jean

header credit: @_su81 twt he/they, spam blog, not leak free

[ehemayb-e]

xiao ✩★ 魈 / www.xiao-goth.co ! 💤

mayb or jean he/they/fae/xe

main blog | xinyan rp blog | itto rp blog | stats

reblog if; accidental follow, cry for help, m.list reblog

byf; i curse a lot and don't have a tag system

thoughts; game of thrones men (selective)

theme art credit: yeetoldy icon credit: kinneticto

MAYB REMEMBER BOOTHILL

[tricksh0t]

★ the stars

☾ (arcane) jayce x m reader

cw: porn with little plot, swearing, bottom jayce, dacryphilia, slight mel shade, deep throating (r receiving), riding, possibility of getting caught, slight size kink, implied marathon sex, overstim

Jayce is greedy.

So fucking greedy, because he's trapped in the Arcane and the multitudes of universes, but he doesn't want to leave.

The stars, you call yourself, explain yourself to him: while there's one Sun and one Moon, doomed to follow the same path in all timelines, there's multiple stars, and those are you. You're a Nazumah village boy sometimes, a Navori soldier other times. You're the stars, your presence a constant in every universe, yet still variable.

The you before him is almost like a god, but restrained to the Arcane, forced to sit tight and watch.

You have him watch too, with you.

Sometimes, you're a scholar from Piltover.

He's on his back, and his thighs burn as he holds them up for you, and yet it still feels sweet—so sweet and good that he's crying.

You're academy friends, hell, childhood friends, who've endured years upon years of experiences–hardships, triumphs–together.

There's love in this, in the way your eyes always settle on his when they flutter open, in the way he's desperately trying to keep his open, for you.

The tears don't help if they gather behind his waterline, so he lets them go.

You're sweet and lovely, and there's care in this, in the way you help him with keeping his thighs up, in the way you kiss the tears that roll down his cheeks, in the way you fuck him slowly like you've got all the time in the world.

There's more to it than watching. You, the stars, are the god, likely unfeeling. Jayce is the mortal, and he feels the drag of your cock in his gummy walls just as much as he feels it in his throat.

Because other times, you meet after graduating from the academy and end up rivals.

You're fed up with him, that much is certain as you push him onto his knees. He's pliant. You note this with jabs, mentions of his councilor girlfriend, of how he accepted his own position without a doubt, because surely it's his girlfriend who convinced him to.

He can't talk back because you've got your cock down his throat, and you're gripping his hair like a vice, and you know, actually he quite likes its weight on his tongue.

He's not sure why, but it feels addictive. When you wrap your hand around his throat just to feel the bulge when he takes you down, he doesn't even complain.

And Jayce feels both a lover's touch and a rival's grip in tandem, at the same time, and distantly other universes tug for his attention.

Some other times, you're an enforcer.

Tired after a day's work, he's pleasing you, doing all the work for you.

There's nothing but thankfulness and gratefulness in his mind as he grinds and grinds and grinds his hips.

A protector, that's what you are, his man, his big burly bear that he knows will protect him no matter what, with a nicely strung cock at that, but he'll say that's just a bonus.

There's thank you's on his lips, it sounds like begging. He doesn't care for that, doesn't care that maybe the creak, creak, creak of the bedframe against the floor will earn him complaints.

He's a councilor, after all. Nobody can complain to a councilor just like that, not if they have an ounce of social pressure.

Nobody especially would complain to an enforcer, his enforcer, because they, and you, do so much work to protect Piltover.

He's happy to ride, happy to wear himself out, just to make sure you feel good.

But it's all tame, because you know each other already. Jayce and his long time lover, or his rival, or his enforcer.

Other times you're a Zaunite rebel, recruited for the fight against Noxus, a fight current Jayce has no idea about, but that's not on his mind right now.

You meet eyes in the calm before the storm.

He's hot, you're hot, adrenaline's already beginning to pump in your veins, it's an easy equation.

Except it's not easy, because you're a rebel and he's a councilor, but that didn't make it any harder to bend over a box for you.

He wonders if you'll be caught, even more, what will happen then, to a rebel and a councilor.

Your body entirely engulfs his if viewed from the door, so maybe, just maybe, he can hide behind your grotesque thrusts, disturb enough with his gasps that whoever catches you will leave.

Because in his mind, stopping is not a possibility.

Fuck, it's good, so so good it has his eyes rolling back. He doesn't want to stop.

He loves how rough you're being, really he's never had it before, but now he's hooked. Your thrusts angle into his prostate, something he doesn't know the name for, hard and he loves it.

He's been missing out, but he doesn't think of that now, not while you spear him on your cock like it's the last thing you'll do.

He can't have enough, won't think it enough, not until the Noxian ships sound their war drums.

To current Jayce, it's all overstimulating, to feel all this at once: a slow and loving pace, a hand around his throat, the hard cock he's sweating over, and a sure to bruise prostate.

