words in your ears from Alejandro and Soap was overwhelming. But fuck was it good.

All these feelings, the fear inside of you, the lust. You just couldn't take it anymore. Fighting would be useless at this point.

You start pumping Soap and Alejandro faster, they both let out a surprised sigh but quickly allow themselves to be taken care of.

"that's it hen, be a good little toy for us~ fuck your so hot hen~"

"Sí, así como así mi amor. Esa es una buena chica, sigue acariciándome así."

Ghost groans with a smirk, you can't see it behind his mask but if you could you'd melt.

"That's it dear, focus on sucking that cock. You like taking my cock, don't you? You'll swallow it all right baby?"

Gaz and Price fucking into you.

"Fucking Slut, you like taking cock huh? you like the way I fuck you? Fuck your tight, never taking it in the ass before huh? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it my little slut."

"Fuck lovie, you're so good for us. You'll be good, right? You'll stay and be our little cock slut? You'll play nice right? Can't wait for the others to see you like this. Such a perfect little pet for us~"

You whimper and moan, Fuck you're gonna cum again. And from the sounds around you, so are they.

In a few moments, Soap lets out a sweet moan and paints the left side of your face white with his cum. The sight made Alejandro groan, you looked so pretty, covering the right side of your face with His cum too. They pull away admiring their work.

Ghost's hips pick up in spread before he slams down holding your head in place, your nose against the ash-blonde happy trail. Cum flowed down your throat, swallowing all you could. He pulls back as you cough and suck in as much air as you could.

Your hands shoot down to hold onto Gaz's shoulders, your moans now free for all to hear. You moan as you feel yourself squirt again all over Gaz's thighs, a moment later feeling both men fill you with their cum. Price was the first to pull out with a low chuckle.

"so what do you say Lovie? Wanna stay with us? I promise we'll give you lots of orgasms~"

Part 2 ->

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piakae · 2 months

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babys-breath ☆— k. jungwon

synopsis ➔ jungwon decides to make a bouquet for you.

pairing ➔ florist!jungwon x fem!reader

genre ➔ fluff!!!

word count ➔ idk why i put this here

warnings ➔ stressed jungwon, incest NOT BETWEEN THEM OMG

a/n ➔ can’t spell jungwon without win. or whatever

The oak wood table with splinters and thorns sticking out of it rests under Jungwon’s gloved hands, flowers of all shapes, sizes, and shades popping out of various baskets around him. His laptop, that was over decorated with brand stickers, was displaying an unknown website’s article about flower’s meanings and messages.

You’d think he knew all about it, working as a florist and all. But when he curated custom orders and new arrangements for the week, he either copied photos or did exactly what the customer wanted.

Something about this arrangement caused a drop of sweat to appear, his fingers to rake through his already messy hair, and hands to shake with uncertainty.

It was for you.

Only yesterday were you watching a romcom in class, fangirling over the beautiful bouquet that the male lead gave to the female lead, all while Jungwon was critiquing the colours and choice of flowers that the man chose.

The boy on the screen, his name was Tim, totally blew his first confession, something Jungwon had visually cringed at.

You blow some hair out of your eyes, the strands distracting you from the drama, also leaning in closer to the screen. Jungwon’s cologne tricked you into thinking that’s how the male lead smelt, and the smell of your shampoo tricked Jungwon into thinking that’s how the female lead smelt.

‘Tim, I told you that we can’t be together.’

‘Why? Tiffany, you are the only one for me.’

‘Tim–‘

‘Tiffany, please–‘

You both inch closer, practically connected at the hip.

‘We’re cousins, Tim!’

Jungwon smiled at the memory of your disgusted face, deciding that he needed to get this bouquet over and done with before the sun went down, hoping to get it to you that afternoon. He let out an anxious sigh and eyed the several flowers surrounding him, feeling like he was about to be ransacked by some daisies and roses.

His eyes shined against the sunset cutting through the stores windows, a perfect bouquet held in front of him. It was the fifth one he made. First was too yellow, second was too big. Third was just sad (he then decided to buy a coffee), fourth was too happy. Fifth was insanely large.

This one was perfect. Yellow, orange, pink, white flowers perfectly clustered and spread, wrapped in newspaper because he ran out of plastic wrap and tissue paper on his fourth try. Jungwon bit his lip, nodding his head in pride.

He grabbed his bag with his fresh clothes, locked the store, then unlocked it because he forgot the bouquet, then locked it again.

“Jungwon?” Your voice rings out, pausing him in his steps. He shoved the bouquet behind him and looked up at you nervously. Fiddling with the stems behind him, he turns.

“Hey Y/n.” As you look him up and down, never seeing him in his uniform before, he suddenly realised he may have others things to be concerned about. “I’ve just- uh- finished my shift.”

You seemed to be returning from the library, still clad in your school uniform. Still beautiful to him.

You nod with a small smile, leaning to peak behind him. A baby’s breath flopped down, as did you smile.

“Are those flowers for someone?”

“What flowers?”

“The ones behind your back?”

He looked over his shoulder to the bouquet, and put his lips into a thin line. Your hair had perfectly fallen, one piece of it in your face that you promptly blew away. It reminded him of the drama, your concentration, your reaction to the disastrous confession. He did not want to be the Tim in this situation, especially the cousin part.

“These… are for you.”

You blinked, “What?”

“You liked the bouquet from that drama we were watching, the one with the cousins- you know how it was like terrible and weirdly incest-“

“-Yes! Yes I know, Won.”

He sighed and smiled, “So I made you this.” Jungwon brought it out from his back and nervously darted his eyes between the flowers and your reaction. A soft smile crept up onto your eyes, a shade of pink painting your cheeks.

“Thank you Jungwon.”

You stepped towards him and took the bouquet, smelling them, eyes glittering.

“This is amazing. You’re way better than Tim.” Your heart thumped at his laughter, and Jungwon looks down to where you’ve slipped your fingers with his too smoothly, blushing like crazy. “And I’ll give you extra brownie points if you pay for my muffin, we’re going to the café.”

@raevyng @enhacolor

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagine #enhypen fic #jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon x yn #jungwon drabbles #jungwon x reader #kpop

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1wh4re1 · 6 months

Text

Okay so more Ghoap x F!Reader. Just a blurb. Also, these will definitely be in whatever order inspiration strikes me first.

You're covered in sweat, tendrils of hair sticking to your face and you swear you swear you can still feel your left side despite the epidural. You've been at this for what feels like days despite it being less than 10 hours.

This wasn't how you imagined the birth of your baby. One partner whose remains had drifted over that beautiful cliffside and the other god knows where who chose to walk away from you. Still, you are grateful for the man holding your hand beside you now.

John Price never imagined he'd be in this situation. Your hand gripping his (quite painfully god your grip is strong), and him wiping away your sweat and tears. He knows he isn't the man who should be here and he knows that he shouldn't have sent Simon to chase a lead so close to your due date even though the man doesn't even know you're pregnant at all.

He watches you flush, tears leaking from your eyes through another round of pushing, and thinks he is quite possibly the biggest bastard on earth for keeping this secret for you.

You're exhausted. Worn out. Dead beat tired. The doctor between your legs encourages you. Only a few more pushes she says and you're almost there. You sob, heaving breaths as more tears stream down your face. Squeezing Price's hand you start to push again, praying that this is the end.

The relief of hearing your baby cry for the first time is overshadowed by the blood rushing through your ears and the wooziness you feel. You can't make out what the doctors are saying.

"What...what are they saying," you slur, tongue feeling heavier than lead in your mouth as you roll your head over to look at Price. "Where's my baby, why can't I see my baby?"

Price tries to reassure you but the room is erupting into chaos around him. The monitors attached to you start to wail.

"BP is dropping."

"She's hemorrhaging."

"We need an OR stat. Page them and tell them we are on the way."

"Sir, we need to move her please go to the waiting room."

The last thing you feel is Price's hand leaving yours before you slip under into a cool abyss.

@thefictionalgemini @ghostslittlegf @oniiloma @astro-ghoul99

#I still dont know what to name this series #no beta we die like men #im sorry if this is bad #im a first time writer #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #captain john price is a gift and will support his team always #ghoap x female reader #ghoap x you #constructive feedback is totally welcome #my stuff

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astyrial · 8 months

Text

little lamb spencer reid x fem!reader (angst) synopsis: you are kidnapped by an unsub word count: 1.5k warnings: blood, kidnapping, torture, hurt/comfort masterlist | requests are open

a finger slowly and steadily hovers above your skin, running from your chin to your collarbone. your hair stands on edge as he looks down towards you. the man has a wicked smile on his face, his lips curl only a little as he sees the fear resting in your eyes.

"pretty little lamb, tricked so easily by a wolf in sheep's clothing. couldn't you, of all people, see that i very clearly brought you into my trap? shouldn't the fbi be the best of the best? and yet you follow like sheep," he brutally laughs, the thick mucus building up in his throat quickly regurgitating.

your eyes look up at the man, meeting his own. he has rich brown eyes, nearly black, as the light fades from them. "oh, but obviously i chose you for a reason, can't you see? i chose you because they'd do anything to keep you safe. that spencer kid, yeah, i'm sure he's loving this."

spencer... your lip quivers a little as you attempt to hold back any tears. your mind begins to race as to what he had said about the unsub. that he thrives on fear, he enjoys someone who fears him. that the man also has to have a military background, probably a father figure who served.

"you're a sick bastard," your jaw tightens in his direction, your lips no longer moving, your eyes attempting to hide the very real fear hidden within.

he laughs, raising his hand up to his forehead, "isn't that just great, you're trying to act like you're not scared? have i not put on enough theatrics for you people? not enough risk?"

just out of your line of sight, the man grabs something. it doesn't leave much room for imagination as it sticks into your upper arm, a knife. it's a few inches deep into the skin and yet he feels the need to push it in a little farther. like the man yearns for the feeling of ending someone's life, like he is draining their life force.

despite the strong will inside, an exasperated cry for help reverberates deep from your lungs. a laugh rings through your head, a rich and annoying laugh that imbeds itself. he pulls the knife out and watches as the blood seeps down your blouse. "are you finally getting it? that you can't hide your fear as well as you think you can."

"fuck off," you swallow whatever phlegm built up in your mouth, your eyes meeting his.

a little spit hits his cheek, his eyes wide in amusement. everything you do can't stop the vile things he is already planning out in his head. "really? stupid little lamb. none of your friends? coworkers? what do you consider them? because if it's anything closer than coworkers, i'm sure they'll be crying at your funeral."

no amount of training can prepare you for the expression on his face. no amount of an agent shouting at you that this moment is the moment that matters. no amount of textbooks that spencer sends to your office can prepare you for the feeling of a knife running along your thigh.

