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joelscurls · 6 months

Text

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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lovelyney · 4 months

Text

────𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒────

IN WHICH: You accidentally whack Wriothesley in the nose during a training session and feel bad !!

PAIRINGS: Wriothesley x (GN!) Reader

SCENT: fluff but gets kind of nsfw towards the end ??

WARNINGS: uh wrio makes a comment implying masturbation towards the end? that and you guys just makeout, lol.

FLORIST’S NOTE: Reader is a mix between Wrio’s and Sigewinne’s assistant !! Also happy belated new years, blossoms !!

SONG: Bang! Bang! (K,NAAN & Adam Levine)

───────────2023 !! #©LOVELYNEY

WRIOTHESLEY LAUGHS as you drag him through the Fortress of Meropide, drawing the attention of those around you. Though typically, you’d feel uncomfortable, embarrassed, or perhaps self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of others, this time, it’s different. Your attention is focused solely on Wriothesley as he holds his free hand up to his bloodied nose. Knowing Wriothesley and his job here, it’s easy to imagine it resulting from a scuffle with a particularly stubborn criminal or something along those lines. However, the truth cannot be farther from that. In actuality, you’re the one responsible for this bloody nose. . . Allow me to expand on the situation a little.

Around a week or so ago, he unexpectedly marched into your office and insisted you learn how to fight. His motives for the sudden declaration were not out of a lack of appreciation for your work at the Fortress but rather a desire for your protection while he’s away. On another note, he believes you’re too “reserved and gentle” with others—“too much like a frightened kitten rather than a fearsome lion,” as he blatantly put it. It was a comparison you found somewhat degrading, yet you couldn’t deny it did speak the truth of your nature. In the end, you decided to comply with his wishes, and from there on out, he started to teach you self-defense and train you.

Cut to the present: Wriothesley pulled you aside for your daily training session. Everything was going swimmingly at first, with you defending yourself from his attacks as usual. Then, amid it all, you accidentally hit him square in the nose and rather hard at that. The punch was neither intentional nor malicious, but it still managed to send him stumbling back and clutching his nose in pain. A tsunami of guilt and worry flooded your system as you frantically apologized to him, but he simply brushed it off and smiled. The look in his eyes was one of mild shock but also of something more. . . fond. He seemed amused rather than angry or annoyed, appearing to be impressed and even a little smitten.

Sigewinne enters the infirmary with the medical supplies you requested, stopping just inside the door to ask you a question. She furrows her brow in concern, noticing the panic in your expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of him, Mx. (Y/N)? You’re a bit pale. . . Maybe you should sit and rest for a little while,” she offers kindly.

Wriothesley observes you with a lovesick expression as you prepare a cotton swab, your tongue poking out between your lips from concentration. His heart singes when you take his hand that’s pressed to his nose and lay it gently on his lap; your skin is warm and soft compared to his, scarred and calloused, from his duties here at the Fortress.

When you assure her with that enchanting smile of yours—the same one that drives him wild—it feels like his entire body has been set on fire, and he’s certain you can feel that fire when you press your palm to his cheek to keep him still. “D—Don’t worry, Sigewinne. I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.” You answer calmly, despite your hold on him being slightly shaky.

With a brief nod of her head, Sigewinne slips out of the room, leaving you and Wriothesley alone. As you press the cotton swab to his nose, he lets out a sharp hissing sound as the disinfectant works its magic. “Ouch! Shit, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit. That was a hell of a punch. . .” he chortles, trying to lighten up your mood a little. But his amusement falters when you pout, your face a heartbreakingly adorable sight.

“I—I really am sorry, Your Grace! I didn’t expect to hit you so hard. . . In—In fact, I thought you’d move out of the way before I even got the chance too,” you lament and carefully tilt his chin up, making sure you cleaned all the blood off. “How badly does it hurt? Do—Do you want me to go get some painkillers or ice? Please, just—”

“Breathe, (Y/N).” Wriothesley’s tone is soothing as he speaks, seeming intent on consoling you. “I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with far worse scuffs than this. So, please, don’t think for a second I’m mad at you or anything of that nature. I’m more proud than anything, really.” He adds, melting under the warmth and care of your gaze. He finds himself feeling a little selfish in this moment, wishing you’d always spend so much time doting on him. You’re always so engrossed in your work, and as much as he admires that side of you, he’s also become increasingly smitten with you without you even batting an eye. Your self-absorbed disposition has made you oblivious to his adoring eyes, and he can’t help but feel a mix of heartbreak and longing as he considers how blind you are to his affections. “Hm. . . Now that we’re alone, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” he admits, humming contentedly as your hand presses to his face once more, oblivious to the surge of adrenaline that shoots through his veins with every touch. Your affectionate actions result from your nurturing demeanor, but he begs silently for them to mean something more.

Your puzzled expression, bearing a resemblance to a confused puppy, only further softens the gentle smile on Wriothesley’s face. “Is that so? Is—is there a reason you’re only bringing it up now?” You inquire anxiously, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You hope that your unexpected punch wasn’t the last straw for him firing you or something like that. The worry in your voice and tension in your body language betray your deep concern, and Wriothesley finds himself smitten by your innocence and tenderness.

The duke pauses momentarily, seeming to mull something over in his mind. “It’s been harder to get you alone these days, with you always engrossed in your paperwork or helping Sigewinne. I can’t bring myself to tear you away when you’re always so faithful.” He acknowledges. His eyes linger over your lips for just a moment too long, his imagination taking over as he considers the softness of them and how they taste. His heart pounds against his ribcage as he holds back the urge to kiss those teeth away and murmur how he’s the only one allowed to ruin your lips.

You mutter the words, “My apologies, your Grace,” as you press the bandage to the bridge of his nose. Taking a step back, you freeze under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, you have my full, unrivaled attention as of r-right now...?” You try to sound confident, but your sheepish expression gives you away.

