#tried to post this before but it just didn’t post? it’s not showing up so we’ll see
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I felt compelled to write a small interpretation of what happened to our favorite OCs. I hope you'll enjoy.
🖋 1214 words
⚠️ blood and injury, violence, murder, brief violence against children
starts under the cut
“Vincent, watch out!”
But Vincent was still occupied taking down two men who were attacking him with all they got, their heavy armor making it harder to land a final blow. He didn't notice the third man approaching him with a knife.
Quinn was still on his sniper post, but had run out of bullets.
“Vince! Do you copy?”
But Vincent gave no indication that he had heard him or noticed the approaching foe.
Quinn swore as he abandoned his rifle and made his way to Vincent in a mad dash to get to him before the third man could knife him down. He had no plan of action, no strategy for self defense, he just needed to get there first.
And he did. He threw his body between Vincent and the blade, but he had no time to block the blow. Instead he felt the knife slice through his skin and fat and organ tissue. He drew his own blade and buried it deep in his opponent's jugular. They went down together.
Quinn's vision was swimming. When everything came back into focus, Vincent's face was hovering above him, worried and angry in equal measure.
“You goddamn idiot. I had it under control.”
His hands were pressed to Quinn's abdomen, it hurt like a bitch.
Quinn closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a groan.
“Don't you dare die on me. Medevac is on its way.”
“Not dying,” Quinn mumbled, “no visions.”
"Good. Keep it that way.” He still sounded angry.
“Yessir.”
“Look at me.” Now he sounded more desperate than angry, so Quinn opened his eyes. They were bloody heavy. Black dots danced in front of his vision as he tried to focus on Vincent's face.
“What were you thinking?”
His eyes looked wet. Like the blood that was oozing out between the fingers he pressed to the ugly gash in his abdomen. Quinn had always wondered how he dealt with the bloodshed in the field. If it had gotten easier to resist over all those years. He had never asked.
“Couldn't– let your pretty mug get ruined.” he slurred, tongue as heavy as his eyes.
Vincent's next words got drowned out by a familiar rush of blood roaring up in his ears accompanied by a wave of nausea.
Seemed like his earlier health assessment might not have been as stellar as he had thought.
The world in front of his eyes started to flimmer like a broken display, black dots growing until they left him numb and blind in the darkness.
He tried to brace himself, but there was no bracing for what his visions showed him.
He saw women getting shot down in what looked like a school. Blood splashing over colorful children's paintings and textbooks. Girls were screaming and crying while they got dragged out by their hair and thrown into the dirt, forced to watch as their remaining teachers were executed before black hoods were pulled over their heads and they were abducted into an uncertain future.
When he came to, all the pain and nausea was still there. He couldn’t see properly, didn’t know where he was, but instinctively, he tried to roll over in an attempt not to choke on his own vomit, but someone was holding him back.
“Shh, I got you, it’s okay.” A familiar voice said, cool hands gently pressing down on his chest to keep him down. Hearing that voice soothed some of the mental agony, but didn’t alleviate the urge to empty his stomach. Quinn gagged helplessly; gastric acid burning in his throat, filling his mouth. The voice above him sweared.
“Hands off, I’ll put him in recovery position,” an unfamiliar voice commanded. The cool hands disappeared and rough hands were manhandling him onto his side.
“What about his wound?”
“He’ll live.”
“You say that five minutes after we had to resuscitate him?!” Quinn finally recognized the voice; had heard that angry, disbelieving shade of it more often than he could count, every time he’d “done something stupid”.
“Vince,” he garbled around another gush of acid leaving his agitated stomach.
“I’m here.” The cool hands were back, brushing some strands of hair from his sweaty forehead, then settled against his overheated skin.
“We’ll give him another minute, then we have to move. The fibrin glue and compression bandage will do until we’re on base,” said the unfamiliar voice, and a foreign pair of hands briefly tinkered with the part of his torso that felt numb and afire alike.
Somewhere between being hauled into the helo and flying back to base, Quinn lost consciousness again.
When he woke up for good, he was lying in a hospital bed. The incessant beeping of a nearby heart monitor worsened the migraine that made his head swim, but at least the aggressive neon lights were dimmed down.
Quinn forced his eyes to focus and took stock of himself. Unsurprisingly, the nearby heart monitor was hooked up to himself, and he had two infusions, one seemed to be blood – again, unsurprisingly – the other probably a cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers. The lack of pain in his abdomen was a strong indicator.
Also unsurprising, was Vincent’s looming presence in a chair next to his bed, pulled up as close as possible. His expression was a potent mix of relief, anger and worry, his red eyes sparkling like livewires.
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” Quinn asked.
“Are you?” Ah, so he was stuck with anger for the moment.
“Not really.”
“What you did was–�� Vincent swelled in his seat, and Quinn prepared for a lengthy lecture that didn’t come, “so incredibly stupid.”
“Well, you might be dead if I hadn’t done it.”
“You were dead!” Suddenly, Vincent was on his feet and hauled his chair across the room. “Three agonizing minutes long, your heart was not beating. I could hear your body shutting down, could hear your blood stopping to circulate, could smell it starting to coagulate, and each chest compression only made more blood spurt from your wound. I– You have no goddamn idea–” His chest was heaving as he looked Quinn dead in the eye. “Never. Never do that again.” He tried to take a steadying breath, but it caught halfway in his throat and came out sounding an awful lot like a sob, “Please.”
Quinn looked away from the open vulnerability displayed on Vincent’s face. His blanket was suddenly much more interesting as he absently twirled the hem between his fingers.
“Why weren’t you responding to comms?” He asked to disperse the tense silence.
Thankfully Vincent knew him better than to force a conversation about their feelings onto him.
“One of the perps dislodged it when we were fighting.” Vincent went over to the chair and brought it back to the bed, it was still intact. He sank back into it, and silence filled the room again.
After a while, Vincent broke it.
“Do you want to talk about the vision?”
Quinn sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to relive the images.
“Not really.” He admitted, hoping Vincent would leave it at that.
Instead of pushing the issue, a cold hand wrapped around his restless one and squeezed it gently. Quinn took a shuddering breath, and squeezed it back.
s h o c k 🔴
#quinncent#oc: quinn lacey#oc: vincent craft#tw blood#tw violence#not my ocs#but my writing :3#ocs by wombywoo#love these traumatised emotionally repressed boys#(✿◡‿◡)
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kinda giggling and twirling my toes at that "is your gf single" post... leehan..
can you do maybe like reader making bnd jealous like that (as a joke and just bcuz ur horny)
also can i be 💫 anon
Hiiii, first post after a while !! And ofc, welcome home 💫 anon 💜💜💜
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jealous much ¡!
pairing: bnd x reader.
warnings: some +18 for the legal line, jealousy (well, duh)
summary: how would bnd react to you making them jealous as their gf (as a joke ofc)
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sungho; he is honestly a little bit easy to trick, not because he’s dumb but because he believes in you too much and takes for granted everything you do/ say cause… why would his pretty gf do anything to harm him? so when you faked texting and laughing for over ten minutes, turning your screen off when he tried to peek and laugh w u, he got worried, pouting and feeling a little betrayed, not even because he thought you were cheating but because why were u laughing at something without him??? “payback’s a bitch, huh?” you said to him and only then he understood what this was about. he was too busy playing to help u earlier and now that he wanted to be w u, it sucks that he couldn’t :’)
riwoo; a furious blush is already visible on his cheeks when you come out of the dressing room with that tiny skirt, giving him and the other men waiting for their girls a twirl that made everyone in the room stare, yeah, no. he quickly stand up and pushed you back into the small room, looking at you for a few seconds and letting out a sigh when he noticed the smirk on your face. “you’re just horny, aren’t you?” his face so close to yours that you felt his breath against your lips “gonna have to wait a bit for me, baby, we don’t want everyone to hear you moaning like a bitch, right?” And you just LOVED when sanghyeok talked to you like that, his naughty smirk making you feel warmer than you were. You changed so fast istg u were eager to get home now.
jaehyun; a bitch, he didn’t even let you breathe when he was already taking you to the other side of the house, not even talking to you when you played innocent and asked “what’s up with you?”, he would take you to a bathroom and close the door, the music of the party being dimmed by it and would say “do you think is funny when you flirt with my friends in front of me?” , “would you prefer if I do it behind your back?” he was speechless. but soon so were you, your lips were attacked by your boyfriend and you could feel his desperation to get to you, to show you how angry yet passionate he was. you followed the kiss and it soon turned to something else, your pussy starting to leak right when he pulled out, you looked at him confused and he just laughed at you before saying “think it through before doing this type of things again” and you bet you will cause wtf.
taesan; this one doesn’t bat an eye in public tbh, so it was a bad move to try to make him jealous by talking wayyyy too much w sungho and neglect his attempts to join the conversation. he eventually stopped trying to join and just listened, feeling a little bitter by the way you kept laughing and joking with his hyung. wtf were u doing? So when you both got home, you really thought everything was unsuccessful, you just wanted to trigger something in him to get a little action, if u know what I mean. Oh well, you certainly did because next thing u knew was him trapping your body against the wall and looking down at you for a few seconds before laughing in disbelief “if you wanted to make me feel angry or jealous, you succeeded. Now, why?” He spoke in such a low tone, his eyes piercing yours and his face almost expressionless, almost because that hint of something you couldn’t discern was there, “I didn’t-” , “yes, you did. but I think you could explain it to me better in our bedroom, I’ll be waiting” and oh my, u shouldn’t do this again but you certainly will cause he fucked you so right and so deep and nice that your body was craving for it even though you just had it.