But Jayce is greedy.

So fucking greedy, "More. Please."

Somewhere in another universe, another scenario comes into focus.

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ★ hi first fic totes cool hell yeah

[ehemayb-e]

Cowboy Vocabulary for Tenderfoot; via @.cowboyslang

old rats: one of the boys

cowpoke: lower ranking cowboy

tenderfoot: new hire

Bronc Buster: cowboy who could tame a wild horse

dasbter: expert in everything; know-it-all

buckaroo: a cowboy

yammering: talking

poppet: a term of endearment

belly wash: weak coffee

hill of beans: worthless

simon-pure: to be truthful

grab a root: to eat a meal

fine as cream gravy: very good

mashed: in love

go boil your shirt: get lost

pitch a fit: throw a tantrum

fixing to: intend to

apple-pie order: tip-top shape

toad strangler: heavy rain

For Fire Twister:

ten commandments: fingers

cowpoke: lesser ranked cowboy

hobble your lip: shut up

For Old Link:

Alfalfa Desperado: farmer

[ehemayb-e]

mi propio blog es un flashbang brother

[lilyunderthetree]

my eyes bleed when i open your thing i hope u know

[ehemayb-e]

ey el tuyo tambien

[ehemayb-e]

mi propio blog es un flashbang brother

[dystimiz-18]

I'm opening commissions! All the information is listed here, but you can ask me anything in the DM!

Here are also examples of my work:

I will be very grateful if you help me spread this❤️❤️❤️

[ehemayb-e]

ballister is peak dad

[koifish67]

Junkrat x male Reader headcanons!

This is me just spewing all of this so it’s really random.

Sfw

Junkrat is probably the most touchy and clingy person ever if your his lover. He loves just genuinely touching you, from a simple handhold to just being carried by you.

Has little to none dating experience, he never really meet anyone until you! So give him some time.

He gives you some wild ass nicknames: “smookie pookie” or “baby cakes” and roadhog has to listen to all of it.

His prosthetic aren’t exactly the most comfortable thing to walk on, since they aren’t up to date. So he usually walking around without them on and a crutch. Or you’ll carry him on your back or arms.

When you guys start getting more serious and move in, he’ll move in with you since his house in junker town is small. He has his own little section for bombs and traps that he makes.

He smells like ash and slightly of mens deodorant.

When you cuddle he likes to be spooned or for him to be on top of you, but he doesn’t mind if you lay on him.

You meet hum when you found him and roadhog outside junker town, and you invited them both to stay at your house until they are let back in.

His kisses are like, slobbery as hell. But once he learns to kiss better there actually really nice. His favorite place to kiss you on neck.

When you and him are on a mission together he stays near you so you don’t get hurt, and roadhog joins you both so your like a mini team.

But if your a civilian, he’ll promise to come back alive and make sure everything is okay if he’s gone.

Has a patch sewn on his pants that you made him and brags about it. He probably has a voice line about it:

“See this patch? My amazing soon to be husband made this for me, it gives me amazing luck.”

[kombatmutt]

Battered | Sierra Six x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: PROMPT STORM WOOOOO!!!

all sierra six x m!reader pls!!

and finally, six whump and hurt/comfort pls?

summary: Six has a habit of showing up at your door when he needs patching up, but this may just be the last time that he does.

tws: swearing, smoking, blood, injury, broken bones, pain, little bit of angst, bruises

Six was absolutely battered, blood all over his shirt and smeared across his skin, bruises littering his skin from the head down to his ankles, a broken rib and several broken fingers; he was struggling massively to move, and you were quick to force him down onto your bed, looking at him with such pain when he offered those puppy dog eyes he knew you couldn't resist.

"Is Claire home?"

You shook your head, clearing your throat as you took a deep breath. "No, she's gone over to a friend's house for the night. They're having a little birthday party."

Six nodded, relief flooding his veins as he dared to stare up at the ceiling; after everything that had happened, Six couldn't stomach the thought of Claire, his baby sister, seeing him hurt again. He was all she had left, after her uncle, after her parents - Six was the only family she had left, and he would be gutted if she ever saw him hurt again.

You sat at the edge of the bed next to him, putting your hand on his chest gently as you frowned. "Six, I'm gonna take your shirt off - is that okay?"

He nodded again, watching carefully as you started to undo the buttons of his shirt; slowly and so cautiously that Six couldn't help but to smile a little bit. He watched as you removed the layer of fabric, throwing it aside and examining his wounds; a slit in his chest, a large bruise on his chest, smaller cuts on his stomach that weren't exactly deep but weren't exactly paper cuts either. When you looked down to the waistband of his jeans, you could see that he had more bruises, more bloody cuts, and you sighed.

"Okay... okay... ideally, you need a hospital," you started, "but I know you'd never do that shit, so... I'm gonna patch up what I can, okay?"

Six nodded.