"you know how this goes, you've seen the tapes. how about you look up and give your last words. and makes sure they're nice, your boyfriend will be watching," he smiles, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts a shoddy camera hooked up to a laptop.

of course you've thought of your last words, you're an fbi agent. you've been in comprising situations. however, you never thought it would realistically come. it never has and you thought retirement would've come quicker. "no," you shake your head, no long winded speech about justice, just no.

"no? what do you mean no? you really have nothing to say to me? your friends? family? don't you wanna say anything?" he yells, the knife falling with his hand until it grazes your knee, taking a piece of skin with it.

you double over in the chair, your arms restricting you from moving forward much. your teeth clench hard against your lips and cause a little blood to fall. the unsub looks to you, his knife bloodied and dangerous. without much foresight, he hits the backend of it against your nose.

with the same hand, he uses his knuckle to hit your eye and eyebrow. the knife slicing your forehead as he does so. "you're all so stubborn. you know that?" the unsub breaths heavily, parts of his face twitching as he glared at you. "maybe this'll be the tape, i don't need you give some sob story."

"yes you do," you cough up, ensuring that your word count stay small, "you need me to."

was goading the unsub your best choice? probably not. but from what you can remember is that this unsub is repetitive. he has traits similar to that of someone with obsessive compulsive disorder. he needs you to give a grand speech because that's what he's been taught.

"i do, little lamb? and how would you know, because some of your profiler friends know? they don't know me, but since you think they do, then tell me. how well do they know me?" he smiles, believing he had somehow tricked you into believing that this doesn't count.

but every long winded speech counts. he just can't recognize it. "you're right, they don't know you," your eyebrows lower, your forehead creasing as you wait and watch as the unsub sighs. his thumb running along the edge of the knife's handle.

he leans towards you, his eyes inches from yours, and truly it's the first time you've seen such lifeless eyes from a living person. the unsub takes the knife and plunges it into your stomach, your body lurching forwards at the impact. however, it doesn't do much but makes the wound feel even worse.

the knife twists a little as he continues to stare right at your eyes, waiting for something. but the only thing the two of you can hear is a loud crashing noise. the man quickly pulls the knife out, causing blood to quickly pour from the spot.

"fbi! raise your hands mr. sanchez and drop the knife!" derek's voice coats your mind and released a wave of serotonin. suddenly adrenaline is not the only thing keeping you running.

"i'm in here!" you attempt to scream, however, it mainly comes out as a croak. your voice scratchy and losing most of its shape and tone.

the one and only person you wanted to see the most runs through the doorway. his fbi vest covers a sweater vest, his hands raised with a finger wrapped around the trigger of a gun. spencer.. your face instantly falls, tears piling up by your eyes, "spence."

he lowers the gun, stuffing it into his holster as he runs over to you. spencer raises his hands up to your face, his fingers lingering by your eyes. his thumb runs along your cheeks as tears run down his own face. especially when he notices the blood covering your blouse and jeans.

"what happened? we have an ambulance here, an emt is making his way up as we speak. i should've been there with you, should've stopped him," spencer's eyes search the wounds on your body, making sure to unbound your hands.

you shake your head, your lip shaking as you can't find the words to answer his questions. a shiver runs along your arms, sending goosebumps down your body as spencer's hands press against your stomach. you wait for seconds, watching until the emt finally arrived.

"i'm jake, the emt. where have you been hurt?" he immediately opens his bag, his eyes looking between you and spencer.

spencer starts instructing him of the places he could find that seemed to have surpassed the skin. "thank you," you whisper to him as the emt patches up your stomach. the stitches running through your skin causes you hold onto spencer's hand, making sure to hold it tightly.

"you'll be okay, because i know you. you're strong, y/n. you survived this, that's what matters," spencer reaches his hands up to your cheeks again, smearing a little blood onto one of them. he stands up and kissing the top of your forehead. his lips are soft, yet slightly cracked from possible dehydration.

you look up at him, your head pounding from the loss of blood. and yet, the only thing you can think of is spencer. it's the best time to have your mind sidetracked, enamored with the love of your life instead of with the hasty stitches in your stomach.

"are you coming with to the hospital?" you question, your hand grabbing his, your eyes closing slowly as you start to feel the pain that the adrenaline can no longer hide.

"of course y/n, i would go to the ends of the earth with you. what's one hospital?" spencer smiles, bringing a little warmth to your evening. it may be to help you not realize just how freaked out he is, either way, his smile is exactly what you would've wanted to see last before passing out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fic

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lemonxdaisybby · 1 month

Note

Waking up in the morning with Ichigang peeps as their s/o

SFW/NSFW are ok

Hello! Thank you for the ask 💕

I’ve been playing Infinite Wealth, so included Tomi in this too because he is a cutie patootie, and needs some love.

Ichiban:

Waking up with Ichiban would be like waking up next to a ray of sunshine.

Well, maybe not at first, as you would actually wake up before him, and he would be snoring away still. However, once he does wake up he’s going to greet you with the biggest grin ever. Every single day. No matter how long you two have been together for, waking up next to you just makes this man so damn happy.

Even though he almost always wakes up after you, and also can’t cook very well, he would still offer to make you a basic breakfast or a coffee.

Loves it when you choose to stay in bed with him for extra cuddles. He would just kind of wrap his arms and legs around you, almost like a koala, and would close his eyes happily as he snuggles in to you.

Nanba:

He has the fluffiest, cutest case of bed-head you have ever seen. It would look like a little bird has nested on his head. He is also a cutie without his glasses, and would be squinting so hard as he can’t see shit.

He loves to sleep in, and is rarely up early if he can help it. He’d love it if you chose to sleep in with him too, and there’d be absolutely no rush to get out of bed.

If he is ever dragged out of bed early, just know that he is not a morning person at all. He would be super grumpy, and everyone would have to listen to him complaining.

Nanba is a big fan of sleepy morning sex. It would be very lighthearted, slow and lazy, as the two of you would still feel half asleep, but it would be very cosy and sweet nonetheless.

Adachi:

Adachi is an early riser, and can’t lie in bed for too long in the morning as he would get a bad back (poor old man). This means morning cuddles would either be very short-lived, or would be non-existent.

If you are also an early riser and happen to wake around the same time, Adachi may just ask you for a quickie, to start the day off on a good note.

He is actually quite cheerful of a morning, especially waking up next you. He’d just feel so content, ready to start a fresh new day with you by his side.

He would absolutely adore it if you made him breakfast. Little domestic things like that would just make him feel all warm and fuzzy. He might try and return the favour occasionally, but he’s not the best cook, and it would be something very simple and quick to make.

Saeko:

Saeko is not a morning person. Don’t speak to her before she’s had her morning coffee, otherwise she is very grumpy.

She would have some pretty cute bed-head going on. Like some parts would just be defying gravity, sticking straight up in odd directions. If you pointed this out, she would immediately place a pillow over her hair, grumbling as she glowers at you from underneath the pillow. She is not amused by your teasing.

Saeko would definitely have a full on beauty routine to follow each morning, and would love it if you had one to match. She’d find it so cute if you both had matching fluffy bathrobes and makeup headbands (the ones with the little bow on top), and you would both carry out your morning skincare or makeup routine together. It would almost feel like a little spa morning.

Seonhee:

Seonhee is a busy woman, and would try her best to be up fairly early in the morning, however this would not always be the case.

On days where she is up before you, she would bring you a cup of coffee and probably wake you up to let you know she’s about to leave and get started for the day. She would give you a forehead kiss before leaving.

She’s not a huge cuddler, and tends to prefer a bit of space when sleeping, but on days where she sleeps in late, she would love to just spend the morning tangled under the covers with you, just peacefully chatting about anything and everything.

Probably has the most amazing, sexiest morning voice ever. It would just be so low and husky, and would send a shiver down your spine.

Joon-Gi:

Joon-Gi would be awake well before you. He never sleeps in late, and has probably already done a full beauty regime, showered, and gotten fully dressed by the time you wake up.

He’d just be sat chilling on the bed beside you. Not necessarily watching you sleep, but just patiently waiting for you to wake up. He’d want to be there to greet you, because you are his precious baby.

If you asked him, he would definitely crawl back under the covers to cuddle you. The first few times you ask this, he may feel a tiny bit shy, as it’s something quite new to him, but he likes cuddles, and is more than happy to oblige.

Would tease you if you woke up with bad bed-head or drool on your pillow. He would find it extremely funny, but also adorable. However, if you somehow woke up before him and caught him in a similar, messy state and teased him for it, he would pout and take great offence, heatedly denying it with a light blush dusting his cheeks.

Zhao:

Precious baby without his glasses.

He is a cuddle bug, and would not be happy when you make an attempt to get out of bed. He would just wrap his arms around you and pull you straight back into bed. No escape for you, you’re stuck in bed with him until he says otherwise.

Another one who would tease you for having a case of bed-head or for drooling. Also, if you were snoring during the night, just know he’s gonna bring that up too. He thinks you are just the cutest thing.

If Zhao wakes up feeling particularly horny, just know he’s going to grind that morning wood against your ass. He wouldn’t outright ask you for morning sex, but he is gonna tease and seduce you, until it’s just too much and you’re desperate for him.

He would make the best breakfasts, and would also try to make a variety of things each day, so you’re not starting the day off with the same food constantly.

Tomizawa:

Tomi would be a whiny baby when you attempt to get up out of bed, and leave him on his own. He would just sigh and complain, commenting on how cold the bed is now, and how empty it feels. Stay with him for a while longer please.

He would adore just lying in bed with you, sleeping in as late as possible, the sun peeking through the curtains and casting warm sun puddles on your skin. It would just feel so peaceful and cosy.

He’s not really a morning person, but mornings are definitely easier with you around.

If you woke before him, and decided to wake him up with a blowjob, he would think he’d died and gone to heaven. He’d be putty in your hands, and would be very chirpy and cheerful for the rest of the day.

#ryu ga gotoku #yakuza like a dragon #yakuza 7 headcanons #like a dragon infinite wealth #ichiban kasuga #tianyou zhao #joon gi han #joongi han #yakuza like a dragon headcanons #yakuza headcanons #yu nanba #adachi koichi #koichi adachi #zhao tianyou #seonhee #saeko mukoda #eric tomizawa

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 10 months

Text

Joyless

Summary: Spencer wants to apologize to Reader about the way things ended, but he needs a new excuse when someone else opens the door.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Content warnings: Post-breakup, sad ending

Word count: 929

Spencer cannot believe he’s doing this. It’s all he’s repeated in his head since leaving work and driving straight to your place and parking his car. When he climbs up the stairs to reach your door, he’s reminded of how in shape he used to be. Or how the adrenaline of seeing you whenever he got the chance made him charge up every step like he was an anomaly to physics principles. Because now, he can’t help but think each step is a sign to turn back. Even the quarters clinking around in his pocket sound as loud as sirens.