leehan; certainly the worst boy to try and make jealous. First things first, he does not get jealous over boys who are uglier than him (which is most boys, btw), he is not insecure at all and he trusts you so he knows that you wouldn’t do anything to actually hurt him. Which is why he is laughing at your attempts to look serious while “flirting” with jaehyun, not even him is believing your act. But leehan would let you play the part, signaling you to join him later by the pool just to spread you open and eat you out like a mad person, he has always got a fixation with your pussy and the fact that you were intentionally trying to make him jealous just turned him on like a flame. His tongue would do wonders, you sitting on the edge of the pool and trying to keep it quiet because there were still people inside of the house, your legs were resting on his shoulders and he was inside of the pool just having the best time of his life while he ate u out, fingered your cunt to make you cum faster and sloppily licked your cum when you finally finished on his tongue. Did you fail to make him jealous? Yes. Now, did you fail your main quest which was getting him to help u out cause u were horny? Hell no.
woonhak; i feel like woonagi would get frustrated because he could easily believe that he would lose you, he might think “she’s my first gf, maybe i’m not a good bf” or something like “maybe I’m too young and dumb for her” but no, he was perfect and you soon noticed that he was feeling down instead of being stimulated into kissing you to mark his property. So you stopped, getting close to him and explaining what you were trying to do, he got mad at the beginning but then he just opened up about how he felt and you both worked it out. Did you get your kiss? Ofc, you guys kissed all night and ended up getting under his sheets while cuddling until the morning.
#boynextdoor x reader#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor scenarios#boynextdoor smut#leehan x reader#taesan x reader#riwoo x reader#sungho x reader#jaehyun x reader#woonhak x reader#leehan smut#taesan smut#riwoo smut#sungho smut#jaehyun smut#leehan scenarios#leehan imagines#taesan scenarios#taesan imagines#riwoo scenarios#riwoo imagines#sungho imagines#sungho scenarios#jaehyun imagines#jaehyun scenarios#woonhak scenarios#woonhak imagines#💫anonwonton4rang
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AVERY HCSSSSS
i thought our leading lady needed more appreciation so i made these hcs. a lot of these are with avery and another character so lmk if you still like these. enjoyyyyy 🤌✨
avery got braces after she got the money bc she couldn’t afford them before and she was a little insecure about them but jameson thought they were really cute
she used to hate the scars from the times when people tried to kill her but as time went on she learned to love them
i hc hawthorne house had a trampoline park and her and xander had a sleepover in there where they played taylor swift and jumped until xander broke his arm trying to do a triple backflip
her and max always scream when they hop on a call that’s on speaker so they don’t spill the tea when everyone can here
avery is chronically addicted to block blast and she has the highest score you can possibly get on the game (me fr 😭💀)
when she was hooked up to the life support machines after the plane bombing she made a bunch of pictures and videos that she never posted but just bc she thought they were funny (they really weren’t she was just high from the meds)
oren had to teach her how to pick locks and she told him it was just because she needed to open a door but wouldn’t let him do it himself (she lost the keys to jameson’s handcuffs and needed to get him out)
she always has at least one airpod in at all times and always looses them around hawthorne house
she once had a “dream” (😏😏😏) about jameson but she was having a sleepover with libby and max and libby was like “why were you moving around and making noise last night” and ave was like “i was probably just sleep talking” but max knew what was really going on and never let it go
avery switches her aesthetic like every month and switches her room decor/wardrobe with that aesthetic
she has like 50000 pillows on her bed and jameson gets so confused about which he’s allowed to sleep on bc she doesn’t want him to ruin the decorative pillows
ave is an amazing actress and can fake cry on the spot so when she needs to win something she fake cries and jameson knows her fake cry and he doesn’t go over to her to comfort her so her plan will work
she’s allergic to shellfish and she learned that when she ate some at a gala and she started having a reaction and she broke out in hives and was struggling to breath but thankfully oren had an epi pen with him so she didn’t die
she enforces a rule around hawthorne house about no shoes bc she thinks it’s nasty so everyone just slides around in socks like an ice skating rink (they actually think it’s really fun so no one complains)
she loves water bottles and has a whole cabinet dedicated to her water bottles
she has tumblr and a03 accounts that she stayed anonymous on that she kept when she got the inheritance bc no one knew it was her and she needed to rant about her books and write fics and stuff and they said stuff like “omg jameson is such a book boyfriend” and “i want to date him” she was just like yeah so do i… (she was keeping it a secret from the hawthorne s but they eventually found it and made fun of her spicy fics and xander ended up being one of her moots under an anonymous account bc they read the same books)
her and grayson watch shows like the golden girls and i love lucy together bc they love the old style
one time her nash found her✨spicy✨texts with jameson and never let her let them go
sry this is kinda short but i’m sick rn so i’m trying to get my rest but i hope you like theseeee
#the inheritance games#the brothers hawthorne#the final gambit#the hawthorne legacy#games untold#the grandest game#jameson hawthorne#avery grambs#averyjameson#nash hawthorne#xander hawthorne#libby grambs#maxine liu#grayson hawthorne#john oren#oren
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Inspired by this post I made a fanarts and it turned into a fanfic. All you can find under the cut.
Kiss me
Buck/Eddie | T | 1.1k | with fanart
Buck had no idea how he ended up in a Lakers game which he had no interest in. Well, it wasn't exactly true. He knew he would end up here eventually, tickets were an anniversary gift after all, so it was given that he would be here with his boyfriend. But he didn't have a boyfriend anymore. Or girlfriend. Or even a date. It would be pretty bold to take a newly met person to a Lakers game. That kind of date could end... enthusiastically. But using those tickets to get laid would make him a bad person, right? Nah, he wouldn't do that. It crossed his mind that he should return the tickets, he doesn't even like basketball...
"Yes! Go, go, go! Hell yeah!"
Buck stuffed another fist of popcorn into his mouth, watching Eddie take his seat again. He's so excited - commenting the game to Buck and cheering loudly, standing up whenever emotions take over - it's nice to see Eddie like this, smiling and joyful… looking so… alive.
Right, that's why he's here.
He showed Eddie the tickets and he just froze, looking like a cat who saw a Christmas tree for the first time. With his mouth slightly open in wonder and big eyes reflecting every colorful light in them. Buck didn’t even have to think about it, he just gave both tickets to Eddie. And immediately, before even taking them from Buck’s hand, Eddie said something like “Only if you come with me.” And Buck said “sure” - again, without thinking.
And now he’s here, wearing the only yellow t-shirt he could find, because Eddie insisted he has to wear proper colors, when he showed up at Buck’s loft in a Lakers purple hoodie.
“Great game, we’re gonna win for sure.” Eddie lets out a little huff and runs fingers through his hair to clear it from his flushed face.
Buck thinks he should take that hoodie off, but he’s also sure Eddie would refuse, giving him an offended look. Somehow this image makes Buck smile with fondness.
And a second later it’s gone, because Eddie insolently reaches for Buck’s popcorn.
“Eyy! You said you don’t want, so hands off!” Buck tries to guard his food but Eddie only grins at him like this is some kind of dare and reaches again. This time he’s much faster and Buck is unable to save his snack from Eddie’s grabby hands.
He looks at Buck with a victorious bratty smile, while chewing slowly. Buck gazes at him like a look could kill, but Eddie is not impressed. He simply sucks his Coke through the straw and still grinning turns back to the court.
Finding his own soda cup empty, Buck just pouts with his eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. He definitely doesn’t like basketball.
He lets out a short sigh, and looks around. The intermission should start soon, so if he wants to avoid crowds, he should go get a drink now. But before he gets up, a cup of Coke appears in front of him.
Buck takes it and sinks into his seat with a soft smile and a warm feeling spreading through his chest. Eddie didn’t even look at him, he didn’t have to. Surrounded by all the noise and lights, all the people, he’s still aware of Buck by his side. Excited and engaged in the live game he loves so much, he still sees Buck and knows what he thinks.
It’s so natural, Buck never really thought about it. But now he does and he realizes Eddie is always there for him, no questions asked, honest but not judgmental, no matter what’s going on in his life. No matter if it’s silently drinking beer on a living room couch or going on a game together. Because somehow it feels like Eddie is here not only for his own fun but for Buck as well.
Especially when Eddie nudges Buck to join him, when he starts singing with the most joyful smile on his face.
“Kiss me, out of the bearded barley Nightly…”
And Buck can’t help it but to look… at this unruly stand of dark hair, at those long eyelashes casting soft shadow over honey-colored eyes… at those full lips, singing…
“You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress Oh, kiss me…!”
Eddie nudges him again and Buck caves, singing along.
They both look at the screen, watching people smiling and kissing. And Buck is sure Eddie, like always, is here for him. To make him feel this carefree lightness, to simply enjoy the moment, either it’s a game or making fools of themselves singing corny songs on top of their lungs.