"Do not fucking move," you told him sternly. "Do not fucking move. I won't be long."

He waited patiently, listening out for the door and hoping, praying, fucking pleading silently to anyone who was going to listen, that Claire was still at her friend's house; she didn't need to see him hurt again, and he didn't want her to see it. How he was bloodied, bruised, his bones were broken, he was wheezing and coughing as he breathed. But then there was you, as well; sure, you had patched up Six time and time again, you had given him a place to lick his wounds and to rest, but even he knew that you would eventually snap and tell him to fuck off.

No man would put up with him for this long, he thought, not even you; he knew that you would tell him to leave eventually, that you would slam the door in his face at some point because you couldn't cope with it anymore. He only needed to start counting the days until that happened; he knew that as much as you did care, you weren't Superman, and you would eventually be worn down by the amount of times you needed to patch him up. Sure, you cared about him, Six knew you cared about him, but he also knew that you would eventually need to take a break from patching him up; he couldn't say he blamed you, he really couldn't, in fact he actually blamed himself for it more than anything. He wasn't even sure why he kept running to you; you weren't a medical professional, he had plenty of contacts through Fitzroy who were and who were just as secure and just as safe as you were, but he kept running to you. Time and time again.

He sighed when you walked back into the room, a large plastic tub filled with medical supplies in your arms as you came and sat at his bedside again; you ripped open a packet of antiseptic, dashed some on a cloth, and paused before you started to wipe down his skin.

"This is gonna sting like a bitch," you told him. "You gonna let me do it?"

Six clenched his jaw, and put his thumb up, his gaze drifting to your face as you started to wipe down his skin; his training had given him at least one good thing - he didn't flinch and seethe when the antiseptic stung his skin. He felt raw, and open, he could feel the cold sting sharply, but he could at least pretend and act like he wasn't feeling a damn thing; looking at you made it even easier. He shivered a little when you got to that sensitive spot just above the waistband of his jeans, if only because he wasn't expecting it, but he took a tiny fraction of a second to recover.

You stopped, taking the orange stained cloth away and trying not to frown; he looked awful, the cuts and bruises and scrapes and grazes were a lot more frequent than you first thought. You paused.

"Six? I, uh, I think I'm gonna have to call a doctor for this - I can't, I can't patch this up, it's not... it's bad," you admitted softly. "You got a number I can use?"

Six reached for his phone, and he quickly pulled up the number of a doctor he knew was nearby; he sent them a text and within a minute, he got one back. "Ten minutes."

You sighed with relief, nodding and swiping a hand down your face as you looked at his battered body. "I can fix up the little things, if you want me to? But if you'd rather wait for the doctor, I'd-"

"You can do it." His voice was shaky, uneven and wheezing, not the steady and stoic rumble you had been so used to. That's what scared you.

The bruises, the cuts, the blood - you were used to all of that, even if you were in pain when you had to look at it, you were at least used to it; but his voice being shaky, his words trembling, that was frightening. He never let his voice get uneven, he never let it wheeze even when he was really out of breath. You started to shake as you reached for the plasters, your jaw clenched as you started to apply them to the smaller and superficial wounds, trying not to whimper when you heard the rattling in the back of his throat when he coughed. Spit mixed with blood from a bleeding tongue.

When the doorbell rang, you were quick to usher the doctor inside, no questions asked, you rushed them to the bedroom and you let them work; you drank cups of coffee and smoked cigarettes for what seemed like an eternity, looking at the clock and counting the fucking seconds. They dragged. You smoked. You filled the ashtray and emptied it, waiting with baited breath for the doctor to come back downstairs and to tell you that he was okay; that's all you needed to know, was that Six wouldn't fucking die on you. That's all you needed. That's all you wanted.

You cared about him a little bit too much, just a little bit too much; you kept patching him up when he came to your doorstep like a wounded animal because you couldn't stomach the thought of him being unsafe, of him getting himself killed. You liked having Six around, you liked to spend time with him; you were thankful when he visited with Claire, usually because he needed someone safe to leave her with when he had to do something, because it meant that you could see him more often. Usually, he left her in your care for a couple of weeks, which was never a big deal; she was a good kid, and she made you laugh when she told Six off about not talking, about how he never looked at anything but his shoes.

"He's done," the doctor said, so cold and so casual, as they approached you in the kitchen. "He's alive."

You nodded, relief in your eyes as you tried not to tear up. "Thank you, I'll, I'll show you to the door, I'll-"

The doctor shook their head. "He's asking for you. I can see myself out."

"What do I ow-"

"Nothing." They told you. "I'll need to come back to take the casts off. I'll call when that is."

You nodded again, sniffling as you walked with them through the hallway; the doctor headed to the door, while you made your way to the bedroom, sheepishly knocking the door.

"Can I come in?"

"It's your bedroom."

He was still wheezing, but when you walked in, you could see how his lips turned up a little, just enough to hint at a smile; you dared to approach, ending up sat by his hip as you looked down at him and dared to smile.