Wriothesley hums in response, amused and enticed by the sudden color that washes over your face. Clearing his throat, he slips one hand around your waist and pulls you flush against his warm frame. His eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as he allows the intensity of the moment to sink in. “Oh? Do I now? Good,” he purrs, his voice deep and velvety as it echoes in your ears—sending vibrations throughout your core. You shudder when the smooth of his fingers glide over the exposed skin on your waist, and he almost finds it a little sadistic with how much he’s enjoying you squirm when he hasn’t even done anything.

Your breathing becomes a touch erratic as you feel the lingering touch of his hand against your waist. You attempt to mask your growing excitement, skin prickling with electricity. Despite your best efforts, there’s a faint quiver in your words that you can only hope he doesn’t notice. “G—Go on. . .”

Sadly, nothing gets past Wriothesley’s gaze, and he’s able to take note of your trembling voice and hands; he isn’t the duke for nothing, after all. He can’t help but feel the boost to his ego when he realizes he has a tight grip over you at this moment. With a swift tug, you’re suddenly pushed against his broad chest, eyes blown wide. He chuckles as you choke over your words, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “You know, (princess/prince). . . I can’t tell if you’re just dense or trying to prove something to yourself.” The raven-haired male teases. “I’ve been smitten with you for weeks now, you know,” he presses, eyes trained on your expression to read any changes. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re as aware as your actions suggest—or if you have been merely feigning ignorance. Please, explain yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the magnitude of Wriothesley’s words settles in; he’s so direct and brazen with his declaration that it sucks all the breath out of your lungs. Your mind races as you grapple with the sudden realization that he is just as enamored with you as you are with him. Your expression must speak louder than words because as you open your lips to speak, Wriothesley closes the distance—slotting his mouth on yours.

It sends all your senses reeling like they’ve been drenched in ice water after burning for too long. Like a balm and a spark, it’s both a soothing salve and a blazing inferno, comforting and ravaging you in equal measure. All the tension of your attraction has suddenly become a physical manifestation, the culmination of all the unspoken words and feelings that have gone unsaid for too long.

Wriothesley pulls himself even closer to you, his passion only intensifying the longer the kiss carries on. The feeling of his body pressing against yours ignites a primal urge within you, driving the kisses to become more intense. His hands slide further down the bare flesh of your back, tracing your waist in a possessive claim to your body. His tongue dives underneath your bottom lip; it probes between them, trying to gain access to the interior of your mouth.

A noise akin to a muffled whimper escapes your throat as his tongue pushes into your mouth with a feverish, nearly desperate need. The intensity of the sensation is overwhelming, and you feel yourself shudder with a sense of raw desire as his hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, his fingers squeezing and digging into the soft flesh. His touch is both tender and possessive, sending your nerves reeling.

When his fingers climb closer up your thighs, you plant your hands on his face and gently push his head away, his mouth chasing after yours instantaneously. You sigh softly, your face flushed scarlet from the heat of the situation. “Wriothesley. . . We are still in your office. Anyone can walk in at any time.” You chuckle, swiping the saliva from his bottom lip.

His body hums with contentment at the breathless sound of his name coming from your lips. He lets out a displeased huff as he nestles his nose in the crook of your neck, sharply inhaling your scent and drowning himself in the warmth of your body. He absentmindedly starts nipping at your skin, “And? I’ve had enough nights getting off—”

“O—Okayokay! As an. . . apology for keeping you waiting, how about after work, we fulfill those fantasies of yours?” You chuckle nervously and thread your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans his entire body onto you. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way some of the inmates looked at me when I dragged you in here. . . I don’t think I could recover if they walked in and found out they guessed right.”

Wriothesley’s laughter is like a deep, thunderous rumble that soon after swarms your stomach with butterflies. His kisses pepper your face in response, the sweet scent of your skin filling him with a sense of contentment. He pulls away and smiles down at you, the heat and adoration in his eyes impossible to miss. “After work, then,” he repeats and holds up his pinky, signaling you to do the same. Rolling your eyes, you indulge him and hook your pinky to his—a cutesy gesture veiled in a not-so-innocent promise.

#꒱₊˚ fawn’s flowers #꒱₊˚ lumindounce bells #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley fluff #genshin fluff

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skelliko · 6 months

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★- Tokyo revengers

- cute, little, not so subtle things they do to show that they like you

featuring: kazutora, chifuyu, Baji, Inui, rindou

-honestly some of these aren't even hints they're just straight up green flags-

°- kazutora hanemiya

• he'd innocently tap his fingers or pat his hands on you to a certain beat of a song, on your shoulders, head, knees or arms. he'd do it out of nowhere and without a warning and it'd last between a few seconds to a minute

• sometimes he'd tease you with small annoying acts, that could go from from taking your pens and pencils and holding onto them in his grasp as you try to take them off from him but fail, or taking your work sheets that you need and making little origami boats all with a mischievous smile.

• he'd do anything with you, but only if it's just the two of you and he'd make that clear. you only have to ask once if he wants to join you in something or if you need help with anything, but if you ask while you're in your group he'd be reluctant and always make an excuse for it to just be you two

• when you're both doing something mischievous in school like cheating or going in places you shouldn't be, if you both get caught kazutora takes the fault and would try to get you out of detention, (despite him blaming others for certain things if it revolves around actual punishment he doesn't point to someone) though if your still dragged into detention then kazutora would throw a little note at you and try to humor the situation

• his love language is physical touch and quality time

°- chifuyu matsuno

• he'd hand write little sweet notes while you're there and watching chifuyu write and pass it towards the corner of your desk but then act like he didn't do that, "oh what's that?" "hm, who's that's from?" all with a good poker face

• he'd ask the question "if I were a worm would you still love me?"