They butchered the second verse, none of them sure what the words are, but it doesn’t matter. They laugh like they hadn’t in a long time, together in this freeing act of simply being themselves. And they give all they got when the chorus plays again…
“Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight Lead me out on the moonlit floor Lift your open hand…”
Buck looks at Eddie and he thinks some silly thoughts… how beautiful Eddie is, how happiness makes his eyes sparkle mischievously but at the same his lips curve with fondness… how he knows him and loves him, not despite being Buck, but because of it… he looks at Eddie in this warm golden hue and he thinks he’s like a sun…
Eddie turns to him and Buck immediately avoids his gaze because…
Suddenly Buck sees himself on the big screen and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he should wave “no” but he can’t… because Eddie is still looking at him, and all Buck wants is to meet his honey-colored eyes.
“So kiss me”
Buck isn’t aware he exhales the lyrics when Eddie gently cups his face. And then he kisses Buck. Softly and oh-so sweetly, with the whisper of longing in the light pressure and delicate movement of his lips. It’s tender, it’s perfect, it takes Buck’s breath away.
And then Eddie pulls away, ducking his head and smiling shyly.
“Sorry… I got carried away.” Abashed, he's scratching the back of his head.
Buck knows he’s blushing, his face is so hot, he’s sure he’s red up to his ears. He wants Eddie to keep kissing him, he wants to kiss him back but before he’s able to process this, Eddie asks sheepishly.
“Can I have some popcorn now?”
Buck laughs, his blue eyes shine with fondness because somehow this question makes him want to kiss Eddie even more. But he doesn’t. They share a snack and get back to watching the game. Buck would never admit to it but he kinda starts to like basketball.
Somewhere during the second half, Buck takes Eddie’s hand, and without taking his eyes off the court, without any questioning look, Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand gently, and throughout the rest of the evening, he doesn’t let go.
#buddie#eddie diaz#evan buck buckely#my stuff#911 abc#911 fanart#buck x eddie#buddie fanart#my fanart#buddie fanfic#ao3#fluff#first kiss
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miserable (you & me) | h. hyunjin <3
a/n: i have had these blurbs in my drafts FOREVER. "miserable (you & me)" is a song i've had on repeat since it dropped. i'm also a sucker for angst, so please enjoy these self-indulgent posts (they all have happy endings, i promise!) there will be one for each member, so stay tuned <3 pics not mine~
content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1k | warnings: none really! | pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader | requests:open
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
난 가망이 없는 미래에 손을 뻗어 날 부었네 / “i stretched out my hand towards a hopeless future and poured myself out”
of course it would be raining right now. the day’s weather had been normal, a smattering of clouds above and an overcast glow hinting that the weather might take a turn for the worse, but nothing was set in stone. that turned out to be true in a more literal sense, hyunjin realized, while watching people mill about on the street below with freshly opened umbrellas. he scoffed. what did you think would happen? what did you think would change?
the answer was nothing. but i had no choice.
you and hyunjin met up for your usual weekend get-together, returning to a favorite drink spot of yours after a few weekends of schedules keeping you apart. he had missed you so dearly, something that became achingly clear when his whole body lit up from seeing your face peek through the entrance. you noticed the buzz in his body when he greeted you, a sweet laugh escaping your lips. hyunjin’s heart melted at the sound, collapsing even more into endearment when you said, “i missed you a ton, too.”
a moderate number of people took up the tables and seats in the building, so there was a comfortable hum of casual conversation surrounding you. hyunjin, as always, was so closely tuned into the sound of your voice, he would’ve believed you if you said the place was completely empty. it was clichéd for sure, but he was enraptured by every single thing you said. he loved listening to all your thoughts, stories, jokes, anecdotes; whatever you were willing to share with hyunjin, he’d accept with open and grateful hands. you both laughed as you finished telling him an embarrassing story your friend shared with you the other day, and, so you could take a sip of your drink, you asked hyunjin, “how are you?”
without skipping a beat, hyunjin answered, “i’ve liked you for the longest time.”
seeing as that was quite the unexpected answer to your question, you froze. your brain buffered, face showing barely any expression, except maybe shock or confusion. hyunjin, perhaps realizing what just occurred, reacted with wide eyes and frantic apologies. if his confession hadn’t stopped you so sharply in your tracks, the endless refrain of i’m so sorry! i don’t know why i did that. i’m so stupid! would have drowned out the words he spoke so naturally. you didn’t have time to process, but you tried to protest against hyunjin’s incessant apologies. this, it seemed, was fruitless.
hyunjin, with shaking legs and fumbling hands, gathered his things.
“hyunjin, what’re you–”
“i should go, y/n,” he responded quickly, too quickly for him to mean it.
your heart broke at the way his voice cracked when he said your name, “no, just stay for a minute. please, i–”
his chest tightened when please fell from your lips, but he couldn’t bear the idea of you begging him to stay, only to tell him you didn’t feel the same. yes, it was immature, and, sure, it was probably selfish. yet all hyunjin could think to do was leave. so he did, his goodbye all staggered breaths and darting eyes.
you turned in your chair, barely catching his gaze as he raced to who knows where, “hyunjin?”
his eyes caught yours, and he ripped them away before he lost his foolish resolve. he hoped he offered you a soft smile, something to say i’m sorry for this. i just want you to be happy, and i guess this is me trying to make sure you stay that way. the adrenaline rush meant he couldn’t feel his face, though. he had no way of knowing what he looked like when he looked back at you.
hyunjin’s whole trip home consisted of pleas for his legs to move faster. if his steps hit the ground hard enough, he could ignore all the scolding voices inside his head until he was safe in his room. if he were honest with himself, he was outrunning the look of shock on your face, and the way your voice fell when you asked him to stay. hyunjin, as he caught his breath in his room, realized that running away from you meant he ended up in front of his window, facing a future of heartbreak. a sardonic laugh broke free from his lips. maybe if you did it the right way, at the right moment, you’d be looking at them instead. maybe you’d be thinking of something other than angsty plotlines for the strangers passing by on the street below.
“or maybe i could be hurt much worse,” he whispered to himself.
that was the last sound that shared space with hyunjin in the room. he sat, mind racing and leg bouncing, completely silent. until someone knocked on the door.
hyunjin shuffled to the entryway, instinctively opening it at a familiar knock, only coming to when he saw you standing before him. of course, no matter how hard he tried, his body would always end up right in front of you.
ignoring the way his deflated figure twisted your chest up in all the worst ways, you chided, “you know it’s rude to confess to someone and leave immediately after, right? you didn’t give me a chance to respond.”
you huffed as you spoke. hyunjin couldn’t help the endeared smile that graced his face when he watched your frustrated, furrowed brow turn into a cute, unintentional pout.
he thought, they are more precious to me than they’ll ever know, and he admitted, “you’re right. it was very rude of me. while i may not deserve to hear it after the way i acted, would you mind telling me what you were going to say?”
your shoulders relaxed as the familiar shine in hyunjin’s eyes returned. his beautiful smile came back too, as he watched your face light up with a reply he’d only ever dreamed of before.
“i like you too, hyunjin. i have for the longest time.”as though his hands weren’t shaking from anxiety a mere five minutes before this moment, hyunjin reached out to you, pulling you into his home and into his arms. when you accepted his invitation and melted into his embrace, hyunjin thought, i’ll pour my heart out to them again and again, if it means we’ll always end up right here, together.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids angst#skz angst#hyunjin angst#hwang hyunjin angst#stray kids blurbs#skz blurbs#stray kids hyunjin#skz hyunjin#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#hyunjin imagines#sweetkpopmusings
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Ford thinks Stan looks so pretty in nothing but some thigh highs and lacy panties
Anon I love men in lingerie this is perfect. I’ve also seen so much art of Stan in dresses and stuff lately!
Nothing actually explicit is written, I just couldn’t write the sex scene. I haven’t written one in sooo long 💁 if I get inspo I’ll write a continuation though :)
The first few years after Ford fell into the portal Stan barely changed anything in the house. He still felt like he was invading Ford’s house, Ford’s life. He was playing the part of Ford but he still wasn’t Ford.
Years later it was clear this mindset went away. The shack turned into Stan’s house as well as Ford’s. Ford’s strange anomaly collections, books, and nicknacks, mixed together with Stan’s clothes, magazines, and mystery shack attractions.
Post weirdmageddon, Ford was still getting use to this. It’s been so many years since he’s had to share space with Stan. He wasn’t use to their things being mixed together. The brothers were still recovering from everything, they decided to take the year off before traveling the seas.
While his old study had turned into his own bedroom, Ford still found himself going into Stan’s bedroom without any care. He was after some old book he really wanted to read. Ford knows Stan didn’t throw away any of his things, so it must be in the house somewhere. That’s how he found himself face to face with a box filled with lingerie.
Deep in the bedroom’s closet was an unlabeled box, Ford grabbed it without any hesitation. The contents made him double take though. This certainly wasn’t Ford’s…. So why would Stan have a box of lingerie?
Hesitantly Ford picked up a pair of lacy blue panties and held them up. They were actually quite a big pair, bigger than most ladies would wear. Did Stan have an old lover? Who was this lady and why would Stan still have her lingerie? Why hasn’t Stan told him?