"You okay?"

Six shook his head, he wouldn't say it if only to save his own face and to spare you a little bit of pain, but he felt as if every single millimetre of his body was being stabbed and slashed at; he still felt raw, as if the top layer of his skin had been peeled off, and he wanted to cry. He had aches, and he was starting to itch where the casts had been put on his left foot and his right hand. But he still managed to meet your gaze, and he relaxed.

"I, uh, I'm kinda tired," you started, "would, uhm, would it be okay if I slept with you?"

"Sure."

You didn't really sleep much, though, when you laid down with him and when you tried not to cuddle into his side, you were kept awake by his near constant little whimpers and whines of pain, agony; you weren't sure how you could help, aside from getting him some painkillers, but you knew he would never accept that. He wouldn't let you give him any painkillers, because that would mean telling you the truth: that he was in absolute fucking agony.

You left him to it, putting an extra blanket on the bed as well as a couple of extra cushions just to be sure that he had some sort of comfort for the night, in the end and spent the night in the living room watching television instead; it wasn't until the doorbell rang, and you could hear birds chirping outside, that you even realised what a long night it had been.

But then Claire smiled at you, and despite your tiredness, you found it in yourself to smile back.

"Were you good?"

Claire scoffed as she walked past you. "Always! Do we have anything to eat? We didn't have time for breakfast, William's mum had to go to work."

You bit back a yawn as you nodded and gestured to the kitchen. "You know where everything is."

"Is Six back?" She asked, pausing as she knelt down at the crisp cupboard.

You nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, but uh, he's uhm... he's really-"

"He got hurt," Claire's voice went so quiet it was heartbreaking. "Didn't he?"

"Yeah," you breathed out. "Yeah, he did... but he'll be okay."

"Can I see him?" She grabbed two packets of crisps from the cupboard and looked up at you as if the entire world was resting on your shoulders. "Please, (y/n)?"

"Yeah," you agreed. "Yeah, you can see him - if he's awake. He had a long night."

Claire nodded, bounding to the bedroom; she didn't even bother to knock as she strolled in and stood at Six's bedside.

"Are you dead?"

Six opened one eye as he grumbled. "Not yet."

"Good," she smiled, although it was obvious to see that she was hurting. Six was her big brother, he was the only family she had left, and she didn't want to lose that. She didn't want to be alone in the world. "Are you gonna be able to walk around staring at your shoes all day?"

"Are you gonna talk all day?" Six asked, the slightest bit of amusement in his voice as he tried not to laugh, if only to spare his ribs a little bit of pain.

"No, but I know (y/n)'s got something on his mind," she told him. "He seemed really upset."

Six grumbled again, he couldn't really find the energy to do much else.

"I think he's worried about you," she continued, "like really worried. I think he thought you were gonna die."

He only shook his head; of course he knew you cared, he would be an idiot if he didn't realise that you had put down extra pillows and blankets for him. He had heard you pacing around when he was being patched up by the doctor; it wasn't the same type of pacing that you did when you couldn't sleep, he wasn't an idiot. But you were just friends. Only friends, he knew that. The same as he knew that it wasn't like you to not listen to music when you were pacing around; he knew that you were just friends the same way that he knew that you liked your coffee a specific way.

"I'm gonna go," Claire pressed one of the crisp packets into his hands and smiled. "Don't die."

Six gave her the devil horns with his left hand, watching as she left the room, he sighed heavily.

Claire found you in the garden, sat at the bottom in one of the black wicker chairs and smoking a cigarette as you stared into nothing; she sat on the chair beside you, and opened the packet of crisps, grabbing your attention.

"So, why do you always get Six patched up?"

You were a little taken aback by the question, but you shrugged. "I like him a lot."

"Like, more than friends?" She tilted her head to the side and offered you the packet, but you shook your head.

Taking a drag from your cigarette, you turned your head to the side so that the smoke wouldn't go near her. "You could say that, yeah... tell you what, though, why don't you go in the front room and chuck the telly on? We can watch Beethoven, if you want."

"Is that the film about the Saint Bernard dog?"

You nodded. "Yeah, if you chuck it on, I'll be back in a bit and we can watch it, yeah? And then later we can go up the shop and I'll get you a packet of sweets."

Claire nearly grinned. "Sounds like a deal, but can we play that game again? The one on the Xbox with the dragon?"

"Sure," you shrugged. "I'll set it all up later, okay?"

"Okay!"

And just like that, she left you there, practically running inside; but instead of heading into the living room, she dared to pester Six again, a little cocky as she strutted into the room and cleared her throat.

"What?" Six grumbled.

"(y/n) told me he likes you," she practically sang the words. "Like, more than friends."

He scoffed. "We're just friends."

Claire rolled her eyes, and although she knew it wasn't exactly the truth, she cleared her throat and dared to say, "he wants to be your boyfriend."