He doesn’t though, continuing until he sees the floral wreath on your door, encircling the peephole. He recalls how he’d stick one eye close to it minutes after texting you he was on his way. He’d hear your squeals from the other side as you looked through; always the paranoid one. The door would fling open and Spencer could only describe the look on your face as “indisputable joy.”

This time, however, Spencer is not met with indisputable joy. No door flinging, no high-pitched squeals. He’s not even met with you.

Instead, Spencer is met by a man he has to look up to see. Rich brown eyes with hair and a beard to match it. His hair reached just past his shoulders (Spencer had cut his last week) and the ends dripped with water. Spencer also noted their matching milky skin and similar slender build, but that was mostly thanks to the towel barely clinging around his waist. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “You caught us at a bad time, I guess.” His laugh was low, and even though it was purely psychological, Spencer is convinced his insides are twisting.

Spencer tries to swallow, to gather thoughts back into his head, or bring function back to his body. “Is, uh, is," he says. His swallow is drier. “Is Y/N home?”

“Oh yeah, she is. Hold on.” His head disappears behind the door as he calls for you, his long slender fingers (similar to his own) holding it open as he hears bare feet slapping the wood floor. Spencer’s very familiar with your apartment, and he knows this guy’s head is in the general direction of your bathroom. And he dreads what he is about to witness.

“Spencer.” You say, ducking below the giant’s arm. You’re wearing a robe, not like his (that you’d often steal) but plush and baby pink. You even had a matching towel you were using to strain the water from your hair. It’s what truly shattered Spencer’s heart.

And it’s what makes Spencer conjure up an excuse for showing up unannounced. “Hi,” is all he can muster to say right now.

Even though the awkwardness was agonizing, Spencer was grateful that you warded off the man tree behind you. When you looked back at Spencer, it was his heart that chose his words before his brain could.

“I see you have a type.”

You sighed. “Seriously?”

“I’m sorry,” (that he had to apologize).

“What do you want, Spencer?”

The idea of simply saying sorry seems futile. Humorously futile, in fact. Having a stare down (or stare up) with the man who was just showering with his ex-girlfriend he’s officially let slip away has made him question everything from his own height to the point of being here. “I thought you didn’t like pink.” If only he could actually kick himself right now.

“Why do you care?”

“It’s different from mine. That’s all.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” You leaned against the knob, the damp towel still in your other hand. “I’ll go ahead and get it. I just haven’t had a chance to wash it since last time. You know.”

“That’s fine.” He convinced himself.

When it was your turn to disappear behind the door, you weren’t absent for long. You returned with his robe. Unlike his memories, it was dingy from years of use. “Here,” is all you said as you handed it off, discarding all memories and placing them in his arms. Spencer could’ve been easily fooled if you told him you had washed it, given its neat display on the hanger as you handed it off to him. He folded it over his arm before holding it to his chest. “You can bring the hanger back if you want. I don’t mind either way.”

Spencer pursed his lips. “Will he be here?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Alright.”

A pause, perhaps anticipating an answer to whether or not you’ll see this coat hanger again, and not at all an opportunity for Spencer to pour his heart out and admit his mistakes with zero dignity left at the end. That’s where Spencer bites his tongue.

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

The door shuts with a harsh slam, and he knows he deserves it. The cruelty of being left behind thanks to his own decision is a circle of hell he wishes he didn’t have to discover on his own. While walking back down the hallway, with every step, the smell of you diffuses from the fabric and retreats into his nose in fullness. The residue of your conditioner and the sweetness of your body wash are already doing their part in haunting his memory for as long as he has one. Each step makes the quarters jingle again in his pocket, somehow over the raging heartbeat in his ears. He remembers the laundromat you go to across the street, but only briefly. He takes another (nearly regrettable) inhale of the fabric. Perhaps when he returns the hanger.

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years

Text

baby scarab || 1

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

synopsis : in which a schizophrenic teenager could see a certain god

takes place after the Marvel series Moon Knight, may have spoilers?

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic)reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader

i will be using she/her pronouns

~~~

A/N : this is all over the place btw, also fun fact, i have schizophrenia so that's kind of what motivated me in writing this. i'm going off of what i experience. pls enjoy <3

also if you want to be in the taglist, please ask! its not a problem

TW : mental disorders, child abandonment, language, fighting(?) let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

some would say its freaky,

others would say its like a superpower, like seeing ghosts is cool right?

you would say its a bit of both

you had schizophrenia, a mental disorder you have had for the past couple years, causing you to have hallucinations such as seeing shadows nobody else can, or fire where theres not fire, and that had absolutely nothing to do with ghosts, and you were labeled delusional by many peers.

you didn't take offense to it, because you were delusional. in fact your disorganized thinking has gotten you in trouble.

not because you're stupid, no, but because of others at your school making fun of you for it, you think its ok to beat them up for it.

which only fueled it. it caused others happiness to see you in trouble.

it also causes you to get suspended a lot.

such as now.

you were heading up to your apartment that you stayed in alone, since your parents dumped you in the street when you were young, and going through too many foster homes was a pain so you chose to just get your own place to call a home.

you just worked at an average paying coffee shop near your school, which you had to walk to.

you could either pay rent on time or get a car, so you thought that some cardio each morning and evening wouldn't be too bad.

you got into the elevator and saw another... man.. as well. he was in a bird costume and he was staring- or you thought he was staring at you.

"'scuse me." you move your arm past the extremely tall man to press your floors button. the bird man looked down at you with its creepy mask, and you tried to ignore it until it touched your shoulder and gasped.

you jumped and stepped away from him, thinking he was just a weirdo messing with you.

you could sense the guy staring at you so you turned your head to him. "you need something?" you ask him, to which he shakes his head slowly.

you nod and look away, but turning back when you see that nothing was attaching his head to his body, also now noticing the huge scary stick with a cresent moon on it.

your eyes widen and your breath hitches, as soon as the elevator hit your floor, you get off and speed walk to your apartment. unlocking the door took 4 tries, but that's only because you just saw some sort of demon.

your breath quickens as you finally open the door and slam it shut behind you and lock it.

you lean back against the door and listen for anything, and after a couple minutes of that, you got up and threw your bag on the couch and took of your shoes.

~~~

it had been about an hour since you got home, and you were hungry so you got up off your bed after pausing your favorite show on your phone to go to the kitchen, tossing your phone on your bed.

when you stepped into the kitchen area, you got out y/f/f and y/f/d, only to hear a knock at your door.

you stiffen up and feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. turning you head to the door, you curse yourself for scratching out the peephole since you were paranoid that someone could see you from the other side.

even though you've tried to look through it and didn't see anything.

you slowly get a wooden bat from near the door, holding it so whoever was out there couldn't see it. putting on a brave face, you open the door to see just a normal man.

he had short wavy dark hair, he also had a smile on his face as he waved at you.

"'ello there." he greeted, you loosening your grip on your bat a little as you smile back.

"hey, can i help you?" you ask him. he nods and runs a hand through his hair.

"actually, id just like to introduce myself." he starts with his british accent. "im steven. uhm- steven grant, i live a couple doors down and i realized i know all my neighbors except you." he explains, using hand gestures while he speaks

"well, my names y/n. do you need anything else?" you ask as nicely as you can, starting to feel intimidated by the taller man.

he darts his eyes to your shiny door knob for a split second.

"uh- well, I-"

"ok cool, goodbye." you cut him off starting to shut your door when you see steven shake his head like a dog then stop the door with his hand, glaring at you all of a sudden.

you furrow your brows at this, and tighten your grip on the bat as you try and push the door closed when the man pushed it open, almost making you fall backwards, him immediately slamming it back closed after.

you hurry and swing your bat at the man, but he catches it in his hands before it could hit him. he yanks it from your grip and tosses it aside.

your breathing quickens, and you back away from him, looking around the room for anything to help you when you spot a vase you found at a thrift store.

'oh well, it was only 2 dollars..'

you pick it up and chuck it at the man who was getting closer to you, only for him to block it with his arm, still breaking and cutting his arm.

he looked offended, and looked at the small cut it made, before turning to you who starts running towards your room, hearing him chasing after you.

you of course, a 16 year old girl, is slower than an adult man so he catches up before you get halfway to your room.

he yanks on the back of your shirt and pulls you to him so that he has an arm wrapped around your flailing arms to keep them still and a hand covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

"calm down, kid." he orders, his british accent gone and turned into an american one, making you confused.

you try to kick him which results in him tightening his hold on you as a warning.

he takes a breath, you feel him shake his head from behind you. "you done? i just gotta ask you something" he tells you in a cocky tone.

"are you gonna be quiet?" he asks you, and when you nod frantically he takes the hand off your mouth and moves it to hold you better to not risk you running off.

you take a couple shaky breaths. "good." he starts. "now, are you one of them?" this made you confused more than anything.

"o-one of what?" you ask him quietly. you hear him scoff.

"don't play dumb with me, kid." he starts. "you know what? let me just see your arms." which made you even more confused.

before you could say anything, he turns you around and lifts up your sleeves and looks both your arms over before letting go and running a hand through his hair in defeat.

you back up as soon as he turned around to pace about your apartment. you stand there awkwardly, watching this stranger pace around and and start yelling at anything with a reflective surface.

"yes, i know she could see him!" you hear him yelling into a mirror you had hanging on one of your walls, the thing that made your stomach twist was the fact that the reflection wasnt matching the person.

"oh my god..-" you mutter to yourself, going to go sit on your couch, far enough away from 'steven', but close enough to make sure he doesn't do anything.

"no! you cant have control, i need to know why she-"

"marc" the man in the mirror makes eye contact with you and points in your direction.

he whips his head around at you and walks over to you, putting an arm on each side of you, caging you in between him and the couch you wish you could lean back more in.

"how are you doing that?" he asks lowly. you don't answer, which makes him mad.

he slams a hand down, making you jump. "i asked you a question and i expect an answer." he begins. "are you trying to unleash ammit again? huh? maybe a friend of harrow trying to get revenge?" he lists off making you tilt your head in confusion.

"what the fuck are you talking about?" you gain confidence, which makes the man furrowed his brows at you.