Before Ford’s thoughts could go any further Stan walked into the bedroom, “Sixer, what are you doing in my room again? I told ya’ I took all your stuff out of it!”
Ford started to panic, he quickly tried to shove the box back into its nondescript spot, but it was too late.
Stan stood right over Ford’s shoulder, looking down at the half closed box Ford was still trying to shove back in to the closet. “Ford why the hell are you looking through my clothes” He sounded embarrassed.
Ford suddenly stood up, startling Stan. “Ahem, well, uh, I apologize. I was looking for a book and thought it would be in my old bedroom. I didn’t mean to… uh…” he then processed exactly what Stan said, “wait, what do you mean your clothes?!”
Stan tried to step around Ford to push the closet door shut, “Look Ford I get it. A gross old guy like me wearing lingerie is weird. Just forgot about it and look for your book somewhere else.”
The two have been doing a strange song and dance lately. Both very much aware of their past sexual experiences together but still too shy to be the first to fully push. But whatever is happening now, is giving Ford a push.
Suddenly Ford grabbed Stan’s wrist, stopping him from closing the closet. Stan grumbled out something, asking Ford what he was doing, but Ford ignored him. He went back into the closet and pulled out the box.
“Ford put the box back” Stan demanded, too embarrassed to really try and do anything though.
Ford set the box down on the bed and sifted through the various types of lingerie till he found a pair of frilly red panties and matching thigh highs.
“Stanley, let me know if you don’t want to do this” Ford breathed out, a familiar tone of arousal in his voice. “Why don’t you be a good boy and show me how pretty you look in your lingerie?”
Stan’s breath stopped for a second, was this actually happening? “Wait you actually wanna?-“
Ford nodded, “Stanley, even as teenagers I always dreamed about how you would look wearing red panties… I don’t want to dance around this sexual tension any longer”.
Stan stopped hesitating, he went right to unbuttoning his suit jacket “fuck, let’s get started then.”
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Players. Robots made by the ancient builders, put in stasis and made to awaken (‘spawn’) 1000 years after the apocalypse.
Alex was made to be a hunter, wanderer and identifier. She was captured by the illager empire shortly after awakening and subjected to torturous experimentation. She escaped, but not without terrible trauma and a taste for vengeance. Agoraphobic, abrasive, utilitarian, loyal, and resourceful.
Steve was made to be a builder, miner and engineer. He was taken in by villagers after wandering the world alone and afraid for an unknown amount of time. A cleric named Reinard taught him how to brew, read and write, and function in villager society. He is kind, shy, curious and naive. He likes people, but doesn’t know how to act around them.
Hero was the first player made. He is the only one who remembers the ancient civilization. Everything he knows is dead, except for the other two. The ones made to replace him.
#minecraft#mineblr#my art#minecraft art#minecraft fanart#minecraft steve#minecraft alex#minecraft abiogenesis#minecraft herobrine#herobrine#worldbuilding#minecraft lore#minecraft headcanons#tried to post this before but it just didn’t post? it’s not showing up so we’ll see
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Okay after freaking out about alhaitham it’s time to be neurotic again that girl is freaking me out sm :D
#like bro I don’t understand wallah I don’t#I’m so confused and it’s literally ruining everything#dora daily#AND I NEVER SAY WALLAH ABOUT ANYTHING THIS IS HOW BAD ITS RUINING ME AAAAAAH#on one hand she’s ignoring me on the other she isn’t and she genuinely doesn’t see any of my posts#on the other she just forgot#ALL OF WHICH ARE SHIT OPTIONS#IT ISNT FAIR#i even tried liking her posts to show her yo I’m alive in case she didn’t see#I TRIED SENDING HER AN ASK ABOUT SOMETHING WEEKS AGO AND SHE DIDNT REPLY#I am trying so freaking hard and it is not working#and it’s fucking me up because what the fuck did I even do man#I didn’t do anything different#why do people ALWAYS do this I don’t fucking get it#it would’ve been much kinder if she just dropped me from the beginning when I was so hesitant with her#before I got so attached because what she’s doing right now is literally not only torture but so incredibly cruel#like I was getting obsessed with this one girl at work once but she ghosted me relatively early on in the very beginning stages of my#obsession coming into fruition and guess what IM TOTALLY FINE WITH IT NOW#BUT SHE LET THE RELATIONSHIP DEVELOP FOR MONTHS#then introduced a third party then now she doesn’t even acknowledge me#she is making me sewerslidal and it’s literally ruining everything#any time I would try to study I think of her and it freaks me out#every time I try to focus I think of her and it freaks me out#even when I go to sleep bro#like 8 ish weeks ago or so it literally was making me so messed up that if I hadn’t gone outside for a necessary out of uni task then my dad#taking me sight seeing in said area I genuinely don’t know what would have happened#because the level of rage I felt or whatever it was#was the most insane form of genuine torture ever#THIS WHOLE POST SEEMS NEUROTIC AND I’m just like I don’t even know anymore man#but what do I even do atp like bro
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Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57
Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)
An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.
Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.
That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.
It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.
He'd seen the numbers camped outside.
Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the
Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.
Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.
Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.
He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.
How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?
He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.
But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.
Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.
"They burned her."
Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.
"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."
"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.
Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.
Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.
"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.
Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.
"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."
Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.
Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."
The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.
Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.
Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.
"And let her come to you when she's ready."
"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.
Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."
"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.
He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.
They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.
Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.
She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"
Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.
The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.
"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.
Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.
Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.
"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."
Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.
"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.
"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.
He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."
"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."
"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.
Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."
Gods, he loved her.
Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."
Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."
Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."
Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.
"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.
"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.
But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."
Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.
So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.
Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.
They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.
On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.
The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.
"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."
Rowan grunted his agreement.
Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.
Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.
"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.
This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.
Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.
The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.
"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.
"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.
Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.
But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.
Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.
"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.
If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?
Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond
"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."
"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.
Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.
Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.
Where the hell was Aelin—
Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.
The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.
The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.
Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.
Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."
Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.
Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.
Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.
Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.
But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.
"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."
For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.
"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."
"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."
Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.
The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.
Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."
Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.
But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.
Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.
At the Queen of Terrasen.
She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.
A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.
There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.
A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.
Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.
Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.
She did it again, and again.
All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.
A call went down the line. The queen has come.
Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.
She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.
The queen has come.
Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.
Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.
"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"
And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.
That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.
He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.
Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.
This first battle would set the tone.
It would set the tone, and send a message.
Not to Morath.
Impress us, Hasar had said.
So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.
To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.
To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.
She was no helpless princess. She had never been.
Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.
But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.
They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.
Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.
"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"
How far they both were from Rifthold.
From the assassin and the captain.
Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.
Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.
At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.
Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.
Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.
Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.
What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.
Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.
Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.
#Chapter 57#Kingdom of Ash#Sarah J. Maas#Rowan Whitethorn#Aelin Galathynius#Chaol Westfall#First Read along with me NO SPOILERS PLEASE though warning for post & tags up to KoA 57 & more reacts/notes/quotes in tags below#Why didnt it blaze-they burned her-afraid2ask-had Aelin allowed it?Maeve stole&knew-no1had been able to heal past it-how powerful had been#Thought to thought-Hadn’t been able to ask why-She’s afraid too-Noone else-She was out for weeks after-Couldn’t tell her-The marks stayed#Fierce pride-One people-Happy-Breathing-Proof-Chaol didn’t knowWhat he didn’t sayHe knew it was her-Of the wildfire-How could he ask that?#But what had happened?-Training nothing-where is it?Fenrys knew-They didn’t pry-But he saw-Cold Fear hatred bit at him-He said it for her#cause he felt it too-What that’s horrific-No one other then them Knew-that it was that bad-Couldn’t breathe yeah me too-The ice again#That scar held longer than any-And they tried-she tried-Nehemia quick no more cowards-She’d given up and Fenrys knew it Aelin had broken-#before itShe knew they would break herThat’s what that run wasNot one of saving but one of leaving-I won’t go-When she’s lost hope#focus on something else stop wondering-He’ll say it so she doesn’t have to-Let her come when she’s ready-thanks Fenrys-His attitude is fair#but also he knows-Part of why he’d loved her-Should’ve known when she won’t talk it’s something that brutal-Needing wanting her to know#&hear-A mark-She fed him ACOTAR mate style-Laughed4once-the4-Their team-mischief&lovely-every door makes me miss Mort#THE ARMOR AND SWORDS-He reminds-He defends-She’s got a plan-Gods he loved her-my lady-if only gods for hire-the waves of it#lol sorry Lorcy they didn’t fit the armor-what’s her plan?-they know but they know enough to let her do her thing-unreadable-that shield#Aelin what’s the plan babe?-golden-she knows how to make an enterance-It’ll be done shortly so they listened to a queen knowing she’s hidin#Power of a good speech lol-Whether hope remained or fractured-Primping-Break in plan-NO THE TOWERS#Aelin&The/her cadre Breath for battle not gods Something inspiring-You’ve got a pretty face lol-the power of their names-Holygodsliterally#The queen has come-A crown-No fear-Aelin Anielle armor no braid nothing burning-3 months of power storing-she knew what show they needed#love her or hate her the woman’s got style- Rowan babe this is war you can’t just ogle your wife lol-Still he watched her-she is the sun#The queen has come-For this-She was ready-To the queen-Grim unbreaking will-What she without magic could do-Nothing like her#So she would show them-To the people+A reminder;She has never been a helpless princessno lost queenno before anything#the one you want now The Queen of Assassins. The Prince Rowan at her side.Her cadre around her.They’d survive to tell the tale#&the people know it.Hope.How far from the assassin and the captain we’ve come.the right hand man.What about Elide?Her plan1by1#Defiant not helpless dare I say she felt it too-Never againDeath her melody the one thing they all sharedHer never ending pursuit of Freedo#death her first friend the sun her first gift the question&answerAelins not using her power shes saving it for Maeve&gives that up for them
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One Single Thread of Gold
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗
The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.