Six glared at her. "Really?"

"Really," she nodded. "He said that I have to ask you if you want him to be your boyfriend - and you can't just grumble, you have to say yes or no."

He rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as he cleared his throat. "Yes."

"Good," she ran off again, heading down to the bottom of the garden where she knew she'd find you. "(y/n), Six said that he wants you to be his boyfriend."

You raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," she nodded. "He said that he really likes you, too."

"Oh..." you swallowed thickly, your eyes going a little wide as you swiped a hand down your face. "Okay, well, uh... yeah, okay. Uh. Go stick that film on, I'm gonna go have a word with him."

You followed her inside, your head starting to spin with what suddenly made Six decide he wanted to be more than friends, but when she went into the living room, you headed into your bedroom; Six was up, his back resting against the headboard as he stared into nothing. He only looked at you when you cleared your throat and bit at the inside of your lip; he could tell that you were nervous, that something was on your mind.

"Six, uh, Claire told me that uhm, that you wanted me to be your boyfriend," you said.

Six shook his head. "She told me that you said you wanted to be my boyfriend."

"Well, uh," you looked around the room, avoiding his gaze as you struggled to get the words out. "Do you? Do you want me to be your boyfriend, I mean?"

He dared to crack a small smile as he nodded, but when you still wouldn't look at him, he let the word go, "yeah."

"Yeah?" You asked, finally looking at him. He nodded again, and held out his left hand for you to take, pulling you down onto the bed beside him as he rested his head on your shoulder. "Six, that's mighty sweet, but I promised Claire we'd watch Beethoven..."

"I can join."

"Are you sure you're able? Because I can come back later and-"

"I can do it."

You sighed, getting up off of the bed and letting him wrap his left arm around you, letting him lean into you as you helped him to get moving; he was stiff, and he was weak, but when you collapsed on the sofa next to him, he immediately leaned into your side and grumbled softly. From her place in the reclining chair, Claire smiled.

"So, are you two boyfriends, now?"

You looked at her, and dared to laugh. "Yeah. We are."

"Cool!" She beamed. "So, does that mean we can stay here, forever?"

"Well... me and Six would have to talk about that," you told her with a shrug. "But at least for the next few months, yeah."

Six huffed, almost laughing but trying desperately not to. "We'll talk about it later."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it.

[kombatmutt]

Humans & Their Weak Flesh | Corinthian x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: ok i am so ready for these corinthian fics

all x m! reader pls!!

"Don't pick at it, you'll make it worse"

summary: it's not in his nature to be a carer, it's not in his nature to patch wounds, he's a killer and he likes it but... not when it comes to you. Never when it comes to you.

tws: injury, blood, swearing

Nightmares weren't exactly the type to provide care, to be the caretakers, to patch up their boyfriends; they weren't made for that, and it certainly wasn't something that the Corinthian ever saw himself doing. Patching up a nasty wound on your bicep that went down to the dermis, patching up another nasty wound on your forearm that went down to the fat layer; humans and their fucking weak flesh.

If anything, he should have been the one to have caused such wounds, he certainly enjoyed inflicting much worse on others, but you... oh, you were different; you were the man he always returned to. You were the one he protected from Morpheus, from other nightmares, from that fucking raven.

He protected you, even though his nature told him to do otherwise, even though he would have sought out any reason to take the eyes out of someone who so much as looked at him; you were his boyfriend, and even in his one hundred and thirty years, he had never known a mortal man to capture the attention of a nightmare so effortlessly, so much.

He patched those wounds up when they were fresh, expecting them to heal eventually the way humans always did with little injuries.

It hadn't even been a week until he caught you; sat at the breakfast bar in the flat he owned and picking at the flesh. Some of it cracking as it came off, strings of thin flesh coming away and tiny puddles of blood forming. He let out a harsh sigh and shook his head, snatching your wrist in his hand gently and tilting his head to the side, his voice a mere growl.

"Don't pick at it, you'll make it worse."

"It's itchy," you snarled, but in your eyes he could only see pain. "It's itchy and the fucking texture pisses me off."

Corinthian dropped your wrist, and searched through the medicine cabinet; humans and their fucking weak flesh. He grumbled as he searched for it, yanking out the antiseptic cream that was supposed to soothe wounds; he could smell it as he held the pot in his hands and he gestured for you to lay your arm on the breakfast bar for him. He tried not to smile when you so obediently did as you were told; he thought about how if you were anyone else, he would have killed you by now, he wouldn't be taking the lid off of fucking antiseptic cream and grabbing a paper towel to dry the skin of blood.

He would have been ripping their fucking eyes out and he would have been wiping his knife of a handkerchief; but it was you, his stupidly mortal boyfriend, and he winced a little at the sight and smell of your blood. That wasn't usual. He liked the smell of blood, he loved to draw it.

But yours was... it smelled bad. It looked awful.