"you don't- shut up steven" he looks to the mirror, to which you look as well.

the guy in the mirror sees that you're looking at him, so he turns to you. "you can hear me, can't you? see me too?" he asks rhetorically. you nod slowly and take a deep breath.

the man in the mirror was the man at the door, but the guy who pushed his way in? you had no clue.

"marc, please let me talk to her properly!" he turns back to the guy still hovering over you. "you're scaring her!" he pleads, which makes the guy above you roll his eyes.

he jumps up and shakes his head again, this time looking back at you with a small smile.

"so. i take it you've met marc, eh?" he asks, sitting next to you instead of threatening you, yet you still lean back.

"what?" you are completely clueless.

"listen, i'll explain the best i can, is that alright?" he asks you carefully, and you nod.

"right! so i'm steven" he gestures to himself. "and that's marc" he points to the mirror, to see 'marc' shaking his head. "we are two people that live in the same body, do you get it?" he asks you, and you nod again.

"so it was y/n right?" another nod. "thats a nice name, i'm so sorry about marc by the way." he apologizes for marc.

you just stare at steven in shock, not knowing what to say. "whats ammit?" you eventually speak up, making steven hum in thought. "and all those other things he was talking about" you question.

steven chuckles breathily, and claps his hands together lightly. "well, marc would be better at explaining it than me, plus its getting late and i-"

"let me out steven"

"no"

you look between the two arguing, and smile slightly. "steven i wont hurt her just let me out. just for a minute." marc argues from the mirror.

steven sighs and rubs his hands down his face and looks to you. "is it alright if marc comes out for a minute?" he asks you, to which you hesitantly nod.

and another head shake later, a more stern expression takes over the once friendly face, signalling marc was back.

he smirks at you and helps you up by your hands all of a sudden, making you gasp.

"hey, kid i'm not gonna hurt ya, just let me show you something" he chuckles to himself.

"what are you-" before you can finish your sentence, he turn you around, back pressed against his chest and him holding your shoulders to keep you from moving too much.

you hear him chuckle again, moving you so that you're facing an open space in your home. you become confused again at why marc thought this was funny.

"khonshu" marc says as he tightens his grip on your shoulders.

you were about to just walk away when the bird demon phases through the wall, and starts walking towards you and marc.

your eyes widen and you try to get away from it, but marc prevented that and began walking you closer to the extremely tall bird, you still trying to get marc off you.

"nO-" you start to yell curses at the man holding you, hes just forcing you towards the bird with a smile on his face.

"so the little mortal can see me" a voice comes from the birds direction.

you stare up at the skeletal head which is tilted curiously in your direction, you frozen not knowing what to do.

"careful y/n, he can smell fear" marc whispers in your ear, making you jump and turn your head to him. he had taken his hands off you, just hovering behind you to block you from running.

"marc stop it! y/n! he cant smell fear he's just a dumb pigeon" you hear steven from the mirror.

"i chose the wrong day to get suspended." you mumble to yourself.

the death pigeon takes a small step closer to you, and you cant help but panic so you take you best shot and punch the bony beak as hard as you can.

your hand feels like its on fire as you hold it to your chest. the bird has turned away holding its beak and marc was staring at you in shock from behind you.

"oH MY GOD!" you shout. "i'm so sorry i-i didn't-"

you get cut off by marc laughing behind you, turning around you glare at him.

he sighs and shakes his head. "aw man, you got spunk, kid." he tells you. clutching you hand to your chest you turn back around to the bird, whos looking at you.

"'m sorry" you apologize to him. he grunts and looks to marc.

"can we keep it?" he asks marc, but stevens the one to answer from the mirror.

"shes not an 'it', khonshu."

"can it, worm"

"oh, i get it now" you say, all heads turning to you. "this isn't real" you deadpan. "i'm dreaming again" you try to convince yourself.

"what?" marc asks confused, giving you a look.

"mhmm. what time is it?" you frantically look around.

"its 8:12" steven says from the mirror making your eyes widen. "shit"

you speed walk to your bathroom to retrieve an orange pill bottle before taking two out and swallowing them dry in the middle of your living room.

the three just looking at you in confusion. "whats that for?" steven asks.

"look for yourself." you toss the bottle to marc, a rattling echoes through the room as you shuffle through your kitchen for some new food.

marc wanders into the kitchen area, khonshu looking at all the random stuff you had laying around. "you're schizophrenic?" he asks you, making you turn to him.

"no, they gave me the wrong bottle." you answer sarcastically, marc giving you a look. "yeah. its pretty severe and its probably why i can see your.. weird friend." you gesture to khonshu, whos poking the ceiling with his moon stick.

marc sighs. "if its so bad that you can see an egyptian god then how come your parents dont do anything about it?" he asks kind of rudely.

you look up at him and snatch your pills back from his hand. "i live alone. i dont know where my parents are." you say truthfully, the sympathetic look on marcs face being unseen as you turn back around to put the bottle on the counter.

"listen kid, you cant tell anyone about this alright?" marc gestures to everything around him. you shrug.

"whatever" you mutter, forgetting about the food and moving to pick up the broken pieces of the vase that are scattered across the floor.

you gather the jagged piece of dried clay and throw them away, ignoring the stares from the three beings in the room.

sitting down again on the couch, you put your head in your hands for a second before running them down your face and leaning back, staring at the wall as you feel the couch dip from beside you.

theres a quiet sigh. "would it be innapropriate to invite you over for supper?" thats stevens voice again. you look to him and shrug again. "is this an elaborate sceme to murder me?" you ask him seriously.

you see him internally panic. "oH- nononononono- i just noticed you didnt have much in your cupboards, thats all" he confesses, and you look over to your open cabinets and notice that you do in fact, have barely any food.

you crack your neck and nod to yourself. “only if you elaborate on all of.. this." you gesture to the murder bird and marc in the reflection of the mirror.

steven nods and smiles to you. "of course" he agrees and helps you up, leaving your apartment to go over to the messy one a few doors down.

that night you made a couple weird friends. they got even weirder after steven and marc took turns explaining how exactly they got into their situation.

and khonshu was giving you advice on how to kill your parents if you ever met them. he claimed that they 'were not worthy' and that you needed to break their windpipes.

you just assumed that it was because somebody other than marc and 'the worm' could see him.