“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”
JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.
“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”
“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.
He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”
They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.
Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”
“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.
“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.
“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.
The three women shared a look.
“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.
Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”
He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.
“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.
She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”
“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.
The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.
So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.
———
Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.
“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”
“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.
You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”
“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”
You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.
“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.
He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”
“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.
“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”
There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”
Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.
Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.
The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.
***
The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.
She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.
“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.
He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”
Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.
The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.
Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.
“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”
Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?
“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”
“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”
The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”
With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.
When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.
“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.
You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”
“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.
You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”
He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.
He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”
A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.
“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”
“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.
“We have a case,” Hotch announced.
The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.
“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”
Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“A girl?” JJ guessed.
“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”
“Further?” Emily clarified.
JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”
She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.
***
The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.
“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”
Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”
“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”
Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.
“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.
He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”
The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.
“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”
His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.
“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”
They laughed.
JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“
“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.
“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”
Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”
“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”
He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”
The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!
“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.
Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.
He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”
“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.
“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.
The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”
“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.
The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”
“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”
All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.
“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”
“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.
“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”
The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.
“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.
***
[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]
Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.
Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”
“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”
Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”
“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”
“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.
“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”
“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”
“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.
Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”
The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.
“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.
Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”
“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.
The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.
“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.
You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”
A series of gasps were heard all around the table.
The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”
“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.
Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.
He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.
Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.
The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.
“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”
He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”
Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”
“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.
“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.
You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”
“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.
“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.
Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”
Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”
Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.
“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.
You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
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This post was supposed to be a long story but I got impatient and posted it. Now we have the full story. Hope y’all like it as much as I do. <3
Orc professor
Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cum play, breeding, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink
It was your third failed mini-test when you thought enough was enough. Your hot orc professor was too attractive for your sanity. He was so hot with his cardigans and whatever he wore that you were always distracted, unable to take notes. It was his fault, and you needed to remedy that before you failed the whole class. You just needed to talk to him and see what could you do to pass. You’ll do some extra homework, maybe write a few more papers. Anything. A naughty part of you wanted to offer him sex favors, but you knew he wasn’t that kind of orc. Maybe.
You knocked on his office door and heard the muffled “come in”. You opened the door and your breath was taken away because how fucking attractive he was. The black framed glasses and salt and pepper hair just accentuating his green skin. Your panties got wet instantly. Fuck. Why had he to be so fucking hot? It would be a lot easier if he was just an old wrinkly dude.
“What do you need from me?” He looked up from the papers he was grading and that look combined with that phrase made your pussy tingle. Fuck, you were so turned on by everything he did.
He could be talking about the condensation of the trees in the desert and you’ll be panting in the back of the class, panties wet. And right now, you were worried your arousal was going to form a wet patch in your pants. This needed to be fast before you embarrassed yourself.
“I- I want to know if I can do some extra activities to improve my performance in your class.” You told him as fast as you could, sitting down in front of him and trying really hard not to rub your thighs together.
The frantic pulse of your heart was mirrored on your clit, and it was driving you completely crazy. Being so close to him was like an aphrodisiac in itself.
“What kind of activities do you suggest?” He seemed uninterested. Some part inside of you got mad at him, you were clearly trying to improve and he looked like an asshole who didn’t care if his students passed or not. And for some reason that only made him hotter. You needed to get laid soon before you humped his leg or something.
“I- I don’t know. I just need to pass your class. Please, I’ll do anything,” you begged. You were sure it was too much, but he looked at you, a spark of interest in his dark pupils.
You realized how bad it sounded when you thought about it. You tried to take it back, say you didn’t mean it like that, but then he surprised you asking back: “Anything?” His smirk was enough to send lighting down your pussy, your panties soaking through your clothes. Good Goddess, how was he so fucking hot?
Contrary to your better judgment, and probably thinking just with your southern parts, you matched his teasing tone as you answered: “Yes, yes. Anything.” You leaned closer to his table, showing more tits than you knew you should. But fuck it. If you couldn’t pass this class, at least you could fuck the hottest professor on campus.
He leaned back on his chair, his eyes flickering to your almost exposed breasts. He hummed and finally said: “Okay, little human, we’ll make a deal.” You nodded eagerly, so ready to do whatever he asked.
If he asked you to get naked and suck his cock right there, you would fall to your knees so fast he wouldn’t even see you moving. You were more than ready, so wet and needy you could feel the wetness pooling inside your thighs, probably through your pants. The walk home was going to be so uncomfortable. Ugh.
But you weren’t expecting his offer to be so filthy, so nasty. “Each morning, you’ll arrive a bit early, and you will handle me your panties. Used panties. And I want you to take them off in front of me, so I suggest you start wearing those slutty skirts you love so much.” You were bamboozled by his words.
Did he notice you? Did he like your skirts, too? He must like them if he noticed you wearing them so often. And he though they were slutty (they were, and you might or might not wear them to see if he reacted). A part of you wanted to be offended, but the other part of you was ready to say yes. Yes to that, yes to anything.
He interpreted your silence as agreement and kept talking. “If you do that, you will pass my class. That works for you?” He was back to looking uninterested, but you saw right through his facade.
His hand was resting suspiciously close to his groin, and you could almost make the outline of a dick. A huge dick, but you weren’t sure. You wanted to lean closer to inspect it, but you refrained, your head spinning with everything that just happened.
“Yes. Yes. Perfect. I’ll do it. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” You repeated a dozen times before he dismissed you. There was a big grin on his face when you left. You could feel his eyes fixed on your ass as you walked out. Point for you.
The first couple days it went without a hitch. You arrived early, and he was always there, expecting you with a knowing smirk. You usually made a show of pushing your panties down your legs and grabbing them, never actually showing him anything, but making it obvious that you were enjoying yourself with the game you two were playing. He always smelled them and hummed appreciatively, making your clit get excited instantly. You loved when men were vocal in bed. In his case, when monster’s were.
Where all monsters more vocal than humans? You never slept with a monster before. You always wanted to try, but never knew someone who excited you as much as your orc professor. The first time you saw him you tripped on your feet and almost hit the ground. He was so much older than you, he could probably be your father, but good lord if you wouldn’t love to call him daddy.
After the fourth day giving him your panties, you got a bit bolder. You turned around and bent down, making sure he was seeing your naked pussy and fat ass as you did so. The red lacy panties barely covered your wet pussy as you pushed them down your legs. He growled loudly at you when he saw them, you groaned softly. When you handled the panties to him, his eyes were as dark as a storm and you could see the outline of his dick perfectly. You gasped, he was so big, so much bigger than anyone you’d been with before. How would that feel inside of you? Would it even fit?
That day, you left feeling elated because of his reaction, a plan starting to form in your mind. You were going to be really, really bad. You spent the rest of the class rubbing your thighs together and trying not to touch yourself. You could still see the outline of his dick if you focused on his groin, and it was making you insane. You almost ran out of the class to jerk off in the bathroom.
On the fifth day, you wore your shortest skirt, the one that barely covered your ass. You walked in and waited until he gave you a once over. Your body was burning by the time he ended his staring. He arched a brow, expecting you to do what you were instructed before. You turned around and repeated the same actions as the day before, showing him your wet pussy as you bent down. He growled again and you smirked.
You handed them the black lacy panties and grinned. “Here you have them, sir.” You pronounced the last word with all your intent, being as flirty as possible as you walked away, sitting in the first row. You never did that before, you were forever a last row girly, but today you had plans. You felt his eyes lingering on your half exposed ass. The walk home was going to be a bit sketchy with that skirt, but it was worth it.
The class started and he looked at you. You smiled innocently as he started to explain about the life circle of some plant. You didn’t care, you were a girl on a mission.
When he turned around and started asking questions, you opened your legs.
The girl sitting next to you wasn’t paying any attention to your actions, but his gaze zeroed on you. You open your legs slightly more, knowing full well your big thighs must cover your pussy most of the time. But if you open them far enough… Yes. You realized the second he saw your pussy because he dropped the pen he was using to write down some stuff on the board.
And then you saw it: the outline of his monster cock noticeable against his dark pants, making you drool and do it again. You parted your legs and bit down on a pen, trying to be as slutty as possible. He coughed to cover what you guessed was a groan. He sat down and ordered everyone to write some stuff for him.
Before you left the class, he grabbed your arm and told you: “Remember we have a meeting after class, I’ll be expecting you in my office.” His tone is harsh and final, you nodded, blushing. Suddenly you feel very embarrassed about your performance in class, but your slutty side is more than happy to comply.