Shaking his head, he dared to get a little bit of the antiseptic cream on the tip of his finger, using his free hand to hold your arm steady as he sighed. "This might sting."

"Worse than the vinegar?" You asked, but he shook his head. "Good... worse than the vodka?" You waited, and he shook his head again. "Then we'll be fine."

Corinthian grumbled, his hands steady as he smeared your skin with the white antiseptic cream, daring to gently rub it into one wound until it had been absorbed by your skin before he copied the action on the other wound; he cleared his throat, and put the little grey pot back in its place. "I think we should cover it again."

"Do we even have any more dressing?" You asked with a laugh.

Looking in the cupboard, he found just enough. "We do... do you want me to cover it?"

You nodded, licking your lips. "Yeah, go on."

Like with the antiseptic, Corinthian was careful to be gentle with you, careful not to cause damage to your weak mortal flesh; he almost laughed, knowing that he would and could cause so much damage and pain to others and yet he couldn't even bring himself to be rougher than velvet with his boyfriend.

He smoothed down the dressing when he got it into place.

"Too tight?"

"Not really," you told him, shaking your arm a little just to prove it. "Bout right."

"Leave it," he almost barked it like an order, a command. "Don't pick at it again. You'll get it infected."

"I won't," you said gently.

Corinthian nodded, moving to fix himself a drink, but he paused and headed to the fridge; always prepared, he grabbed a large energy drink can, opened it with a crack and placed it in front of you. "Your favourite, right?"

You looked at the can, then back at him, nearly grinning. "How'd you know?"

"You mentioned it a couple of times," he shrugged. "I got your favourite for tea, as well."

Sure, he could have killed you at any given moment, he could have taken your eyes and made you feel pain like no one had felt before, he had done it a thousand times before; but you weren't just anybody.

You were his boyfriend, and if there was one thing he never wanted to see or smell again, it was your blood. Your pain. Not you, never you; anyone else was fair game, as far as he was concerned, just not you.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[kombatmutt]

Gross | Sierra Six x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: can i get an order of uhhhh six x m!reader with a side of uhhhh 

 "You are so motherfucking fine"

i hAVE MORE BUT THANK U

summary: Six finally has some time to put aside to be with the people that actually matter in his life. 

tws: swearing

word count: 640

Six was taking a little time off, he had stopped working for a while so that he could spend time with those who mattered most; Claire, his little sister - and you, his boyfriend. He needed to relax, to have some time to himself and to actually be present, and to just forget about everything else for a while; he had brought home enough money that a little break wasn’t going to put much of a dent in things, at least. 

So here he was, looking at Claire’s phone as she showed him video after video; most of them didn’t make much sense, ones of dogs with silly filters or doing stupid things, but others made him smile - like the ones of snakes partaking in natural behaviours while some funny audio played with it. He looked up when you came in, though, holding a bag of shopping and smiling at them both. 

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Film Night | Sierra Six x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: can i get an order of uhhhh six x m!reader with a side of uhhhh

“Kiss me like that again, I dare you”

i hAVE MORE BUT THANK U

summary: when there’s little else to do, you and Six tend to sit down and watch a film, but between getting distracted and then interrupted, it doesn’t seem like the night will go to plan 

tws: smoking, horror films, make-out sessions that get interrupted 

word count: 1003

When there was little else to do throughout the night, it wasn’t rare for you and Six to sit down and to watch a film together, usually it was something that was branded as controversial, disgusting, vile even - but they were never really all that bad, and Six showed no sign of either liking or disliking them either; tonight was one of those nights, Claire was sound asleep upstairs with the dogs in the room with her after Six had moved their beds up, and you had put on an eighties film by a director called Ruggero Deodato - it was his most controversial film - before snuggling down next to Six quite happily. He put his arm around you and held you tight, keeping you close to his body while you watched the film; but he kept looking at you, even when the anthropologist protagonist was comically sick, he kept looking at you with such fondness, wishing and wanting nothing more than to kiss you in the dim light of the room. He knew you would catch him, and when you eventually did, there was nothing he could do about it; it was slow, you getting on his lap and straddling his waist, your hands on the back of the sofa either side of his head as you let him rest his hands on the sides of your thighs, his breathing getting a little more intense as he licked his lips and let you decide. 