but either way, its wasn't a bad day after all

~~~

A/N : okay this took longer than i wanted it to smh. hope you like it and i'm already thinking about turning this into a mini series.

if it gets enough likes i will bc i have ideas but it would also help if i got some requests for the next one??

either way, thanks for reading.

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broodybuck · 8 months

Text

Title: Doing his Job

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, sex worker Steve, dom Steve, sub Bucky, dirty talk, recovering Bucky

[ao3 link]

Bucky never thought he'd be here. Sitting in a strange man's living room that he paid to have sex with. But he hasn't come in a full year. That's how long it's been, that's how long he's tried that he'd gotten desperate. So it's come to this.

Steve's site said that his clients don't need to talk about any trauma or potential causes of their inability to perform. It also explained that one could get their money refunded if Steve is unsuccessful. Which honestly is the main reason Bucky chose him. He doesn't really believe this is going to work.

When Steve steps into the room, he sits across from Bucky on a kitchen chair with a notepad and pen in his hand. He’s as big and beefy and as his picture online. His blonde hair is combed back, a single curl hangs over his forehead. Bucky didn’t think he had a type anymore but whatever is happening in his stomach tells him evidently Steve might be it now.

"I always start by asking a few questions so that I can take note of any precautions I may need to take."

Bucky simply nods, remaining mute. He's so uncomfortable right now. This is awkward... is it supposed to feel so awkward?

"Do you have anything that is absolutely off-limits? Could be a sexual act or something as simple as a spot on your body you don't want touched, a word you don't want said?" Steve questions.

"No," Bucky answers quietly.

Steve nods, writes something down.

"Is there anything specific that you know you like sexually, that you would like me to do to you?"

Bucky swallows, feeling a blush wash across his face.

"Make me come?" Bucky cracks a small smile. It's the whole fucking point of being here.

Steve smiles too.

"Yes, that is the goal and I intend to meet it."

"Can I ask you a question?" Bucky says.

"Of course."

"Do you... find me attractive?" He hears the quiver in his voice and he hates that he couldn't keep his voice steady to ask it.

Steve sits for a moment then nods.

"I find you very attractive, James."

Bucky blinks, forgetting briefly that he gave his real name.

"Are you just saying that 'cause I'm paying you?" Bucky tests.

"I'm not," Steve states firmly. "It may be unprofessional to admit, but I think you're extremely handsome and not all my clients are."

Bucky gulps.

"Okay, uh. I also just wanted to say one thing. It's okay if this doesn't... happen. I'm sure you have a lot of success usually but it might not... I might be the exception and I want you to know it's me, not you."

Bucky fidgets uncomfortably in his seat when he finishes. Steve begins to frown but then covers it with a polite smile.

"You're not the problem, James. I'm confident in my abilities to help you."

After a few more questions, guidelines, and safe words. Bucky finds himself sitting on a large bed, naked, much faster than he expects. He feels self-conscious, he does, and at first, Steve tries to start things slow. He takes his time to make Bucky comfortable, touches him ultra carefully like he's fragile. Grazes his cock and balls so gently Bucky barely feels it. It goes on for a while but isn't getting much out of Bucky.

Bucky was well into thinking this wasn't going to work but then, well, Steve must have decided to change his approach. Because before Bucky knows it, he's pressed against a wall with his ass sticking out and Steve's pumping three fingers in and out of him so brutally, Bucky's babbling incoherently.

Maybe it was always this simple? Bucky thought he'd been treated rough in the past but maybe he hasn't. Maybe it wasn't ever rough enough. Because the fervor in which Steve's fucking him with his fingers is making Bucky's legs shake — literally. And the way Steve's talking to him now, it's sending shocks of arousal down to his cock.

"This is what you need," Steve tells him. "You need it just like this. Your body was made for this, honey."

Bucky whines out a little plead that he doesn't think Steve hears. But then Steve removes his fingers.

"Gonna feed you my cock now," Steve warns him. "Nice and hard. Cause that's how you need it."

There's no warning for it. Steve rams his cock inside Bucky with one rough thrust. Bucky cries out and his cock dribbles precome. Which is already more than he's gotten in the past year. Cause god, he really loves this. He does need it like this, he needs it so much. And he'd tell Steve that but he can't find his voice anymore.

Steve's hands thread into his hair and grip handfuls of it tightly. Bucky keens in the tug backward. Why has no one pulled his hair before?

"I'm gonna get this come out of you, sweetheart," Steve growls by his ear. The juxtaposition of his demanding threats and sweet pet names is making Bucky's brain go fuzzy.

"You want that?" Steve yanks his hair back with the question.

Bucky gasps in some air and then whines.

"Use your words, pretty thing," Steve coaxes.

"P-please," Bucky stammers.

"Good boy," Steve praises and Bucky goes limp with the acclaim, his body vibrating off it like a drug.

Steve fucks him mercilessly. Pounding into him without an ounce of caution. Bucky can't get enough. He's practically drooling with his head hanging back, still being pulled by his hair. And he's so close. Closer than he's felt in so fucking long. He's in complete disbelief.

"S-Steve," Bucky manages.

Steve slows his pace and his demanding voice softens.

"You okay?"

"I'm... I'm close," Bucky whispers back in shock.

"Oh. Fuck yes," Steve celebrates and then rails right into him again, picking up the pace until Bucky's full on trembling.

Steve lets his hair go and wraps both arms around Bucky's midsection, drawing him flush against his chest. He keeps fucking him as he nuzzles against Bucky's ear.

"We're gonna get it out of you, baby. I know you can do it. I know you can let go. You're so close."

Bucky moans, desperate for the release. He'll do anything for it.

"You need to come for me," Steve growls aggressively, switching tones like a light switch. It makes Bucky's skin boil hot.

Steve grabs Bucky's leaking cock and starts fisting the shaft as hard as he's fucking him.

Bucky wails and his body keeps tensing in and out, almost letting go but not quite. He's so unbearably close but his body is holding back. By this point, he needs it so bad he could cry.

That's when a tear drops from the corner of his eye. Then another and another. Bucky's body jerks violently and then he's coming harder than he's ever come in his life while sobbing through it.

He's pretty sure he passes out because when Bucky comes to again, he's lying in a bed. Steve's cradling him with one arm while the other hand softly brushes through his hair. Bucky blinks wearily.

"What happened?" Bucky asks.

Steve hums contently.

"I did my job, sweetheart."

#stucky #stucky fanfiction #stucky smut #dom steve rogers #sub bucky barnes #tumblr fic #oneshot

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teddypickerry · 1 year

Note

Hi idk if you’re requests are open but if so could you write a Nikki Sixx x reader where he confesses that he’s in love with the reader even though they have Ben like fighting. And the reason the have been fighting is because there both in rival bands. Idk man I just thought it was like cute lol

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 !

pairings! nikki sixx x fem best friend reader

word count! 1.8k

warnings! swearing (duh it’s nikki fucking sixx), mentions of sex (again… it’s a nikki sixx fic idk what the fuck you expect)

a/n! i kinda put my own spin on your request, i hope that’s good!! but guys I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE A NIKKI FIC FOR WAY TOO FUCKING LONG SO KEEP THEM REQUESTS COMING BC I NEED MORE OF MY SEXY ROCKSTAR. also can we talk about that photo???? looks can kill bc i am dead.

being in the rock scene as a woman is one of the hardest things to be conquered. or so, that's how it seemed. you couldn't go one day without being mistaken for some crazed groupie who was trying to sneak into the rehearsals. the rehearsals that were your very own, not some man's.

being the opener for mötley crüe was a new level of difficulty. when nikki sixx had asked you to fill in the position for their first world tour, you'd obliged, this gig possibly leaving you to the stardom you'd always desired. plus more time with the bassist boy who you'd had spent way too much time with in the past few years.

it started in '79 when you had just moved to the city of angels with your best friend who had already lived there a few months. when you arrived, she had a guy in her life who was living off her while in between bands. you thought this classified him as a jackass — or maybe she was just naive, but either way, it was a dick move. he ate all of your food, used all of the toilet paper, and had loud sex with your best friend all night long.

it was less than two months that you lived with the jackass before your best friend kicked him out. she had accused him of cheating which you found insane at the time, only to find truth behind that statement the more you got to know the sleazy bastard.

so, for some reason you found yourself at his band london’s show that same week. he spotted you instantly and ever since then — the two of you became an item. not the kind you think, but the kind that would kill the rest of the world for one another. the kind that had so much unspoken sexual tension but never once acted on it. too scared to ruin the relationship between the both of you. so here you were, nearly six years later, doing your hair to go out onstage to open up for his now national selling band.

"axl rose is a bad kisser, i'm just being honest." hannah, your vocalist, shrugged before applying her red lipstick in the mirror directly beside you and your hot roller set. the drummer snorted from the couch as she sipped on something that definitely wasn't water. "that's why you should have chose slash."

"it wasn't exactly a pick and choose, mila." hannah directed at the girl who balanced sticks in her hands before glancing down at you. "what about you y/n, who'd you fuck last night?"

"i left early. i went to the whisky with n-"

"with nikki," mila and hannah finished for you as you pursed your lips and took out your final curl. the two girls shared a look before their was a slight knock on the door. it opened before anyone could say a single thing though. speaking of the devil, nikki sixx stood their in all his glory. his cocky grin directed on his face, taking up the small parts you could see — his jet black dyed hair taking over the rest. he was tanned, probably because of the months in california he spent before the tour. his tanned and tattoo covered chest was wide opened, a jean vest hardly buttoned over him. he looked perfect, as per fucking usual.

"ladies!" he greeted simply with that grin of his. the two girls turned to face him, your eyes still stuck on yourself in the mirror as you started on your makeup. "nikki, you know we could have been naked." hannah spoke simply as her eyes glossed over you for a second before turning back to him, noticing his eyes also stuck on you. "well i knocked didn't i?"

"yeah, then you bolted in here." mila spoke teasingly as she messed around with her drumsticks. nikki glanced at the both of them for a second before turning back towards you, you not even giving him the light of the day. he knew what this was about, this was the very same reason he came to this dressing room.

it all started this morning when doc had ordered you to his office far too early — 9am. which for rockstar time is like 4am to a normal person. so, you went to his office tired and all, from nikki having you home at 4am rather a reasonable time. he had told you the basics of the rest of the tour and added in, as if it was no big deal, that nikki happened to head to your ex best friend's apartment after he dropped you off. because that's where he was that very morning when doc tried to contact him.

your ex best friend (the one nikki had dated that you roomed with) was a sore subject for you. nikki was the only one who truly knew what happeend. it was about a year after she kicked him out, she had crashed one of his mötley house parties that you were in attendance at. he thought it was hilarious at the time and didn't mind another hot girl in his house. but then when she noticed you, holy shit did she go psycho. you had realized later that she did this because she was jealous of you for nikki taking you under his wing, while she was the one who dumped the now successful rockstar.

there were screams of you being his slut who he would drop days later when he got bored of your "cunty behavior." then her saying something about fonzie and then pouring her drink all over your shirt. this kind of made nikki snap. he just went off, calling her a bitch and making her get out. it was the you finally realized nikki wasn't just some sleazy guy who you liked to hangout with. he was your best fucking friend.

so, the idea of him now fucking around with the girl who screamed in your face wasn't your ideal situation. "tommy has a new drum set he wanted to show you mila. and hannah..." nikki scratched the back of his neck as she finished his sentence. "i'm thirsty i'm gonna go get a drink."

"but you have a-" mila started only to get dragged by the arm with hannah's long fingernails out the door. nikki gave her a gracious smile as she shot him a wink and shut the door behind them. you acted innocent as you pampered the blush onto your face, noticing the man slowly making his way over towards you through the mirror. "y/n, babe-"