After all your classes, you rushed to his office and knocked softly. He opened the door before you could ask, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. He closed the door behind you and pressed your back against it. He was over you instantly, his big mouth kissing you as his tusks framed your jaw. You kissed him back with equal passion, grabbing his hair and pressing your whole body against his. You moaned against his mouth when he pulled back.
“You were a very naughty girl. And naughty girls need to be punished.” His voice had an edge of danger to it that had you panting. You nodded, eagerly. “Bend down over the desk. Now.” You had to press against him to get to it, but you complied.
“What about the papers?” You asked, trying to move them around but he grunted. He put a hand on the middle of your back and pushed down, plastering your head against the papers and pulling your skirt up at the same time. You felt the cold air against your backside and shivered.
“Such a slutty girl, offering me his panties for a pass. Showing me her wet pussy like a slut. Parting her legs for me in the middle of class.” He punctuated each one of your actions with a caress to your ass. You were panting against the papers, pushing your ass up to get him to touch you more. “You need to be punished for all of that. You were a very, very naughty girl. Such a slut.” And then his big hand made contact with your right ass cheek. You screamed and he stopped. “That won’t do. You need to be quiet.” You looked at him over your shoulder and watched as he took your panties out of his pocket. “Open.” You complied, and he shoved them in your mouth. “Good girl. I’m going to spank your little slutty ass and then fuck your pussy, do you want that?” You nodded eagerly.
He hit your ass ten times, one after the other, not letting you catch your breath before he was hitting you again. You cried out around the panties in your mouth, but you only got them wet with saliva. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on the papers on the desk, making a mess. He didn’t care about it. When he finished spanking you, your pussy was so wet you were sure it was dripping.
“Such a good girl taking the spanking she deserves. Are you on the pill?” His question took you by surprise and when you nodded again he smirked. “Good, I’m going to breed you so deeply you are going to feel me for days.” You groaned at his words. He lowered his pants enough to get his dick out. When you saw it, you whimpered. “Don’t worry, it will fit.” You weren’t so sure about it, but he was already pushing the tip against your gaping hole.
By the time he bottomed out you were breathless. His dick so big you could feel it in the back of your throat. You were spread so wide you felt like you were going to tear in two. But it felt so fucking good. His dick hit every single good point inside of you, rubbing against your G-spot and parts of your pussy you didn’t even know could feel that good. He breathed hard over you as you adapted to his size. He was being so careful with you it was a shock from the way he acted when you entered his office.
After a few minutes you started moving your hips back. He grabbed your hips and pulled back, controlled. You groaned and he chuckled, pushing into you again. The scream you let out wasn’t muffled by the panties. And then the carefulness stopped. He fucked your pussy restlessly, until you were drooling around the panties and over papers on the desk. You could feel the bruises forming on your hips, where his green hands were holding you.
He fucked you like a machine, grabbing you like a toy and fucking your body like you weren’t more than a fleshlight to him. You moaned and groaned around your gag every time he thrusted inside. The pleasure so high it was maddening. His hand went around your body and he started rubbing your clit frantically. You came less than three seconds later and he rapidly followed. His cum was scalding hot in your insides, so deep and so much of it you could feel it slipping out around his dick.
When he finished cumming, he draped himself over you and hugged you close. “You did good, you were perfect.” He took the panties out of your mouth and kissed you softly, moving your limp body until your back was on the desk and he was sitting on his chair in front of you. “Now, take out my cum and eat it.”
You pushed your torso off the table, leaning on your elbows. “Wha- what?” Did he really wanted you to do that? That felt forbidden, like a step too far, but it made you so hot to think about it...
“Finger yourself for me and eat out mixed essence like a good girl for me,” he repeated. As soon as he praised you, you were ready to do whatever he asked you to.
So you complied. “Ye- yes, sir.”
You proceeded to do exactly what he told you, slowly scooping his cum from inside you with your fingers and putting it in your mouth. You moaned at the first taste, feeling naughtier than ever, feeling like the slut he called you earlier. His eyes were focused on your pussy and it felt so good to have all his attention over you that you wanted to scream again, your pussy tingling.
“Come here.” He pulled you off the table and to a kneeling position between his legs. You looked up at him adoringly, your brain, blind with pleasure. “You are going to show me those beautiful breasts of yours and I’m going to come again over you. Then you’ll put the shirt back on and walk to your house like that. Pussy dripping cum, tits marked by me,” he growled the last part. You nodded, already taking your shirt off. “Good girl.”
He jerked his monster cock over your tits, his green fist contrasted with his red tip and darker dick. It was beautiful to see. It took him less than three minutes to be groaning over you as he painted your boobs with his release. He spread it all over your tits, pinching your nipples as he did so. You groaned, your clit pulsing again. You couldn’t understand how much his actions turned you on.
He helped you put back your shirt, and he put you over his lap. You made out for a few more minutes as you melted against him.
“Tomorrow morning I expect you to be early for class.” You arched an eyebrow at him, confused. “If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?” You nodded, unable to form words after such risky order. “Good.” He kissed you again before sending you home.
Anticipation filled your inside as you walked home feeling his cum drying over your tits and leaking out of your bare pussy.
You were going to get an A+ in his class.
Don’t forget you can comission me for something like this if you want.
#monster#monster fucker#monster imagine#monster x human#teratophillia#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#terato#orc#orc professor#orc x human#orc x reader#orc smut#orc romance#orc boyfriend#monster x you#chubby fem reader#chubby reader#chubby reader x monster#exophelia#monster love#monster lover#monster romance#monster smut#monsterfucker#monster kink#monsterfucking nsft#monster fuqqer
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in every lifetime
summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.
“I’ll be back.”
“But what if–”
“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard.
“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back.
“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.”
“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?”
There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.
But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed.
Through it all, you stayed.
And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living.
“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers.
“And if I can’t?”
“You’ll have to.”
“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”
“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.”
And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct.
You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him.
You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him.
In your dreams, he was alive.
In your dreams, he had made it back home.
In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura.
And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura.
Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on.
For yourself.
For Laura.
For Logan.
—
He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about.
But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about.
Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret.
Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm.
He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it.
Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you.
“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”
“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms.
Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself.
That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right.
“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”
“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.”
“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”
“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.
“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.
Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally.
He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears.
Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again.
But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate.
“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head.
“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky.
Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl.
“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly.
“From my universe,” Logan answers.
“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?”
“There was.”
“And what happened to me?”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”
“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself.
And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.
“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters.
There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.”
My Logan.
Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him.
“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”
“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?”
Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.”
Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles.
“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.
You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.”
Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes.
“I’m not him,” he whispers.
“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.”
#hugh jackman wolverine#hugh jackman character#logan howlett#wolverine#worst wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#logan howlett fanfic#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine fanfic#wolverine fanfiction#worst wolverine fanfic#worst wolverine fanfiction#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#post deadpool & wolverine#worst logan!variant#hugh jackman#logan howlett x f!reader
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☀️Sons, Sons, and More Sons
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader Genre: Fluff/SMAU Summary: Ollie, Leo, Liam, who's next Oscar? Oh.
inspired by @pucksandpower 😊
TAG LIST IS CLOSED
“CHARLES!”
The said Monegasque, who had been “innocently” snuggling his four-legged son, winced at the force and volume of your voice.
He was currently going through everything that might have upset you in the past 20 minutes from when he got home to you just now getting out of the shower. Did he leave the toilet seat up again? Or did he forget to sort the laundry? Or maybe he didn’t clean up Leo’s toys from the bedroom?
“Why is my Twitter blowing up?”
Oh. That’s why.
He whispered to Leo, “I’m in for it now.”
And then in a louder voice he yelled, “Yes mon amour?”
You rounded the corner of the hallway and stopped in the opening to the living room, crossing your arms. “Care to tell me why I’m getting tagged in almost every Twitter post about you adopting Oscar?”
You wanted to break at the puppy eyes that your boyfriend was currently giving you, but you needed to stay strong. You needed to show that a man could not sway your feelings. Too bad that man was Charles Leclerc, the one that men and women alike fell to worship the ground beneath his feet.
You couldn’t break.
Charles brought his hand up to ruffle his hair, something he did to express some nervousness.
“Cheri, it was just a joke. Oscar somehow finds heritage in a lot of countries. He just wanted to keep the joke going.”
“So you decided to ‘adopt’ him so he can have another home race?”
“Maybe?”
“Don’t you already have enough sons anyway? I think four is too many or our house is going to overflow on family night.”
Charles’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Four?”
Now it was your turn to smirk. “Yes, four. Or are you too busy having fun with Leo to be a present father to your other two?”
Charles tried to wrack his brain about who could be the other two.
“Ollie?”
“Bingo.”
He leaned back into the couch, hands still gently petting Leo who had decided to fall asleep in the middle of his parent’s squabbles. The golden puppy was content on his dad’s warm chest, the rise and fall rocking him to sleep.
The Ferrari driver sighed. “I don’t even know.”
You waved your phone at him. “Twitter might be able to help you. I need to get dressed since I was rudely interrupted. I hope you find out before they get here for dinner.”