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There Goes My Miracle | Sierra Six x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: can i get an order of uhhhh six x m!reader with a side of uhhhh 

“Hey, hey move over, I wanna lie down”

summary: Six takes a nap on the sofa while you do some chores here and there and play some Bruce Springsteen songs. 

tws: n/a

word count: 1036

Six was tired, to say the least, and even though you were up and about doing the cleaning and the laundry and the other chores that needed to be done here and there - as it was your turn - he had somehow found it in himself to take a nap on the sofa; he could sleep anywhere, so sleeping on his side with his knees pulled up and his head resting on the arm as he crossed his arms and drifted off wasn’t exactly difficult for him. He felt safe enough that he didn’t need to worry about getting up every ten minutes, and he was more than happy when you put on a few songs he recognised as he started to doze off; a smile coming to his lips when he heard ‘Cover Me’ by Bruce Springsteen playing. He knew you only played Springsteen when you were in a really good mood, and that put him more at ease than anything else; he really didn’t need to worry about a damn thing. Snuggled up in a pair of grey pyjama bottoms and an old hoodie, he was more than content during his little nap, letting you get on with whatever you needed to do; he didn’t even stir when you put the hoover round, nor did he even shuffle around when you dragged out the clothes horses and started to load them up with the freshly done washing. No, Six was quite content as he napped while you did the housework; he wasn’t even sure how long he had been asleep for, but he dared to stir and to finally wake when he felt you gently shoving his shoulder. 

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Miserable | Sierra Six x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: "Behave!" & “sit down” with sierra six please!

summary: Six doesn't know what he's supposed to do when he falls for you, when he knows that he can't do shit about it.

tws: swearing, smoking

The relationship between you and Six was strained at times, when he was too worried about who the fuck out of the hundreds of enemies he had would hurt you when they found out about Six's boyfriend; he couldn't stop himself, getting too riled up from where he could not stop thinking for love nor money. He couldn't think about it any longer, and as he watched you undress and put your pyjamas on, he knew that he had to do something about it; he couldn't just let you be in danger all the time, he couldn't just let you put your neck in the noose for him and force him to wait for the lever to drop. He couldn't.

He spent that entire night wondering what to do while you cuddled into his side; your usual position, your head on his chest and your legs bent so that your knees slightly dug into his leg until you eventually managed to get it between your thighs, which always made him smile, his hand drifting softly up and down your bicep and occasionally daring to let it rest against the back of your neck. He could always relax a little when you slept like that, your hand on his stomach, your arm under him as you slept so soundly; Six often wondered how you could sleep so well. System Of A Down songs playing quietly on the speaker you kept beside the bed on the windowsill, the fan turned down low but not quite off. He tucked his arm behind his head, clearing his throat as he stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck he was meant to do exactly.

But then the morning came, and while you were more than happy to go about in the heat of the sun wearing just a pair of boxers and one of his dress shirts with none of the buttons done up; lounging in the garden with your back on the soft warm grass and your eyes closed, an iced drink beside you and a cigarette between your lips. Six shook his head at the sight; if anyone were to try and hurt you, now would be the ideal time; he dared to sit closely by on the black wicker chair, his hands clasped over his stomach and his legs spread as he kept an eye out. Jaw clenched as he chewed some gum and tried not to jump into action at magpies and pigeons landing on the fence. He stole a look at you, sighing heavily when he caught the quiet sound of Sabaton's 'Coat of Arms' playing from your headphones; you really were just a sitting fucking duck.

"Six, you gonna sit there and be miserable all day?"

He couldn't help but to smile a little as he shrugged. "Maybe."

"Fine, have it your way," you grumbled, moving onto your stomach and sighing heavily as you put your cigarette out and chucked it aside. "Miserable cunt."

Six almost laughed at that as he relaxed a little, kicking his legs out and sinking down against the chair, the warmth starting to lick at his back as he took another look around; a sitting duck, and he was the designated guard dog. He had to look after you, with the hundreds of people he had pissed off and wronged in his life and especially in his career, he had to make sure that you were protected; he clenched his jaw. Why the fuck did he care so much? It wasn't like you were dating, but... but then he looked at you again, and he knew why. He knew why. He knew exactly why. He didn't need to think twice about it at all. He was relaxing a little more with each time that he looked at you, but when a particularly large gull landed on the fence, he immediately shot up, looking around with great tension and ready to pounce until he saw the bird; he frowned, sighing heavily and reluctantly relaxing again. He couldn't let you be so far, not anymore.

"Come here."

You grumbled, taking your headphones off and stretching. "What?"

"I said, come here."

You stood up, stretching again so that you could click your back and your neck, not noticing the way that he looked at your chest and bit at his lip when he dared to glance at your stomach; you shook your head. "Now, why would I do that?"

"I won't ask again," Six growled. "Come here and sit down on my lap."

You scoffed, shaking your head and daring to straddle his lap, putting your hands on his chest and tilting your head. "Why, is there something you want from me?"

"Behave!" He warned. "Behave, shut up, stay there."

You smiled, making yourself comfortable and sitting with your legs thrown over the arm of the chair, keeping one arm around his neck as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back so that you could feel the sun on your features. "You're getting awful demanding, y'know."

"Shut up."

"Make me," you teased, grinning when he simply glared at you. "Aw, c'mon, Six. Lighten up, man."

He rolled his eyes.

"Lighten up," you chuckled, daring to sit upright a little more, taking his chin between your forefinger and thumb, turning his face so that he had no choice but to look into your eyes. "Or am I gonna have to tell you how fucking badly I've always wanted to be yours?"