"i don't wanna hear it, nikki." you stated while you put away your blush and pulled out your eyeshadow palette. the long haired man sighed and pulled up the bench beside you climbing over it to face you. he was far too close to you, not that it bothered you. it's not like the two of you weren't used to being shoved against one another. but this was different. you knew he had spent the morning cuddled up with her. "pretty girl, i know you don't like carly. i know you can't stand her and neither can i-"

"-then why'd you spend the morning fucking off in her bed, sixx? if you hate her so much then stay away from her." you turned to face him, your faces inches apart. you could feel his breath on you as he sighed, placing his hand on your back. "i'm a sleaze, y/n. she wanted some and i was craving it so i went to her apartment. okay? i'm not proud of it," he dryly chuckled. "but i'm not proud of most of the things i do."

"you shouldn't be," you spoke as you brushed the eyeshadow over your eyelids and nikki bit down on his bottom lip. he couldn't process why this pained you so much, yeah he wished he could take it back but that was him. why did it hurt you? "babe, you're making it real difficult to apologize to right now."

you rolled your eyes before packing up some of your makeup and continuing on with your routine. he sat in silence for a moment while watching you, as if you were his favorite VHS tape that he would rewind a million times. even when he didn't understand you at times — he still was in admiration of you. everything about you amazed him. "stop looking at me."

"you make it so hard..." he paused his sentence in his twelve year old self before continuing, "when you look so fucking pretty." he expressed as he reached his hand toward, messing with the side of your tank top before making eye contact with you in the mirror. "nik?"

"hm?" he hummed as he leaned on his other hand, his eyes still locked on you in the mirror. "why? just, why? i know it wasn't just because you're 'sleazy'. you fucking hate carly and that's always enough to keep it in your pants."

nikki seemed shocked by your words but played it off with a dry laugh. the real reason was deep down and he knew it was there. he didn't want it to be there but it was, his friends reminded him of it every goddamn time you breathed. "cause..." he cleared his throat. "i'm a fucking maniac for you."

your head immediately turned towards him, your eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to have a smile of relief on his face. as if saying that cured cancer. "i've spent six years knowing you, craving you... and i thought for some fucked up reason if i fucked the girl that brought us together, i'd get over you miraculously. i realized how dumb it was the moment she was naked. because the only reason i ever fucked in that apartment was because i knew you were there. god," he paused to laugh and rub his face. "the first time i saw you, i thought carly was shit. you just... god, y/n. i fucking fell for you and i haven't stopped since then."

you couldn't believe your ears, you would have sworn your heart stopped at your best friend's words. your world stopped, that's for sure. probably when you shut him up and kissed him. it was a feeling you've desired for far too long. his chapped lips tasted so good against your own. and his little monologue tasted even fucking better. "even though you have a shit band, i want you to be my girl." nikki mumbled in between the kiss, making you slap his arm as he pulled away. the cocky grin was present on his face. "even though you have a shit band," you smirked. "i want to be your girl, nikki sixx."

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #need more nikki sixx fics #mötley crüe #motley crue #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 7 months

Text

“I’ll Help You Pray”

Word Count: 2,121

Rating: General

Summary:

Luis no longer believes in God, but old habits from his Catholic upbringing still stick around. So one day when Leon comes home, he asks him to sit with him while he prays.

And Leon is more than happy to be there for him

((Basically just a short and fluffy character study of Luis’ Religious Trauma!! :) ))

Fic below cut!!

A/N:

Hihihihi!! Long time no see on AO3 I know!!!!!! Ever since Seperate Ways came out my anxiety has been KICKING my ASS and I also had a LOT of art work to catch up on, so I haven’t been able to find the time to write, I’m terrible sorry!!!!!! I’m not sure when my next upload will be as like I said I’m very gradually getting back into writing and taking it easy on myself, but if all things go to plan, I should have to seperate rather long fics to post!!!!!

Again, thank you for being patient with me and apologies for the lack of uploads recently!!

—————————————————————————

“Hey, Leon? Do you think I could ask you a favor?”

“Sure, love,”

Leon shut the door to his apartment behind him and slipped his jacket off methodically, not even bothering to glance up at Luis as he called out for his help.

“Whaddya need?”

Leon had only just walked through the door and arrived home from work, but he was already feeling beyond exhausted. His feet ached and it felt like his body was made of lead. It’d been a long day of chasing the President around and getting orders barked at him; but then again, when wasn’t it?

Even still, Leon had all the time in the world for Luis. The man he fell absolutely head-over-heels with in Spain could ask for the most outlandish request and Leon would do his best to accomplish it like the loyal squire he was.

Luis didn't ask for favors often, but when he did, they were usually cheeky and along the lines of ‘Oh, Leon, could you help me get the flour down from the top shelf?’ (Despite the fact that he was significantly taller than Leon) or, ‘Leon could you be a dear and plait my hair?’ (Again, something he was fully capable of doing).

Which was why Leon was a little more than curious when Luis failed to respond with what he needed.

He looked up from his hunched-over position as he untied his shoes and took a look at Luis for the first time that evening; he had his back turned to Leon, and was seemingly chewing at his nails. He looked nervous.

Which was not a very regular thing for Luis to be.

“…Luis..?”

“Oh, right, umm…”

Luis jumped a little as Leon gave him a soft reminder, eyes darting to the sides as his hands clutched at his waist. Something was definitely off.

“What’s wrong, love?” Leon took a step forward and placed a hand on his hip. “Is something up?”

“N-No! It’s nothing, it’s just…”

Leon knew that look. He knew all the subtle ways Luis’ facial expression showed his thoughts; the way his mouth twitched slightly and his nose scrunched up as he debated whether or not to laugh it off and make a flirtatious remark or be honest.

Leon was grateful Luis chose the latter.

“…It’s just dumb. Really dumb. I don’t know if you’d even be comfortable with it-“

“Hey,”

Leon interjected and gently took Luis’ hands. He kept his surprise to himself when he realized they were trembling slightly.

“It’s not dumb to me, alright? Especially if it’s bugging you this much. You can tell me anything, I promise”

Leon reached his hands up and gently kissed Luis’ knuckles; spending extra time mulling over the Virgin Mary rings he had on his long fingers.

Luis just chuckled and shook his head; making Leon’s chest feel warm with triumph. It took his lover a couple moments to collect his words, and the blonde waited patiently.

“…Do you think you could sit with me while I pray? If, ah, you’re comfortable with that, that is…”

Leon’s eyebrows raised in slight confusion and surprise. He knew Luis used to be Catholic- He’d seen the metal Crucifix he wore around his neck, and the way he’d always sign the cross before charging into battle back in Spain- But he didn’t think he still was after all that.

“Oh? I mean, yeah, of course I can, easy peasy, but- I thought you weren’t religious anymore?”

“Oh I’m not,” Luis answered, a little too quickly.

“But I still, uh, joder, it’s hard to explain-“

Once again, Leon was patient and waited for Luis to collect his words.

“I still pray from time to time, just… Out of habit? I suppose? It’s like- Like even though I’m far removed from all that, it’s a little something I can have control over. Something that I feel in control of for once. Especially after….”

Luis trailed off.

“…After all that. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely!”

Leon nodded enthusiastically. He knew Luis still had trouble coming to terms with what had happened in Spain- That he’d nearly almost died- So Leon was more than happy to help in any way.

Sure, he knew, like… Absolutely nothing about Catholicism. But Luis didn’t seem to mind.

“I totally get what you mean. I’d be happy to just, uh, sit with you? Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” Luis blinked a couple times and gave Leon the biggest, most grateful smile he’d ever seen. His eyes were a little glossy as he continued to speak,

“I’d go and do it by myself, but ah, I haven’t done it properly in years and I’d feel a little awkward doing it by myself. Especially since I don’t even believe in the God I’d be praying to anymore”

Luis laughed dryly, but internally, Leon felt himself cringing.

He remembered what Luis had said when he told him about how he had fully cut ties with his religion;

‘After I got infected with the Plagas and built that machine on my own, I had no choice but to self-surgically remove the Plagas…”

Leon still remembered the way his stomach felt sick at the memory of Ashley writhing and screaming in pain. He didn’t want to picture Luis in that same position.

‘…The pain was so much greater than anything I had ever experienced. It was right then and there I realized that there was no God.’

Luis’ voice had been bitter as he spoke.

‘If there truly were a God, and if he truly were merciful, there is no way he would have let a single human being experience such agony.’

Leon didn’t know why, but that had really stuck with him for a long time.

“I’ll probably just go upstairs and do it in front of your windowsill, sí?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” Leon snapped out of his thoughts. “I’ll come with you”

Leon trotted behind Luis’ tail as they made their way up the stairs and into their shared bedroom- at first, the blonde just awkwardly stood at the door, hands to his sides as he waited for…. Something. Again, he knew absolutely nothing about Catholicism, or what was appropriate or not.

He watched as Luis shuffled to the window and got down onto his knees; propping his elbows up against the windowsill, he clasped his hands together and flicked some stray hairs out of his face, getting comfortable.

“You can sit down on the bed, y’know,”

Luis smirked at Leon’s awkwardness and chuckled to himself as the blonde very quickly took a seat on his bed.

“R-right, um, sorry.”

“Don’t be”

Luis gave Leon one last smile before turning to fully face the window, resting his forehead against his clasped hands and closing his eyes with a sigh.

Leon knew he probably shouldn’t have; but he couldn’t help but admire how Luis looked in that position.

The late afternoon sun hit his front and cast a harsh rim light around the edges of his body, framing his broad shoulders and slim waist and lighting his long hair aglow with a dark brown hue. Little strands that couldn’t be swept back stuck out in the light and fell over Luis’ face involuntarily; and it took all of Leon’s strength not to walk over there and tuck them back behind his ears himself.

The room was completely quiet. The only things that Leon could hear were the gentle sounds of Luis’ breathing and his own heart thrumming in his chest. How could it not, though? Luis looked absolutely gorgeous;

His face was relaxed and his pretty dark brown eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and the sun hit them just right so that he could spot a couple gray ones coming through. The bridge of his aquiline nose had a soft glow to it and his body cast a long shadow across the room- Picturesque in nature. If Leon stared long enough, he could have sworn he was looking at a painting.

Luis’ shoulders gently rose and fell in time with his breathing. His expression was so calm- Something Leon was only ever fortunate enough to see when he was sleeping or watching the sunset from their shared balcony. It made him wonder what was going through his mind, what he was praying about; He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the disconnect to his old religion felt like.

Watching as his childhood home went from being a glorified cult to a literal one under Saddlers control and having every person he grew up with turn into zombie-like mind controlled followers of his must have been terrifying.

Leon remembered another anecdote Luis had shared; about how, in a desperate attempt at ‘saving his soul’, he had tried to surgically self-exorcize himself to spiritually escape from Saddler’s grasp. He didn’t go into details- and quite frankly, Leon didn’t want to hear them- But it sounded gorey at best. He had apparently palmed at his open-wound so much that it still left a scar. He had described it as ‘borderline blasphemous’, but also corrected himself by saying that almost everything he did with Umbrella was Blasphemous.

He didn’t like to talk about it very often.

Yet, somehow, through all of that trauma; Luis was still here. Alive.

And not only that, but he trusted Leon to watch over him as he performed an undoubtedly very mentally difficult task.

To say Leon was flattered would be an understatement. To know that Luis trusted him so much and so wholly- It gave him an emotion he honestly couldn’t describe.