• whenever you mention that you were out late at night he'd become a little protective and insist that next time when your alone at night to message him and he'd accompany you, that's exactly what happened. every time you're out and it's late he'd comes over to the location that you sent on his motorbike to safely take you home - like Baji though he'd use that as a slight advantage to feel a hug from you but he won't admit it

• when you'd talk about manga he'd slip up a little about "that character reminds me of you" and then the character is the most gorgeous, most likable and so like you that you hadn't even thought of comparing yourself to them until chifuyu mentioned it that sometimes it got you thinking into how well he takes notice of some things about you.

• his love language is acts of service and words of affirmation

°- Baji Keisuke

• whenever he walks past you in hallways or even if you're both in your separate groups and accidentally meet in public, he would bring his hand up to pat the top of your head once while walking past ya and not say anything about it but hold a grin

• he'd always try to bring you out on his motorbike just so you could wrap your arms around him and he's admitted to that before, "I just like it when you hug me" he said that with a small shrug and a confident smile. sometimes when the road is all clear he purposely speeds up just so he can feel your grasp get a little tighter and become closer

• in lesson or if you're trying to help Baji with some work he'd lean over to your page and do a quick little drawing. one of them was of the two of you as stick figures, holding hands above your heads. other drawings he'd done is wonky, unsymmetrical stars and flowers, very rare occasions mainly at the end of the lesson he's quickly do a tiny little heart at the very bottom corner but only if you weren't paying attention.

• whenever Baji comes across a cat, either a stray or an outdoor cat he'd take a picture of it and send it to you with a text, sometimes you'd be compared to the cat, "you if you were a cat" "it has your eye colour" "the cat has the same personality as you" "I bet you both would get along great"

• his love language is quality time and physical touch

°- Inui seishu

• he would straight up stare at you, without saying anything he'd shamelessly look at you and admire you, a lot of the time with a small smile and if you catch onto him and ask him about it he just shrugs and carries on looking at you

• out of nowhere, rarely, when hes behind you he'd be holding your favourite snack and hold it behind the back of your head until you turn around to notice it, sometimes if you take too long he'd crinkle the package to make you notice

• he'd fix up your hair for you, if the wind blew it and made your hair to be a little off than how you want it to be then he'd move the strands for you without saying anything

• he'd observe you and remember everything, not once did he forget any little detail about you, your temporary favourite colour for the week, what you ate last Thursday at 2:37pm, that one scene in an episode of a series that you mentioned last month that inui was so far behind in watching but then brought it up that he got up to that part, it's as if he keeps note of everything

• his love language is acts of service and quality time, a bit of gifting

°- rindou haitani

• whenever you're both together, for even a brief moment, if he sees a flower outside in the grass, concrete, over someone's garden fence or even on someone's private property he will pick a singular flower and then pass it to you (he expects you to keep it until you both part) and it'd be a large variety wherever you both go out, it's hardly ever be the same flower and he makes sure of that

• at some point he let you try on his white gloves that he uses to fight people with and someone else saw that and asked him if they could also try it on and rindou went, "no fuck off" with no hesitation whatso ever, even his mood switched up a little but then immediately went back to smiling at how the gloves were a little bit too big on you

• if you're both together and walk past a group of guys he'd place his arm around your shoulders and keep you close, his reasoning was so that they don't try to hit on you knowing damn well your a single and a free person (someone's protective?)

• he loves to braid your hair, long or short doesn't matter. he's braided his brother's hair before and even though it took him a few tries to get it right he wouldn't miss a perfect opportunity to try and braid yours if it means to get close to you

• his love language is acts of service and gifting

♡---

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora #baji keisuke #baji x reader #kazutora x reader #chifuyu x reader #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu #rindou #rindou x reader #inui seishu #inui x reader #rindou haitani #inupi

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electrosair · 6 months

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Jealous headcanons anemo + cryo ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: heizou + kazuha + scaramouche + venti + xiao + kaeya + wriothesley

word count: 1k

Heizou

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

4/10 He's not really jealous over you, it's more with people who may get close to you, mostly because of the attitudes they may have towards you. It's not something he likes and he's not going to tolerate it either, but he will always do it in discreet ways.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

7/10 Whenever he sees someone start to make moves on you, he will pull subtle acts, as if teasing the person who is looking for a good time with you. He'd never let you know if you haven't noticed, doing things like putting an arm around you or throwing glances when you're not aware of him.

what is he most jealous of?

In cases where you realize it, Heizou would be annoyed if you jokingly and having warned him about what was going on, you jokingly play along with the other person. It's something he would draw the line at and stop doing after he began dating you.

Kazuha

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

3/10 He is easygoing with everyone, so there are no exceptions with people who are looking for something with you. He wouldn't take it too bad either, he would leave it up to you unless you go to him for help, only then would he jump in.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

2/10 He prefers to leave you to your own criteria and freedom, as he himself has decided to do with his life. As long as you spend a certain amount of quality time by his side experiencing new things and places, that's enough for Kazuha.

what is he most jealous of?

It doesn't happen often, but it would be a thorn in his side if you go to places, which you discovered with him during your travels, with other friends or acquaintances of yours. He would like it to be something intimate and meaningful between the two of you.

Scaramouche

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

10/10 Occasionally he may vent his jealousy on you, because of silly arguments or disagreements that you have, but mostly he would do it with those who are going to flirt with you. In the end he understands that it's not your fault, so gradually he tries to fix that problem.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

9/10 Most likely, he already felt this way about you even before you started dating officially. He would have behaviors like asking you to go out with him every day in the hopes that you wouldn't end up noticing someone else.

what is he most jealous of?

If you are outside and someone's attitude towards you really shocks him, he can't help it, an impulse in him would get you out of there immediately without thinking. Scaramouche's not going to tolerate that kind of stare over what he considers his own.

Venti

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

4/10 Even when something in him goes wrong and he feels jealous, it's as if at the same time he knows that he must give you freedom to act as you want and after all, you wouldn't change him, right?