Charles shot up making Leo yelp away from his nap. Now that he was really looking at you, he realized that you were just in a towel. A blush formed on his face, still having those boyish thoughts that he believed he was better than that.
You walked over and bent down, face getting closer to his.
Ah. You were going to forgive him and all would be right in the world once your lips met his. You wanted to laugh as you saw his eyes flutter shut, lips slightly puckering.
Charles was wondering what was taking you so long when your finger touched his lips. His eyes shot open and he definitely did not whimper. You looked down at your fur-baby and gently picked him up, bringing Leo to your chest.
“Twitter. Figure it out Leclerc.”
Now a bit sullen, he watched you walk away.
“Je t’aime!”
He was responded to with a middle finger and the bedroom door slamming. A chuckle made its way from his chest as he brought his phone out. If there was one thing that you two did well, it was dramatics.
Twitter was immediately opened once he got his phone out. He scrolled through all the tags before giving up and opening your profile. He winced at the sight of the white background, cursing his phone for updating and not keeping the dark profile.
However, he couldn’t contain his laugh as he saw your new updated tweet. He leaned his head back, still giggling to himself.
Charles knew that you two wanted kids at some point. But between his Formula 1 career and your business on the uprise, children really wouldn’t work well now. But deep down, he liked the idea of having a few grid kids.
He took a minute to stop giggling before he continued his search. His eyes widened as he stopped on one of the family trees that some fan made.
There was Leo, adopted by you and him.
Then Ollie, who fans say that Charles conceived himself somehow.
Oscar was newer, but still had the adopted dotted line.
And then . . .
Ooohhhhhhh, so that’s who he was missing.
You took that moment to come out of the bedroom, hair now dry and fluffy from your Dyson. Leo was still in your arms, looking more awake than he had when he was with Charles. You sat down next to him, Charles taking the opportunity to put an arm around you, bringing you in closer.
“You smell good amour.”
You turned and smiled, leaning in to finally give him a kiss after a long day.
“Thank you. It’s the lotion that you bought me.”
He let out a low hum and just kept you in his arms. Leo was squirming a bit before he finally flopped over and settled in between your two bodies.
“I figured out who our other son is.”
Your head now rested in the crook of his neck. “Did you now.”
“Yes. I am a stepfather to Liam?”
Your shoulders shook with giggles. “Not the stepfather, but the father who stepped up.”
“You spend way too much on Twitter.”
You looked up at him, and Charles turned to look down at you. You leaned in closer to rub your noses together, giving him eskimo kisses. The Ferrari driver just closed his eyes and basked in the moment between you.
There weren’t many times that he got something like this. So quiet and peaceful. His world was filled with so much noise. But here, he could melt into the quiet.
“We should have dinner here with the boys after the Grand Prix on Sunday.”
“That sounds nice. I can make the food.”
You sat up slightly, elbow bent on the back of the couch and head resting on your hand.
“You want to show off your cooking skills to your sons to prove that you can cook.”
Charles huffed. “I am the provider chéri.”
You cocked your head at the Monegasque. “Whose name is on the lease mon bebe?”
A huff was the answer, which made you cuddle Charles closer still being aware of the little baby between you. A small nip to your fingertip made you pick Leo up, now holding him close to your face.
“Were you getting a bit jealous of papa ma petit amour?” you asked the blonde dachshund in a baby voice. If Charles wasn’t already fully in love with you, his love would have been solidified in this moment.
While watching, he suddenly remembered something. “Oscar wanted to meet Leo in McLaren hospitality this weekend.”
You turned with a raised eyebrow. “Why not Ferrari?”
“Eh.”
It was as if you had a lightbulb moment. “Ohhhhhhh, right. That makes sense. I can stop by and let you know when I get there.”
What you hadn’t expected was to pick up Liam and Ollie on your way to the now green outside of the McLaren hospitality. Leo was still curled up in your arms, eyes blinking every so often. You knew that if it wasn’t so busy, the little puppy would be sound asleep.
“He’s so cute,” Oscar said, walking forward and hands outstretched. You gently gave him over to the “older brother” of the three.
Ollie laughed. “I know right. He’s so cuddly.”
Liam joined in, “I don’t think I put him down the entire time I got to meet him.”
Oscar stared at you three for a moment. “Yeah, you aren’t getting him back.”
You shook your head. “Speak to your father first, Oscar.���
Chuckles erupted from all around, making you laugh as well. You took your phone out and took a quick picture of Oscar holding Leo to post later.
“Is dad on his way?” Ollie asked after sipping on his water bottle.
You rolled your eyes. “Should be. Ah, there he is.”
Charles stepped foot into the room and immediately found you surrounded by his “kids.” His heart may have melted seeing Leo flopped in Oscar’s arms. He gave you a kiss on your cheeks before he greeted the three.
“This is hilarious,” he said, making everyone laugh yet again.
You rested a hand on your forehead. “We’re just missing Liam’s dad, and then we’ll be one big happy family.”
The Kiwi crossed his arms, but a giant smile was on his face. “So much for having a present father in my life. I’m jealous.”
Charles gripped your waist and puffed his chest. “I’m not the stepfather, but the father that stepped up.”
“Charles, no you aren’t. Can’t even handle three kids.”
You and Charles turned around to see Max now stepping through the door. The Monegasque raised his eyebrow.
“And you can?”
You raised a hand. “That’s my que to leave. I will not be in the middle of a Lestappen-father showdown. Boys, you can follow me.”
“Yes mum.”
“Lead the way.”
“Can I still keep Leo?”
Charles and Max gawked as the three older boys followed you like ducks in a row. After he got over the shock, the Ferrari driver was left with a love-sick smile on his face.
“Yeah. I’m marrying her.”
“Gross.”
“Max. Shut up.”
y/n_l/n has posted
liked by y/nismother, charles_leclerc, liamlawson, and 1,304,295 others y/n_l/n look at my sons . . . pride is not the word I'm looking for
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y/nismother the mother is mothering
charliexy/n honestly, they all take after him so much. I need to go to twitter
olliebearman then what is the word you're looking for mom 🤨
liamlawson30 I knew she wasn't proud of us
oscarpiastri this is why dad is better
y/n_l/n I'm taking away all of your sims and ps5's
olliebearman I take it back, mom is the best
oscarpiastri81 this is the best thing to happen this weekend
charles_leclerc my family 🫶
maxverstappen1 you stole my son from me.
liamlawson30 they had free ice cream 🤷
y/n_l/n 😊
maxverstappen1 I'm taking pole then
charles_leclerc ☹️
lestappenlove I love the entire family your honor
leclerc16charles does Leo need another sibling? cause I can bark
TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis
#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc#dad Charles leclerc#not really#but he keeps adopting the grid#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1 x you#not the step father#but the father that stepped up#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula one fanfiction#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#formula one imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 smau#f1 smau#formula one smau#smau
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Who’s Your Daddy?
Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader
Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.
Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.
Word count: 8.3k
It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.
Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.
And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.
Okay, it was definitely porn.
But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.
You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.
Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.
Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.
By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.
Fucking loser.
Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.
It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.
At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.
If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.
TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???
TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.
Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.
The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.
Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:
TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!
TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?
It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.
TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)
You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.
The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.
Not here…not here…not—
You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.
—here, not here, not—
“EW!” you shrieked.
In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.
A pair of boxers, it seemed.
You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.
Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.
The boxers wouldn’t budge.
You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.
Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.
“Fucking…CUNT.”
You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.
The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.
Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.
You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.
To your horror, your finger was stuck.
“FUCK!”
You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.
You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.
“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”
You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—
“Aw, shit.”
—Joel.
Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.
Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.
Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.
And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.
“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”
“Help me,” you hissed.
You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.
“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”
The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.
“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.
You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.
“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.
You could smell him.
That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.
You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.
At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:
“What’s stuck?”
Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,
“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”
“No!”
“Then what—”
“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”
You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.
When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.
The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.
“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”
Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.
“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”
Your finger was kind of fucked.
Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.
The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.
Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.
“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.
By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—
“Just get me out!” you shrieked.
You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.
Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.
“Cool your pits, kid.”
For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.
“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.
“Why are you home, anyway?”
The question came out more clipped than you meant it.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second.”
You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.
“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”
With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.
“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.
Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.
Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.
“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.
He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.
You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.
But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.
Gross.
Gross.
“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.
If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.
Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.
“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”
You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.
Doting, almost.
“Well I’ll be—”
“Will you quit?!” you snapped.
You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.
“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”
“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”
He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.
“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”
That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.
Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.
What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.
An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.
A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.
Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.
Joel spanked you.
Spanked you.
“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.
He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.
Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.
And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.
“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.
The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.
“Joel.”
That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?
Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.
“Good?” Joel said.
Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.
It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—
“Please.”
But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?
No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.
Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.
He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.
Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.
“Now use your words.”
“But—” you sputtered.
“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.
“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”
It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.
That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.
Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”
Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.
“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.
You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.
“You aren’t my dad.”
“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”
“You’re not that either.”
Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.
“So that means I’m—”
“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.
Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.
Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.
Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.
He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.
You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.
“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”
You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.
“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”
Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.
“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”
He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.
You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.
Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.
Joel whistled.
“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”
Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.
And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.
A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.
“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.
“No one.”
Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.
And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.
“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.
“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”
“They’re just clothes!”
“Just clothes?”