It had been maybe at most a couple minutes since Luis had kneeled down, but for Leon, it felt like an eternity. He could’ve easily spent the rest of the day like that, just staring at Luis while on the bed with his head cocked and knees folded like a lovestricken teenage boy.

But alas, Leon was promptly broken out of his fantasies when Luis finally ended the prayer with a quiet;

‘Y espero que cualquier dios que esté escuchando tenga una muerte lenta y dolorosa. Amén’

Huffed under his breath.

Luis stood up; brushing himself off with his back facing Leon, he let out a little sigh through his nose. Just standing there.

Leon walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder when he still didn’t move after a moment.

“….Love?”

“Hmmm?”

Luis turned to face him, and suddenly, Leon could see why he hadn’t earlier.

His bottom lip was pouty and trembling, and his bottom eyelids were wet and shining with fresh tears. His eyes looked glossy and his eyebrows were knitted together in a furrow. Leon felt his heart break with sympathy.

“…Rough, huh?”

“Y-Yeah….”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Luis paused for a second. Thinking. Then he shook his head in a ‘no’, his shoulders hunching up slightly.

Leon instinctively opened his arms and Luis immediately curled himself up against his chest. He brought his wrists up to his chin and buried his head in the crook of the blonde's neck as Leon wrapped his arms around his back and began to rock him from side to side gently.

Leon often joked that Luis was like those giant dogs that think they’re small enough to fit in your lap; he easily towered over Leon, and was probably 80% limbs, but he still always insisted on being the little spoon in the relationship.

And Leon secretly adored it.

“Aww, you just wanted a hug, huh?”

Leon kissed the crown of Luis’ head and whispered in his ear softly, smiling as he felt him nod and give a little ‘mmhmmm’ from his position.

Leon could feel the fabric around his shoulder getting wet and assumed Luis had started crying. That absolutely tore his heart in two. He hated it when Luis cried. But he had no idea what to say- What words to use to bring him some semblance of comfort- So Leon did what he did best;

He just held Luis. Rocking him from side to side ever so gently. Occasionally pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Leon couldn’t tell if it was working, but he did it anyway. He loved Luis too much to see him cry like this.

Eventually, after a few moments of silence, Luis finally spoke up; his voice quiet and a little croaky.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this..-“

“Don’t be,” Leon whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear.

“I’m glad you trust me enough to do this, Luis. It means a lot to me.”

Another pause.

“…Gracias, Leon. For.. Everything.”

Leon smiled and gently took his chin in one hand to bring Luis up for a soft kiss on the lips.

“Anytime.”

#ericswriting #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #re fanfic #serennedy #serrennedy #serennedy fanfic #luis serra #luis sera #luis serra navarro #luis sera navarro #luis serra fanfic #luis sera fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy fluff

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webbo0 · 3 months

Text

What happens if I don't like it? It's only-

Sierra Six (Courtland Gentry)

AO3

Length: 4,252

Summary: Six goes to a support group to make Claire happy. Senanigans ensue.

In which Six has a sexuality crisis, Ken is a being of pure sunshine, Driver would kill to protect his loved ones, K is tired of everything, Richard and Henry are messy as always, Barbie is intimidating as hell, and Claire was probably right the whole time.

Content/Warning: Sexuality Crisis, PTSD, Brief description of flashbacks/panic attacks, Brief description of abuse, Awkwardness

Authors Note: This all started bc I thought too hard about how Lloyd never unearthed every man or woman Six ever slept with and I concluded that he's asexual (bc I say so lol). Then he joined the group of goose boys I also headcanon as ace and, well, this happened.

Title is from "It's Only Sex" by Car Seat Headrest bc Jesus Christ that song hits HARD

Shoutout to the Goosecord as always, especially @ken-f-cker and @hollandstrophyhusband for beta-reading!!

Six had jumped off of high rises and not even blinked. He’d gone undercover in every major mob without even a raise in his heart rate. Hell, he’d even gotten shot multiple times and only huffed in annoyance. But this? Knocking on the non-descript doors of a high school gym? It was enough to make him want to turn tail and run for the exit, memories of awkward teenage years and repressed childish fears nipping at his heels.

He steadies his heart by telling himself he’s doing this for Claire. As student body president, she was aware of the multiple support groups that used the school’s gym after hours and had insisted he join one.

(“Setting aside the fact that you desperately need someone to talk to in your life, it’s a good look for me if my Da- Guardian participates in school functions, even if it’s after hours.”

Claire stood with one hand on her hip, the other firmly shoved in Six’s face with a paper containing a list of social groups. He didn’t let his face show the flip-flop his heart does at her almost-slip-up.

“For the love of god, I’m not lonely , how many times are we going over this? I’m literally trained to be alone!”

“I’m tired of you brooding all over the house all the time, you need to go talk to other adults that aren’t the delivery guy or that old lady who runs the laundromat.”

“Claire it isn’t safe for me to be out in public, you know this. One slip up and Carmichael or his cronies come for us both”

“I’m not asking you to go on live television , Six, the groups are literally just in the school gym and you drop me off there every day anyways. You need to get a life.”

Eventually, he chose the Gender, Sexuality, and Alternative Lifestyles and Families Support Group. Lord knows his “family” certainly isn’t exactly typical.)

Six takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door. The group starts in half an hour so the gym doors are closed still, but he wanted to get there early to do a complete surveillance check (can’t have any wannabe Lloyds finding Claire). He hears a Very excited voice from the other side of the door yell out.

“Be right there!”

A second later the doors swing open to reveal possibly the most energetic man Six has ever met. This guy has platinum blonde hair, an outfit straight from Malibu, and a bigger grin than Six thought was physically possible. The man sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Ken! Are you here for GSALFS?”

Six blinks, then composes himself, shock from this man's exuberance still clinging to his nerves. The man in front of him - Ken - was definitely not a threat, but in Six’s history, when people had been excited to meet him, it usually spelled trouble. He grabs Ken's hand.

“Yes, I know I’m early, but I wanted to get here with time to fill out any forms if I needed to.”

He’s not fully lying, he knows he’ll have to join a sign-up sheet or something, but really he’s here early to carefully scan the entire interior of the gym; both to assess his safety at this meeting and Claire’s safety in general. Can never be too careful.

Ken nods his head and opens the doors wider to let Six in.

“Well, you’re in luck! We just set up the chairs so I’ll give you the forms now while we set up the food, that way you can grab a bite once you’re done!”

He beams as if this is the best news he’s ever announced. Six would be irritated if it wasn't so begrudgingly cute. They both walk in and Six takes the time to scan the room, noting entry points, hiding spots, anything that would be useful in an emergency. Ken quite literally bounces away, returning only a moment later with a clipboard and a pen. Six takes them, quirking an eyebrow at the feathery pink pen attached to the forms, and nods a thank you at Ken.

“If you have any questions about what to fill out just ask, most things are optional but the more details you fill out the better, it’ll help us group you with the right people!”

Six scans the form. There’s basic information, name, age, pronouns (don’t see that every day), how did you find out about the group, etc. He pauses briefly at “preferred name”. Six might not be his legal name, but then again legally he didn’t exist anymore. And “Courtland” felt wrong coming from people's mouths now. He just puts “Six” down as his preferred name and leaves the other line blank, hoping no one makes a fuss about it.

He moves on. He has no emergency contact and almost scoffs at the “triggers to avoid” line. Like he would give anyone anything that could compromise him.

Then there’s the next part of the form.

“What group would you like to join today? If unsure, here is a list describing each group”

Alternative Lifestyles and Families is explained first. Apparently, it means more “people in polyamorous relationships, people in the Kink/BDSM world, etc.” and less “on the run from the CIA and most other major government organizations with a newly acquired teenager who’s the niece of your now-deceased ex-handler”. Whoops.

Not wanting to waste the trip out (or risk Claire’s wrath), he looks at the other options.

Gender identity is irrelevant to him, he’s never questioned being a man, but Sexuality? Six pauses again.

He never had crushes as a kid, on girls OR boys, and he went to prison too early to have any sort of normal teen experimental phase. Sure, he’s hooked up with women (and occasionally men) while in training or between missions, but those were mostly due to peer pressure or simply stress relief. Does he… know his sexuality?

Ken must see his frozen confused face because he subtly hands him another form after glancing at where he’s stuck on the paper.

“If you’re unsure of where you fit in here, this might help clarify a few things.”

Six sheepishly takes the new form. It’s some sort of self-assessment, questions and answers that tally up to different identities. Skeptically, he fills it out.

“Who have you felt romantic attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six blinks. Romantic? Is that different from other attractions? And “Neither” is an option? He circles “D”

“Who have you felt sexual attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six circles “D” again, more confident this time. He continues through the quiz and finally adds up the numbers. He has 2 results.

“Based on your results, you match best with Asexual . Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may also be categorized more widely, to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities.”

And the second.

“Based on your results you match best with Aromantic. Aromanticism is a romantic orientation characterized by experiencing little to no romantic attraction.”

Six blinks. Then rereads the descriptions. That’s… a thing? He isn’t just broken or built wrong? The words slot into a place in his heart, filling a void he had ignored for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. Asexual. Aromantic. There are words to describe who he is and an entire community around them. He suppresses this newfound sexuality crisis for later; right now he has to bare his soul to strangers or something.

He hands the forms back to Ken who’s still arranging the (extremely sugary) snacks. Ken looks over the forms and smiles widely.

“Well Hello Six! It’s nice to put a name to the face! And I’m glad the quiz helped clarify things for you. The Ace group could use a new face, they’re always so existential.”

Ken pulls a sticker pad from seemingly nowhere and hands it to Six.

“Here, put whatever you want to be called on this, and pick some pronoun stickers, however many you want. If you want to add any we don’t have, just write them down on the nametag!”

Six groans internally at the nametag. He’s not used to people readily being able to identify who he is. Part of being the Gray Man was being untraceable. But he shakes the thought out of his head. Those days are over (hopefully). Now he’s just a paren- guardian taking an interest in his child’s community. He takes a breath, steadying his resolve. He once flew a helicopter one-handed through a snowstorm while escaping Siberia. He can deal with talking about himself for a couple of hours.

He thanks Ken and writes down “Six” on the purple, black, gray, and white name tag, adding a “he/him” sticker to it. He hands them back to Ken who is now on the phone, talking animatedly to someone. (No way it’s with someone named Barbie. He must’ve misheard.)

He sticks the nametag on and picks a chair in the back of the room (close to the nearest exit, with plenty of improvisable weapons close by) to sit down on and watch everyone slowly trickle into the room. He takes note of all of them, assessing their appearance, demeanor, and threat level.

A blonde man in a white jacket and driving gloves, holding hands with both a blonde woman in a sundress and a Latino man with a shaved head and work clothes. The woman and shorter man greet Ken with a hug and lively words, but the blonde man just smiles at him,

A bleach blonde man in biker gear with tattoos peaking out wherever skin shows and a sad smile that hides the slight edge of danger Six senses from him. Six identifies several prison tats but doesn’t judge. He might even have matching ones.

A brunette in a perfectly tailored suit and immaculate grooming who greets Ken with a kiss on both cheeks

Two women, one feminine and one masculine who enter in a heated debate but holding hands

A dirty blonde man in a suit who only stops humming some old jazz song to greet Ken

A thicker, nervous-looking man in a winter coat (why?) with a nicely trimmed mustache who doesn’t do the usual hug-greeting with Ken but still waves at him

A silent, almost vacant-faced man with an eyebrow slit, who refuses to make eye contact with anyone