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

7/10 He likes to keep you close all day long, write songs and ballads of his beloved without the need to name names or tell the rest who exactly you are. He's not going to do that if it means that others also know who you are and will approach you, whether to ask about the archon or a simple bard.

what is he most jealous of?

One of his greatest fears is to keep losing the people he loves even though he knows that it is inevitable with the passage of time. Venti would not be able to bear that, apart from factors like this, you would be the one to voluntarily leave his side and go with someone else.

Xiao

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

6/10 I feel that individual acts would make him feel insecure and jealous over you when you're away from his side, so he tries to always keep an eye on you so he knows where you are. That way he could be ready all the time when he needs to do something because of another person flirting with you.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

8/10 His way of expressing that you belong to him in some way or another would be with small marks made by his own teeth on your skin, in places where only he can see and no one else. That's why they are there after all, isn't it?

what is he most jealous of?

When you start spending more time and hanging out with other people, specifically a single one that he doesn't even know by sight and you get to complain to him that he's been checking you out more than usual. Xiao likes to think to himself that he's doing it for your safety.

Kaeya

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

3/10 Even if he occasionally feels upset by people near you, he prefers to trust you enough that he won't try to do anything unless he feels it's too much and you're not doing anything to stop the situation.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

5/10 Only when he is aware that someone is making moves on you will he become more possessive. Whether it's to make you feel a little safer if you send him a look of distress, or to scare off whoever you have after you, no one is going to mess with the cavalry captain's partner.

what is he most jealous of?

It's something he enjoys taking you to bars so you can try his favorite drinks and he can see your reactions. But every time he goes away for more than three seconds and someone comes to buy you a drink Kaeya's face changes, he would come back as fast as possible to your side.

Wriothesley

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

2/10 Just enough to throw a glance, although he would only do something directly to the person who is flirting with you if their actions escalate quickly. In those cases it would be more to defend you than for his own jealousy, he is not afraid to come to blows.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

6/10 He would like to show everyone with a minimal amount of interest that the two of you are doing well together and that you are his, whether it's by pressing you against his body or asking you to stay in his office on his busiest days.

what is he most jealous of?

Definitely some people would only approach you to do you favors and earn Wriothesley's or get closer to him in some way. He would try to keep you away from these people whenever he could, keeping you by his side whenever he saw strange behavior.

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itaipava · 7 months

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— lando norris falling in love with you

he is actually timid about liking you and tries to treat you like just another friend because he doesn’t want to be too obvious; but the more he tries to hide that feeling, the more he feels.

he gazes at you a lot; he looks at you with his eyes shining because for him you are the most beautiful artwork ever. he never tires of admiring you. and he also likes to learn your little quirks and habits, and he finds them so, so cute and unique. but he quickly looks away when you look back at him.

he loves making you laugh; making silly faces from across the room, or making comments in your ear about something he noticed. he laughs along with you or stares at you with major heart-eyes while you laugh until your cheeks hurt. he also always laughs at your jokes — whether they’re good or bad.

he becomes more talkative and tends to ask a lot of questions about you. he tries not to overdo it but he’s just genuinely curious and interested about you; and he genuinely loves to hear you talk, it could be about anything, he puts his chin in his hand and looks at you fondly, encouraging you to say more and more.

he also hangs on your words. one day, you casually complimented him by telling him that he looks good in blue and you were pleasantly surprised to see he wore different shades of blue for the next whole week. even when you make a passing comment that you want to go to a certain artist’s concert, he goes online to check and secretly buys two tickets in advance so that he can surprise you.

he becomes more physically affectionate. there’s a sense of innocence in the way he touches you, whether it be something small like; touching your hand when you walk side by side, or knees touching under the table or a playful, casual pet on your head

he also tries to find excuses to hold your hand; subtly holding your hand a little longer after a high-five or asking for your hand so he can “read your palm” or compare the size of the hands for the hundredth time, or also to draw a small heart on the palm of your hand - letting you do the same to him later, so you guys have the same ‘tatoos’

he likes to look at what you’re listening to on spotify or what you’re saving on pinterest; because that way he learns a little more about your favorite things. and whenever he gets the opportunity, he starts talking to you about it, and he’s completely in love with the face you make when he asks you about your favorite band or something.

he also tries to like the same things as you, to understand you a little more and so that you have more to talk about; he always gives another chance for that movie or song he hated but you said you loved.

he constantly includes you in his future plans. he wants to hang out with you more and in hopes of you sticking around, he makes plans in advance, sometimes a few days in advance, sometimes a week, sometimes a month, sometimes even a whole year as he talks about about how he’ll help you decorate the christmas tree next december. and he’s always so conscious about whether you’re having fun to the point it seems he might be trying a little too hard and when you bring it up and reassures him, he sheepishly says, “i don’t want to bore you i guess, i want you to keep me around,“

he starts wanting you to stay the night. and he starts holding your hand more because although words may not leave his mouth, he really wishes for you to stay — to stay the night, to stay with him, beside him. and he holds your hand a little tighter each night and starts developing a habit of squeezing your hand before every goodbye.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando headcanon #lando norris headcanon #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #04

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ma1dita · 3 months

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crazy little thing

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he spends all his drachmas to make you smile. Sometimes, the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite herself. Everyone’s tired of you two dancing around each other. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: lil valentines day special though im working on more est. relationship fluff after this!! happy season 2 renewal babies

(posted 2/9/24 unbetaed)

—

“Come on, you gotta admit—it’s kinda funny!”

Luke is met with blank stares at the camp store after he places a few drachmas onto the folding table in front of the Apollo kids. They’re not sure if he’s trying to convince them, or himself.

Because yeah, that’s the excuse he goes for, wanting to spend his savings on having them sing to a certain head counselor instead of admitting his blatantly obvious feelings, so if you ask Lee Fletcher and his half-siblings, it’s kind of pathetic.