In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.
Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.
You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.
So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.
In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.
“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.
Then somehow send those expectations even lower.
There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.
That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.
And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.
Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.
Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.
Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:
“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”
You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.
“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.
Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.
“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”
“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”
Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.
The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper
“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.
“Y-Yeah,” you lied.
“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”
“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.
“‘Atta girl,” he praised.
It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.
“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”
Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.
‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.
He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.
And then he stopped.
Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.
He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.
“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.
“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.
Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.
“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.
You nodded, not knowing why.
Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.
It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.
“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.
You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.
This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.
It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.
‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.
“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”
You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.
Or, rather, it—your finger.
Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.
‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.
Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.
His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.
Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.
Safe.
“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”
Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.
“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”
Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.
“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.
His hand ascended your throat in a blink.
“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”
“I—”
Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.
“What you want—”
He squeezed harder.
“—what you need—”
You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.
“—is me, ain’t it?”
The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.
“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”
‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.
Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.
“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.
You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.
Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.
“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”
For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.
Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.
“Who’s your daddy now?”
You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.
“Who’s your daddy?”
Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.
“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”
But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.
“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”
His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.
An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.
“It’s okay to say it.”
“C-Can’t—”
“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”
“Please. Please.”
You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”
“Say it now. Who’s it for?”
Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.
“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.
You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.
“Y-You.”
“Who?”
“Joel.”
“Who?”
Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.
“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”
“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”
“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.
Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.
“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.
“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.
You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.
When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.
And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.
“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”
Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.
And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.
The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.
Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.
It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.
Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.
Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.
As if remembering something.
In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.
“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.
“What? What is it?”
His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.
“What?”
“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.
You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”
At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.
“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”
Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.
“Wait, Joel, wh—”
“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”
You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.
“You’re—”
The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.
You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.
Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.
“Between us—” he began, slowly.
“Get fucked,” you finished for him.
Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.
Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:
“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”
—
Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️
#‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING STEP BRO????’#BUT IT’S JOEL#AND HE’S VERY CONFUSED BUT ALSO VISIBLY ER*CT#don’t ask me to elaborate because i have no idea what i just wrote#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel tlou#the last of us fic#the last of us#tlou#stepdad joel#hotdilfsummerchallenge
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Buckle up, folks, and prepare yourself for spoilers!
Because we’re going to be analyzing this scene today. And I’m going to explain why Starscream could’ve won.
After D-16’s initial attack, Starscream falls back to recover, and quickly counters with some skilled aerial maneuvers. Here’s a post so you can appreciate it better. Starscream is taking full advantage of his flight ability here. He’s leading the high guard, of course he’s going to be good at flying.
Side note: we don’t know if Starscream is the official leader of the high guard, do we? Maybe he just claimed leadership after they went into exile. It would be fun to think about.
As an extra note: Starscream is using his thrusters to carry both of them, holding D-16 up by the neck.
Extra extra note: D-16 kicks Starscream between the legs.
Now look at this. Here’s when D-16 transforms his foot to kick starscream off.
It all happens in a split second, but I tried my best to get screenshots.
Do you get what I’m trying to show?
Starscream angles his body forward, with the thrusters still on, before D-16 makes contact with him. He sees the kick coming, and he moves to counter it. When he realises he’s not fast enough to counter, he lets go of right D-16 before the impact in order to make sure he’s flung backwards instead of being injured. If he was still holding on, the damage would’ve been far more severe.
Sure, I find it a little surprising that a guy who can fly would fall in his butt, but I think I can explain it away. The thrusters are turned off when he’s kicked, but they return while he’s flying away. I think that may have been accidental. Maybe he intended to right himself midair and fly away but was unsuccessful, maybe he didn’t mean to activate them.
Either way, it contributes to him landing rougher than he would’ve intended. While I’m here, I want to point out D-16’s little swing off the wall to land next to Starscream. Very graceful.
Right before and right after getting punched in the face. There is momentary surprise, but no fear. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t take time to recover. One second of scowling, and then “HIT ME!” He doesn’t even need to catch his breath.
Slowing the scene you can see the punches have Starscream’s neck bent at an over 90 degree angle. Not only does he not react to the pain at all, but he also KEEPS ENCOURAGING HIS OPPONENT.
His body language and behavior is confident while he’s being punched. Only when D-16 turns his attention to the crowd does Starscream attempt to free himself.
He’s intentionally antagonizing his opponent, making D-16 drop his guard and focus on giving the crowd a show, he takes the punches like they’re nothing and only tries to break free when D-16 looks away.
Focus on Starscream’s hands here. D-16 loses his focus, Starscream is very clearly trying to pry him off.
And here, just a few seconds later. First his hand is just… sitting there, not making any attempt to pry off the guy squeezing his throat (presumably very painful) and instead continuing to yell (presumably very painful). And then he Grabs and Pulls Him Closer. This isn’t the body language of a person who’s afraid, Starscream was biding his time and waiting for the opportunity to catch D-16 off guard, use a sudden moment of distraction to his advantage.
We only see fear from him at the very end. Only when he sees the arm cannon which is something nobody expected. Not even D-16 himself. From Starscream’s perspective he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to overpower an enemy who is stronger but less skilled and experienced than him, all the while giving the troops a good show. And then the guy pulls out THAT THING to his face.
You can see the moment he knew he fucked up. There’s nothing he can do after that except ask for mercy.
It’s my personal belief that had the battle lasted longer, and had D-16 not discovered his Murder Arm, Starscream would’ve won.
And although I’m not disappointed in this outcome, I would’ve also loved if D-16 had the upper hand physically but still got defeated due to Starscream’s cunning and experience. We would’ve seen Starscream show his talent, and seen that D-16 still has a long way to go.
#transformers#transformers one#tf one#tf one spoilers#transformers one spoilers#tf one starscream#tf one megatron#d-16#starscream#Megatron#scene analysis#the lengths I went to trying to post this you have no idea
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YES ALL OF THIS
I can see in the beginning they all just accumulate their own things but in small amounts. But they’ve all obviously moved into the same building but Nate’s apartment is the meeting center and it’s right by a kitchen so why wouldn’t they add to it. But then I feel like Hardison would mother hen a bit so he would order stuff that everyone likes. But it’s just they’re new to living together and their habits so he’s only ordering what he knows they like (ie. coffee for Nate, orange soda for himself, tea for Sophie, cereal for Parker, knives??? For Eliot ). So no one especially Parker questions it at first because magical cereal and if she needs anything else they just steal.
And yes of course Eliot would get upset and want real food to cook with and wanted everyone to contribute so “dammit everyone get in the van rn” and he would want to take them to a farmers market because of course he would but that would be way too much. Sophie would create different personas for every stall, Hardison would not even want to leave the van, and Parker would disappear so he has to contain the situation so regular grocery it is.
Yes Parker would love the positives friends coming and convenient cart to fill with more cereal food but she would so get sidetracked stealing random items. It makes me think of her go kit for maggie in “the Zanzibar marketplace job” because some of it felt so random so I feel like Parker trying to be normal in a grocery store would be her not trying to steal the typical items she needed to survive but instead trying to look normal stealing items that she could use in unique ways to steal other items (while Eliot’s annoyed in the background just trying to get her opinion on produce because yes OP he would need the perfect produce to make sure these people ate something).
I also just love the idea of Parker not wanting to give up a single bill or something at checkout and gripping it so tight until the person has to yank it from them because Eliot made her pay as a learning experience or something. But I absoloutly love Sophie simply going okay yeah let’s con some free samples out of them for Parker and her and Sophie going back regularly for Parker to practice her grifting to just get free food.
And once again yes Nate wishing he was anywhere else but content enough being the getaway driver whatever the situation may be when the team finally exits the store.
list of things parker has to slowly get used to in leverage season 1:
being around people a lot more
owning a plant
eliot’s home cooked meals at dinner time (nice, but goes against her instinctive grazing method and cereal-heavy diet)
questions. everyone’s all "how are you, parker?" and "what do you mean, parker?" and "why are you in my house at 3AM watching me sleep, parker?"
Emotions (derogatory)
Talking About Emotions (even worse)
having her own office (she’s found that this is useful for things like Plant Placement, Weapons Storage and Naps)
the team’s "safety concerns" like not wanting to get decapitated by elevators or whatever
rules about starting fires in the offices (luckily no such rules exist for hardison’s van)
going grocery shopping for office snacks with the team, which is like stealing supplies, but legal and boring
being part of a team
being part of a more-than-a-team team
#actually cannot believe how in depth this has become in my head#I’m sure I’ve got a fic in here somewhere#if I ever write it#along with my other leverage ideas#but goodness yeah op#that break I bet Parker tried to do so many normal things#and then would get mad because she was always on her own#and has always been okay on her own#so what was this feeling she got when she saw an electronic lock#or was eating fast food instead of a home cooked meal#or ended up nearly caught and had to act natural and grift her way out of something#or was planning what she was going to steal next and felt bored instead#like I BET SHE WAS MISSING THEM#but didn’t know what it was so was then changing her routines and getting confused about things#because she never felt like trying these things before#but now it felt wrong to just go back to how it was#ugh this show makes me feel things#here’s all my brain cells for the night#thank you for this post op#I just took off running#leverage#inde rambles about leverage
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