He licked his lips, daring to glance down at your lips. But he grumbled, and sighed.

"If I kissed you," you mused. "Would that make you smile? Or even get any sort of reaction from you?"

"Shut up."

"You'll have to make me."

"I said shut up."

He was quick, leaning in so that he could kiss you, draping one arm over your waist so that he could keep you there, the other between your shoulder blades as you eagerly kissed him back, daring to grab at his hair and tug it softly; but as soon as he had initiated the kiss, he pulled away with a huff.

"You gonna be quiet, now?"

"I'll think about it," you grinned, tracing his beard as you hummed softly. "But I'm not making any promises."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[kombatmutt]

Bad Desire | Sierra Six x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: “Roll me a cigarette and I’ll tell you”  with sierra six?

summary: you and Six can’t stop yourselves anymore, you can’t keep your bad desires to yourselves. 

tws: swearing, smoking 

word count: 1257

Six knew you were in a good mood from the second he woke up, able to hear Bruce Springsteen songs playing on the speaker you kept next to the bed, he hummed softly as he sat up, the duvet pooling in his lap as he looked around and came to his senses; he knew the song was ‘Hungry Heart’, rubbing his eyes as he grumbled and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. For the fifth night in a row, he had woken up in your bed, lonely and cold as he looked to the side and found you weren’t there with him, frowning a little as he dared to move over, pressing his face against the pillows and trying not to smile at how much they smelled like you. He hummed along to the song quietly, his smile getting the better of him. 

“Everybody needs a place to rest, everybody wants to have a home, don’t make no difference what nobody says, ain’t nobody like to be alone, everybody’s got a hungry heart, everybody’s got a hungry heart.”

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Possession Is Protection | Sierra Six x m!reader

@spicyveganfun asked: “Let me guess, you like it when I praise you”  and “Get over here and sit on my lap” with Sierra Six 🥺. I  am now like all the thirsty little gay people in my phone and there’s nothing I can do about it😭

summary: of all the things that Six is confident that he knows, it’s that possession can be protection. 

tws: swearing, possessiveness 

word count: 1112

If it had been a different point in time, Six doubted that he would care so much if someone was flirting with you; he knew that he could trust you, he knew that you were loyal to him and that you only had eyes for him, but when he had an uncountable amount of people on his ass wanting to take him down for cash or glory or both, being possessive started to become almost a second nature. A mere instinct. Little more a choice than breathing. Possession was protection, as Six knew that out of all those people, there was no doubt that at least three of them had the great idea of grabbing you and using you to get to Six; he had no doubt that there were probably enough that he wouldn’t be able to count them on his fingers. Possession was protection, that was all it was and all it ever would be; if he wanted to keep you safe, Six didn’t have a choice, he needed to get possessive over you, he needed to play dirty and he needed to act like all the douchebags in films who got possessive over their significant other for no fucking reason; he didn’t like it, but he had to do it. He couldn’t risk something happening to you, he couldn’t take the gamble of finding out what awful deeds would be done if you were taken away from him; his own boyfriend, the one and only man he ever loved, ripped from his grasp all because he tried to do the right thing for once. Possession was protection. That’s all it was at the end of the day, the possessive behaviour he would show in public or in crowded places, all it ever was, was just protection. Trying to protect you, to keep you out of harm’s way. 

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[kombatmutt]

Wanted Man | Sierra Six x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Sorry if this is a bit specific! “You’re mine, and only mine” prompt. So m!reader is an assassin with a history with Six. Now Lloyd’s got a bounty on Six. You finally track him down only to find that Six is in deep trouble against another assassin (think Lone Wolf). You save him from a certain death. Now what to do with Six. Six whump?

summary: A man you used to know and love has a pretty large bounty on his head, and although the money’s good, when you see him get taken out by another assassin, you can’t help but to save him, even if you’re not sure where exactly you’re meant to go from there. Even if you’re not entirely sure why you saved him in the first place. 

tws: swearing, smoking, injury, blood, mentions of death, guns/gun violence

word count: 2600

Between jobs, you lived a nice and quiet life where nothing much happened and you were given the time and the opportunities to sit back and to not worry about whether or not you would live to see the next day; between jobs, you were quite happy to be left alone and to get on with your life. You didn’t have to worry about anything between jobs, except maybe running out of eggs or sugar, you didn’t have to sleep with a gun under your pillow every goddamn night and wonder if someone was going to kill you just to increase their chances of getting money; you could relax, you could sit back and you could live. 

But when the bounty came through, you sighed heavily, and knew what you had to do; a bounty on a man you used to know, a man you used to love, and if it had reached you then it was only a matter of time before it reached every other assassin and bounty hunter in the world. You just wanted one day off, but as you packed your shit and asked your friend if they could come over to look after your snakes, you knew you were only doing what you had to do. 

You were only doing what came naturally and what you knew you had no choice in. 

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