“What do we look like, a traveling mariachi band, Castellan?” he deadpans, watching the usually confident boy scratch the back of his neck with his face red like someone who’s been sitting out in the sun for too long.

“I’m not saying to follow her around all day or whatever, just pick a random time to sing a song and catch her off-guard,” he insists, before meeting the judgmental look of one of Lee’s younger siblings.

Lee chuckles, ruffling his sister’s hair before looking at Luke quite seriously, “She’s a good friend. You’re gonna have to pay us more than that. Special song for a special lady after all.”

The son of Hermes knows he’s gonna regret this sooner or later, but proceeds to throw the rest of his meager earnings onto the table. He has other ways of being resourceful anyway, the box of chocolates he nicked from behind the store counter feeling heavy in his jacket pocket.

“Right…she’s just a friend.”

Luke’s hands fidget at his sides as he stands there, feeling a little stupid.

Lee’s little sister scoops up the coins from the table, her raised eyebrows and light aura mirroring that of her older brother.

“What song were you thinking?” she asks, “Gotta make sure I know it if I’m singing it to your…friend.”

The 18-year-old boy tugs at his dark curls, getting more embarrassed and wanting to retreat with every minute that passes, but he’s never been one to back down from anything–swordfights, monsters, capture the flag, but this—trying to impress you...is a whole different story somehow.

Why are feelings so damn complicated?

It feels like being at the butt of a joke, or more accurately—at the sharp edge of a sword, and Luke never lets his fights end in a draw.

“You guys got it covered. Just…surprise me too, I guess,” he sighs, walking off without finishing his sentence. He wishes he could pray a little harder to his dad for luck, even if he’s unsure of what exactly he’s wishing for (or if his dad will even listen).

“Castellan’s hopeless. You think he knows it yet?” the girl asks her brother, to which Lee laughs.

“I don’t think she does either, even though everyone else can see right through them. The new bets are on who’s gonna break first. Chiron’s been keeping track, but don’t tell Mr. D.”

If Luke wants a show, they’ll make sure he’ll get his money’s worth—and hopefully, it’ll push you two along faster. Lee bet on you two getting together before the summer after all, and he’ll be damned if he loses to Clarisse.

—

Valentine’s Day might be the day of love, but for you, someone who’s single (not by choice), and heavily busy with making sure people aren’t so…enamored in public (you’ve lost count of the reports you’ve written out due to indecent behavior this morning alone)---this just feels like another Wednesday, except with more hormonal teenagers with uncontrollable urges than usual.

Oh, the joys of being the daughter of the camp director, also known as everyone’s favorite narc.

Honestly, love can suck it. With this much love in the air, you can feel it suffocating you like a plastic bag over your head.

That’s an uncontrollable urge. Too much?

Maybe Silena was right, you do need to open yourself up more to romantic opportunities. But if you have to watch another person swap spit and get pawed at like they’re the last dinner roll at the table….You might commit arson and set this place ablaze.

You just didn’t understand why people had to go all out today of all days. Shouldn’t love be shown year-round? Though you were a person of theatrics and enjoy a good show, it is amazing how much grandiose displays of affection make you cringe. It felt very performative, instead of genuine, and you would know, you’re the best actress at camp. You’ve acted out stories before, knowing all of the greatest romances and tragedies by heart. And you pride yourself on being a decent teacher to the campers, but for some of them, love still translates to a bad rendition of a ballad they heard on the radio.

Nothing gets past you at this point.

But that sucks too sometimes, you know?

Multiple failed flings and a heartbreak or two weigh down on you on days like this one, as you’re stuck being a bystander to outlandish displays put on by the Aphrodite kids being put to work. Love is their domain anyway, and yours…makes you feel a little less undesirable. Each demigod has their own strengths and weaknesses, but perhaps in the name of love, some of them don’t know how to take a hint. Several forgettable prose readings, a Sparknotes version of Eros and Psyche, and too many red roses to count have you reeling from exhaustion and a bit of disgust—-and it’s only lunchtime.

So yeah, maybe you’re a little jealous; they could call you Nemesis at this point.

The only flowers you got today were from the little kids from along the path to the strawberry orchard, and though it’s sweet—the human side of you misses affection.

Devotion.

To be a daughter of Dionysus meant to deal in extremes, obsession or nothing, and there are very few people who can handle that. Always being too much to handle, or uninterested as a defense mechanism. Perhaps that’s what scares admirers away.

That, or the fact that Luke Castellan is always attached to your hip. To be honest, you’ve always preferred it that way—the both of you working as a pair always gets things done faster around camp and he brightens your mood, whether you admit it or not.

But you two are just friends.

Really good friends who look for each other in crowded rooms, hands constantly brushing against the other for comfort, and able to pick up where the other one leaves off. Usually he’s the first person you see in the morning, and the last person you say goodnight to. You know how he likes his coffee and he cuts your apples for you as you two sit together in your unassigned seats in the dining pavilion. You watch each other’s workshops and if one of you is missing, everyone knows to ask the other to get an answer.

Right? That’s totally normal coworker/friend behavior.

If you were ever given immortality, perhaps they’d make you the goddess of denial.

You’re sweeping up confetti from the dining hall floor after an uncoordinated excuse of a flash mob was performed for one of the Demeter kids…and not to sound like a heinous bitch, but maybe next time they should use something biodegradable…or less messy. Sighing deeply, you feel someone’s eyes on you, and when you look up, Luke’s standing there with two full plates of food.

“Take a break, trouble. No one’s paying you overtime,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes as you put the broom aside.

“No one’s paying me at all…” you groan, before taking the plate out of his hands and knocking your head against his shoulder in thanks. He snickers as his hand brushes the small of your back, tickling your spine as he leads you to sit at a table.

“Just another holiday. You know how it is.”