Three people that Six honestly couldn’t tell if they were male or female (he chastises himself for thinking in binary terms in a group literally about gender diversity, but hey, it's habit)

Two men, one with a trashy mustache goatee combo and a cast, the other with a harsh face and slicked back hair, both looking like they stepped straight out of the ’70s

A greasy-looking kid with long hair falling over his face that must be old enough to join the (18+) group, but only barely

A model-gorgeous woman and younger-looking person who both are dressed like they stepped out of a catalog and who greet Ken with squeals of excitement and kisses before helping him with some last-minute preparations (must be the co-runners of the group)

A tall built man with blonde highlights and a goofy grin to counter the muscles Six can make out from under his tight t-shirt. Six would consider him the biggest threat in the room if not for how clumsy he seems and the last person to enter.

The last man is perfectly nondescript (as if on purpose), but Six can feel that he’s…different. Military haircut, scars peeking out of his long overcoat, perfect posture, perfectly neutral face, and most condemning, he's subtly scanning the room for threats. The same way Six had. Six tenses slightly, on edge but no alarm bells are going off in his head because this guy doesn’t give off any aggressive vibes. If anything he’s acting… submissively? He’s acting strange either way.

Done with his threat assessment he turns his attention back to Ken and the two others that have joined him at the front of the room. Ken claps his hands to gather attention, exuberant smile never wavering.

“Hello everyone, and Welcome to GSALFS! For our newcomers who aren’t familiar with how this works, on your entry form you indicated which group or groups would be best suited to your needs, and that’s who you’ll be talking to tonight. If you fit into multiple groups don’t worry! You can choose another one to join next week. Take a look at your nametag and sit in the circle with the flag that matches the colors. We try to stay on topic during discussions but encourage the conversation to flow naturally. Have fun!”

Six looks at his nametag colors and searches the room for the chair circle with the corresponding flag, smiling a bit when he sees that it’s towards the back of the gym, right next to an exit. He grabs a snack (giving in to his sweet tooth) and makes his way to the chair with the best view of the room. He sits and takes in the other people arriving.

The man in the white jacket and gloves sits first and Six examines his expression further. He seems calm, if not a bit aloof, but Six can tell that underneath the boyish looks and gentle face, something is hiding. His name tag is… blank? Is that allowed? The man still has pronoun stickers (he/they), but instead of a name he just has a crude doodle of a car. The “car man” (or whatever his name is) nods his head as the next person sits.

The second man has short, cropped hair, an eyebrow slit, and the build of a boxer. He has none of the swagger of a fighter though, instead moving slowly, as if in a dream. Unlike the man in the white jacket’s calm, composed expression, this man’s face is entirely blank. He doesn’t nod his head back in greeting, instead slowly raising a hand in a halted wave. His name tag reads “Julian” in scratchy handwriting and he also has a “he/him” sticker.

Six watches curiously as the two men start gesturing to each other in presumably sign language. Their hand movements are slow, but he can see the man in the jacket quirk up the corner of his lip, and the other man’s shoulders seem to untense a little as they communicate. They keep “conversing” and Six is desperately trying to remember the little ASL he knows when the third man approaches.

Six straightens up automatically. The military (?) man walks up and Six knows for a fact now that he’s not a civilian. The man walks with precision, every step calculated and efficient. Six is bigger than this man, but the tight shirt under his coat lets him know that this other guy is nothing but muscle. He can’t help himself (the CIA drilled situational awareness into the fiber of his being); he does a quick room scan. There are 3 major exits, 2 potential ambush spots, 23 potential weapons within a couple of steps, and 42 ways to defend himself (both lethally and non-lethally) if he needs to. The newest group member sits down with his hands resting perfectly on his thighs (huh, interesting) and Six takes the opportunity to read his nametag.

“K”. That's it. Okay then. Not like Six can judge someone for not using their real name. K makes eye contact and Six, never one to back down from a challenge, locks his eyes right back at him. The other man isn't combative, but he isn’t backing down either. Six crosses his arms. K blinks, and a slight twitch of amusement flits across his lip, but his gaze never wavers. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Julian and Car Guy have stopped signing at each other and are waving at K, probably saying Hi. K waves back, eyes still fixed on Six, and Six could huff out of annoyance if the double doors don’t creak open at that exact minute.

A slightly scrawny-looking blonde kid no older than 20 with a smarmy-looking grin slips in, presumably late to the meeting. Six darts his eyes toward the sudden movement, then immediately curses himself for seemingly backing down in front of a potential threat.

K smirks (granted, it’s not unkindly), and turns his head to greet the other two men in the circle. He signs something at Julian and Six quickly realizes he either will need someone to translate for him, or he needs to start taking ASL lessons if he wants to communicate in this group effectively. Thankfully, when K turns to Car Guy, he speaks aloud, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. His voice is soft, steady, and deliberate. As if he thought over each word individually before speaking.

“Did Standard or Irene draw that this time, Driver?” he asks, gesturing to the name tag with the car doodle on it.

Was this guy’s name Driver? Ah well, again, not like Six could judge. His name is just a goddamn number.

Driver lets a shy smile creep onto their face.

“Benicio. He wanted to feel included.”

Julian finds this amusing, letting his facial features relax a bit. (Maybe he’s not deaf? Or he can lip read- but no, he hasn’t looked at anyone's face yet. Just mute?)

“Friend of yours draw that?” Six asks, trying to be friendly.

Driver’s smile lessens at his words and Six suspects he may be unwelcome in this apparently tight-knit group that’s formed.

“Kid, actually.”

“Oh, you have a kid?”

He really is just trying to break the ice, he swears. But Six can see Driver’s jaw clench, his gloved fists tightening, and he realizes he chose the exact wrong thing to ask this man. Casually, he moves his arm towards his waistband, not liking the alarm bells this guy is setting off. K must notice what he’s doing, and, muscles tensing, he reaches for his waistband. Julian notices the energy shift as well, but he’s not poised to defend himself, instead, his head is hung low, and he’s slightly trembling.

Six takes a breath and before he can dart for the exit, a shout cuts through the quiet gym, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“What the FUCK are YOU doing here?!”

He nearly draws and fires right then and there, but it’s immediately obvious the yelling isn’t directed at him.

The greasy, long-haired kid is standing right in the face of the blonde guy who slipped in late to the meeting. He has tears in his eyes as he pokes the chest of the shorter guy, who looks nervous but isn’t backing down.

“You really think you can just show up here like nothing happened? How fucking stupid do you think I am , Richard?”

All eyes in the room are on the two men arguing. The tatted guy Six eyed earlier is glaring at Richard with his hand in his pocket, and Six can tell he’s fidgeting with some kind of knife. The mustached man in the winter coat looks close to tears himself, and the equally broad but muscular guy with highlights is gently soothing him. The two men in suits (one immaculately groomed and the other that had been humming Jazz) exchange glances, vaguely amused by whatever drama is being played out.

“You blocked me everywhere, how else was I supposed to talk to you?” Richard’s words are just as angry, but he slowly backs up as the taller man stalks towards him.

“Obviously you weren’t supposed to talk to me.”

Across from Six, K sighs, slumping back into his chair, while Driver rolls his eyes.

“Henry, come on, you’re overreacting, I never-”

“I’m OVERREACTING?!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath before we do anything we might regret,” Ken interjects, stepping between the two men and placing a (surprisingly muscular) arm on each of their chests to keep them apart. “That includes you, Luke”

The tatted man — Luke — scoffs but stops twirling his knife in his pocket.

“Now Richard” Ken starts, turning to the seething blonde, “you know you’re on probation from this group, let’s calm down and talk about this outside”.

Richard seems like he’s going to protest until the blonde woman who helped Ken earlier steps up.

“Either you and Ken talk things out together outside or you and I can. Your choice.”

A flash of nervousness flits across Richard's face, but he grumbles out a “Fine” and lets Ken escort him out, muttering the whole way.

The tension in the room dissipates.

Six lets himself relax slightly, the brewing conflict between him and the other group members now forgotten in the chaos. K seems weary, Driver looks vaguely irritated, and Julian-

Julian is still frozen in place, trembling, eyes somehow more distant than before.

Six frowns.

“Is he OK?”

Driver’s face hardens again, but before Six can ready himself for the venom about to be spat in his direction, Driver turns to Julian and softens. He takes one of Julian's hands, squeezing softly before gently rubbing a gloved thumb over his skin.

Six isn’t an idiot (despite Claire’s insistence).

He’s seen plenty of guys have panic attacks in prison or even full-on flashbacks during CIA training. For a moment he recalls the countless nights in his cell, unable to breathe from the crushing weight in his chest, he feels himself being restrained and berated by his commander for blacking out and mistaking an officer for the enemy because he beat him just like his dad would-

Six squeezes his eyes shut for a beat.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Not now. He can flashback all he wants later when he’s not in front of a bunch of strangers.

Distraction time.

He turns to K, who’s staring at Julian mournfully. He clears his throat.

“Ahem. So, uhhhh, what was that whole fight thing about? Richard and Henry, was it?”

K hesitates, but when he notices Six dart his eyes pointedly at Julian and Driver, pursing his lips, he nods almost imperceptibly and slowly opens his mouth to explain.

Good. If he is ex-military or whatever like Six suspects, he probably gets it too.

“Richard and Henry, yeah,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed.

“They met at this high school and started dating in college. Henry has a history of… Issues.”

(He’s trying to be gracious, Six can tell)

“Richard exploited Henry’s, uh, instability , convincing him he'd never hurt him. Then Richard’s best friend lets Henry know Richard’s been cheating on him the entire time with him and even sends him a videotape of it. Apparently, Richard secretly records all his ‘conquests’.”

K’s lip curls in disgust.

“Anyways, Henry was shattered, and word got back to Barbie, Ken, and Allan. I’ve never seen them so angry before; Ken had to calm them down before Allan got into another fight they couldn’t win, or before Barbie eviscerated him.” K smirks.

Allan must be the other person running the group, but then —

“Wait, hang on, they’re actually Barbie and Ken? Are those just stage-names or…?”

K smirks again and Six can hear Driver huff out what could be a laugh next to him.

“Yeah, everyone has that realization once they join. I swear those are their real names. Apparently, they were raised together too?” K shrugs.

“Huh, wild. But yeah, that Richard kid seems like an asshole.”

K chuckles and Driver lets out another huff of laughter. Julian exhales an almost-giggle and signs something that makes Driver honest-to-god snort , while K has to put a hand over his mouth to cover his slowly widening grin.

Six’s grin falters a bit, wishing once again he had paid better attention to his ASL lessons during training.

“Sorry. I, uh, I don’t know signs all that well,” he admits, flushing with embarrassment.

Julian just nods and before any other group members can interpret for him, he opens his mouth and translates for himself in a cracked voice:

“Bitchard.”

Driver snorts again, hiding his head in his shoulder.

“He’s not wrong.” K smiles.

Six takes a breath. Biting the bullet (heh), he extends his hand out to K for a handshake.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Six.”

K takes his hand. His grip is strong but not too tight, the kind of handshake businessmen swoon over.

“K,” he replies.

He elbows Driver slightly, who nudges him back, as if irritated, but he still turns toward Six. He hesitates, then sticks out his gloved hand. Six takes it, more gently, and is surprised that his grip is almost as strong as K’s. Driver’s shoulders tense, but he relaxes them and flashes Six a small smile.

“Nice to meet you”

He doesn’t introduce himself, but K calls him Driver and he responds, so that’s what Six’ll stick with.

Julian doesn’t extend a hand, but he does bring his head up to look at Six’s face. No eye contact, but Six is just flattered the man trusts him enough to even just look at him. He doesn’t say anything but nods his head in greeting. Six nods back, smiling.

Maybe Claire was right. It was nice to feel like he belonged.

34 notes · View notes