“It’d be nice to have a night off though. Sometimes I regret taking up the position,” you mumble through spoonfuls of soup. He throws his large hand over your shoulder, kneading some tension from your trapezius. Head jerking along with the movements, you giggle as soup dribbles off your spoon, which makes his lips quirk into a small smile. Being around you felt so thoughtless and easy that if you told him to jump off a bridge he’d do it without question, which should be more concerning—the hold you have on him is irrevocable. Feelings are way too difficult for his teenage brain to comprehend at this stage. It’s easier to wash dishes with lava or fight off a dragon (bad example, he knows, but there’s something about you that already makes him feel like he’s losing before anything’s even happened).

Luke is someone who fights until the end, a soldier who’s always trained and so ready that sometimes it makes you wonder what war he’s preparing for. Infatuation, or the scarier, four-letter word was not something he was ever briefed on.

“No, you don’t. You’re a control freak,” he says with a grin.

Luke watches you play with the pendant on your necklace, the dragon scale he fashioned into your favorite accessory glinting in your hand. Running your fingers back and forth over the smooth surface, your other hand puts the spoon down and you place your head on his shoulder. He thinks if he had to describe the four-letter word on the tip of his tongue, he’d tell whoever’s asking about the way you kissed his healing cheek after you both left the Garden of Hesperides. More than a year later, Luke is still unable to find the right words even if the weakness has made a home in his heart with your name written all over it.

“I swear if I have to hear another person croak out a lovesong I might just drown myself in the Long Island Sound,” you scoff as his fingers trace circles onto your waist.

There’s a low strum of a guitar that reaches your ears and your forehead meets the cool surface of the table as you shut your eyes and grumble. It’s Lee and his half-siblings, beginning to walk through the hall seconds away from singing until they see Luke shaking his head and dragging his finger across his throat to please, gods, stop. The Apollo kids swivel and 180, walking out of the hall as the music stops dissonantly, rolling their eyes and dragging their feet.

“That was quick,” you say inquisitively as your head pops up from the table to see Luke looking off in the distance.

“Heh…I think they were just practicing or something…”

He then had to run off and pay them more drachmas for the inconvenience.

Fucking hustlers.

—

The sun sets quickly on Camp Half-Blood since it’s mid-February, and Luke finds you trying to calm your nerves as you look at the mess of glitter and paper mache that covers the arts and crafts hall from floor to ceiling.

“I can’t believe this!” you say in disbelief as you look at Luke, and he takes the can of Redbull out of your shaking hand.

“There’s just no fucking way everyone decided to use glitter. It’s everywhere! I’m—CONNOR, PUT THE SCISSORS DOWN!”

Luke sighs as he holds his hand out for his younger brother to give up the craft scissors, which he relinquishes with a mischievous grin.

“Guys, go find trouble somewhere else,” Luke mutters, pushing his head away, and where Connor goes, Travis quickly follows, tossing a canister of glitter back at him and not knowing it was still open.

“Oops.”

Immediately, the both of you are showered in iridescent particles, floating over your heads and stuck in your hair as the older Stoll brother looks at the two of you wide-eyed.

“You've already got trouble anyway,” he says teasingly, and this asshole winks at Luke before bolting out the door.

The room is silent now, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, before speaking, “I don’t care if he’s your brother, Luke. I might just fucking kill him.” You'd say more but your eyes are shut as you try not to breathe in glitter, and then the sound of the doorknob rattling catches your attention. Luke is standing there, finally faced with a door he can’t open, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance–but the effect isn’t as menacing as it should be when he’s covered in red and pink sparkles.

“Not if I get to him first, the little bastard.”

“Just open the door,” you say panicked, running over and forcing his hands off the doorknob.

“I can’t if you won’t let me do it!” He grits, elbowing you and trying to unlock the door with both his inherited gift and brute strength.

“What kind of demigod even are you? Lockpicking is supposed to be your thing!”

“Well OBVIOUSLY, but it’s not working, now is it, trouble?”

Luke finishes off the rest of your energy drink before throwing the can over his shoulder and he swears he can hear you cuss at him under your breath as you berate him about the mess, so he chooses to focus on busting the door down instead of looking at the glitter stuck in your eyelashes and thinking about how the idea of being stuck in a room with you makes him feel weak at the knees. Through the window, his eyes meet the group of Apollo kids staring at the predicament you two are in (and the barricade of chairs the Stoll brothers put in front of the door). He sighs, and Lee’s little sister flips him off as they start to walk away again, instruments in tow.

“You gonna charge him again?”

A tiny Will Solace looks at his elders for guidance as they walk along the path. As one of the youngest in the bunch, he especially idolizes anything his half-siblings do, going along with whatever they see fit.

“No, but we’re close enough to the archery range that I might just shoot them through their hearts myself. Eros and Aphrodite themselves are pretty much begging us to,” Lee grumbles.

“Why are we doing this again?” Will babbles, and his half-sister grabs his hand to help him walk faster.

“A crazy little thing called love. You’ll understand it better someday, kid.”

—

Thankfully, it all starts winding down after dinner. Luke finds you leaning against a tree flipping through your clipboard during the camp sing-along, so he tugs at your elbow to get your attention.

“Wanna get out of here?”

You look at him, slotting your pen behind your ear as you notice faint glitter particles still dotted along his cheeks. As your lips pull into a small smile, you say, "I still have a few things to do after this, don't you?"

"Cleared your schedule for the night," he mumbles, and whether it's the glow of the bonfire or he's actually blushing, a teasing expression crosses your face as you step closer and cross your arms at him.

"You cleared my schedule for the night. How on earth did you do that?"

Instead of a proper reply, he grabs your hand, tugging you out to the docks near the lake.

"Don't worry about it."

He's not going to tell you that he owes Chris and Annie a few favors before the end of the month to make up for the night shift they ended up taking. Instead, you both sit cross-legged at the edge of the dock, a gentle breeze brushing at your clothes and for the first time today, you're able to just exist.

"I hate Valentine's Day," you suddenly say, looking up at the night sky, and he's watching you closely as the gentle shine of the moon casts a cool glow on your face. Luke cringes at your statement, thinking he's already thrown away his shot.

"Why's that?"

"Tell me something Luke, am I unlikable? Like, is there anything wrong with me?"

He looks at you like you've told him you’re secretly a cyclops.

“The fuck? How many times do I have to tell you that everyone thinks you’re great?"

You don't even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt, "I don’t want to be great, I want to be loved!" Reeling back a little, you lean back on your hands to create some distance.

“Sorry... that was a lot, and I’m just...wanting to be noticed. It's nice to have people's attention sometimes, you know?”

You’ve got all of mine, he thinks, realizing he never stood a chance at fighting it—this four-letter feeling you give him is the first and only battle he’ll back down from, and you're the only person he’ll wholeheartedly surrender to.

In short, he’s fucked.

"I always notice you." He pulls out a dented box of chocolates from his jacket pocket, opening it up for the both of you to share, and the look of amusement on your face makes him glad that at least one thing somewhat went to plan today, even if the chocolate truffles are a bit smushed. You’re popping one into your mouth and his dark eyes follow the trail of your fingers to your mouth, feeling his heart beat a bit faster.

But then you both hear the soft strum of a guitar from near the trees, and the two of you turn to hear some of the Apollo kids singing beautifully along the coastline.

I'll be seeing you, in all the old, familiar places...That this heart of mine embraces...

You gasp, grabbing Luke’s arm to push yourself up so that the both of you can turn and face a small group of your closest Apollo friends singing to the both of you. Luke’s eyes soften further when he feels you grab his hand and squeeze, leaning against his shoulder as you listen.

“Did you do this?” you mumble, still entranced by the performance.

“Only if it makes you laugh.”

And you do, in the way that he loves—a bit crazy and too loud, and it’s perfect.

I’ll always think of you that way…I’ll find you in the morning sun….

Whether it’s fireflies or Will bouncing light off the water to look like small, glowing candles, Luke can’t tell—he’s too busy watching your lips pull into a smile so confectionery his sweet tooth starts to ache. The little kid was never good at archery like his other half-siblings, but as your eyes shimmer under the ambient lights, you think his added romantic gesture shot you straight through the heart.

“You know, sometimes I really do hate you, Luke Castellan,” you whisper, and it couldn’t be more far from the truth.

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes flicker to you again, but you’re already looking back at him.

“I don’t.”

And when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon…but I’ll be seeing you…

It’s quiet now, and you’re unsure of where the Apollonian ensemble disappeared to but instead of worrying about if they’ll make it back before curfew, you stand there in front of Luke with your guard down.

Getting a little closer than he expected, your noses brush before you pull the slightly crushed wildflowers from your jean pocket, the only physical reminder you’ve kept from today, and tuck them into his jacket pocket, sitting right above his heart.

“Thank you.”

Luke doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he feels your lips gently kiss the marred skin on his right cheek, the blemish having an uncanny resemblance to a stroke of lightning; it serves as a reminder of his weakness. The lines blur as his eyes close to savor it and he doesn’t know if weakness is your kisses or his scar—but he is vulnerable to it all the same, realizing there’s a crack in the otherwise perfect persona that he’s worked so hard on. When his eyes open again, his Achilles’ heel has taken human form.

—

“This has got to be cheating,” Clarisse grumbles as she watches from the distance, hidden behind the trees.

“It’s not cheating if I’m winning. Silena’s gonna get a kick out of this,” Lee chuckles, ushering everyone back towards the cabins. It’s a bit harder to do this in the dark as they try to be quiet and not interrupt whatever will happen next between their favorite counselors.

“Well lucky for you, your gifts are cute and romantic, what am I supposed to do? They fight enough!”

“That’s what got them into this mess in the first place. Come on, curfew’s in 10. We’ll find out which of us wins the bet soon enough,” Chris mutters, pushing them along back onto the main path.

“Easy for you to say, Rodriguez, you live with Luke!”

“Would I ever lie to you, La Rue?” he says with a mischievous grin, and the Apollo kids giggle at the irony.

—

“My body ages,

my anger burns into a seam.

I am so annoyed by love

and still it comes.”

-Kate Baer

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Text

Tag, You're It: Part One

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 6.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, SoapGhost, Restraints, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, PiV sex, Oral sex (M receiving), Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Spitroasting, MMF, Unprotected sex (Use protection) Warnings: Mild Consensual Non Consent A/N: This chapter is the revised version of the originally posted chapter. To see the original please go here

It’s Johnny who finds you first, naturally.

The team spends most of the day making you wait. You had found a hiding spot before sunrise, brought along a small pack of supplies and some things to keep you occupied while you waited for someone to find you, for the chase to truly begin. Yet by mid-morning you were bored, and by noon you were practically groaning in frustration, considering using your phone to drop hints so they would just get on with it.

So you decide to take things into your own hands.

You begin darting between safe zones, checking your corners, making sure to watch your six, eyes keen and trained for threats. This little game of yours had specific zones on base mapped out to avoid at different times during the day, forcing you to adapt to your environment constantly to avoid curious stares from other soldiers and recruits.

It’s fun, the thrill and anticipation has you feeling a bit like a little kid all over again, giggling into your hands as someone bypasses your hiding spot. Yet the thrill is only doubled by the knowledge of the consequences of you being found.

You realize too late that this new method of yours is exactly what the team has been waiting for.

You get sloppy. You’re looking over your shoulder when you round a corner at the edge of the armory in the light of mid-afternoon, halting mid step when you spot a familiar figure peeking around the opposite side of the building.

Shit.

You double back quickly, but it’s too late, because the Scot barks a delighted little laugh, calls after you as he gives chase. His footsteps are slow, purposeful, and for a moment you’re reminded of the villains in horror movies that seem to walk so damn slow and seem to inevitably catch up with their victims. It should terrify you, but instead it makes something in your stomach twist with exhilaration.

You manage to draw him to one of the empty supply warehouses at the edge of the base, skidding inside and diving into a smaller hiding spot hidden into the shadows. Yet Soap has clearly seen you at least enter the building, because in the distance you can hear his footsteps echo against the concrete floor, glass breaking under his boots.

“Ohh songbird…”

You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.

There’s a light flickering in the aisles of upended crates and empty boxes, and the intermittent brightness manages to catch against the whites of your eyes. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.

“I know you’re in here.” Soap taunts, and you can hear the clear excitement in his voice despite the fact that he’s trying to play into the persona of an enemy- tracking you down, taking you what he wants, only to set you free once more.

He’s close, you realize as his boots thud down the end of the hallway. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize through the price of your flesh, your pleasure.

“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to.

Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit.

“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and Christ- how did he close the distance so fast?! You can see the blur of him in the periphery of your gaze, the blue of his favorite shirt a mere blob of color as you race away from him, heart in your throat.

You did promise to not make it easy, after all.

You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-

Before you realize your mistake a moment too late.

Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards into the broad plane of a chest. You yell from behind the gloved palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness.

“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind you, back flush with the rigid surface of his front. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence. You thrash in his grip, trying to actually put effort in even though you’ve not once dislodged him in all the time you’ve spent in his hold. Exhilaration squirms breathlessly in your chest, bright and electric with every gasping breath.

It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to wiggle free with no success.

“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he catches up, leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze.

“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the noticeable bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. You hadn’t even noticed, and realize belatedly that the thrill of the chase must affect him just as much.

Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved.

“Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”

Of course. He chased you here on purpose, pursued you right into a trap. Right into Ghost. Working in tandem as they always do, sharing twice the reward with you, and with each other.

You fuckers.

“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead to Soap’s quip, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips. You make a little sound of protest, trying to buck his hand away, only for a thick thigh to wedge between your legs and force them open.

“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” Ghost observes idly, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain all too well. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men.

“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with ye, hen.”

You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Soap, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple under your shirt. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a stifled little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds.

“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt ye down and have their fun too, aye?”

It’s the reminder that they’ll have their way with you before setting you loose again that has you shift on your toes, accidentally grazing your folds across the pads of Simon’s fingers. A bright trace of pleasure jolts through you as a result, and your eyes flutter for a moment as you try to resist the urge to repeat the motion. It’s hard to not break character while you’re this excited, trying your best to maintain the persona you’ve agreed upon, a little mouse caught in the jaws of a fox, held tight and let go, only to be chased down once more.

It’s exhilarating, and despite the feigned fear in your eyes you can see your own excitement mirrored in the eyes of the sergeant with his face tilted down to regard you. Even so, you see his eyebrows raise an inch expectantly, waiting for a signal for the two of them to continue this act of theirs, the dangerous hunters who have captured you and will treat you as they see fit. You nod enthusiastically against Ghost’s palm, and the smirk that pulls at Johnny’s lips sets your stomach aflutter.

“Don’t worry hen, we’ll take care of you.” He promises, and gently pulls Ghost’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. Teasing, he seizes your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it before releasing it with a wet little pop. You make a little sound of protest against his lips, but Soap’s only response is to cradle the back of your head and press you further into him.

Kissing Johnny is always a touch overwhelming. It feels like you're drowning in him with the utter decadence he pours into you, lips moving against your own, tilting you into him, warm breaths fogging across your face as swallows down your gasps. It’s dizzying in the best ways, always leaves you a little drunk on the haze of him. The temptation of him makes your knees tremble underneath you, but even if you wanted to buckle you can’t, not with him pressing you up against Ghost’s front and moaning against your lips when you offer a little whimper of overwhelmed sensation. You try to suck it back in, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of your noises they obtain through the victory of your capture.

You close your mouth against Johnny as a result, sealing your lips against him a little indignantly at the sounds he’s able to elicit from you just by kissing you. Yet Ghost seems to catch on almost instantaneously, and the chuckle that rumbles up his chest vibrates against your back and sends you shivering between them. You clamp down on the shuddering gasp that threatens your throat, only for Ghost’s to press firmly down on your clit so abruptly it makes you choke.

“Nu uh, none of that.” He admonishes, and his other hand slides up to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and twisting you so you gaze up into his shadowed stare that reeks of devastation. “No need to be quiet, pet. Nobody but us can hear you here, so be as loud as you want.”

“Aye.” Soap agrees, and a broad hand reaches down to your back, dragging himself flat against your front so you’re squished between the muscular forms of the two men. “Can’t wait to hear all those pretty noises, sweetheart.”

You squirm a little between them, feeling too warm, too much suddenly with Soap trapping Ghost’s hand in your panties, pressing you up against the soldier so you can feel a poking hardness against your back. Arousal pools between your legs, and you whimper suddenly, baring your neck to them both when Soap rolls his hips forward experimentally.

“Soap.” Ghost says then, and you feel him nod, watching as Soap follows his gaze to a crate that’s about waist high in the corner of the room. Soap grins.

It takes him a minute for him to wrangle the crate at an appropriate angle away from the wall, making a point to cheekily pat it beckoningly at you. You don’t have time to roll your eyes though, because Ghost forces you forward, making you trip over your feet before your hips collide against it.

“Down.” He tells you easily, and there’s a hand pressing at the small of your spine, gently ushering you to bend until your cheek is pressed against the surface. Yet that isn’t enough, because his hands hoist your hips just a little higher so you have to balance on your toes.

They circle you, like sharks in the water, eyeing the prize of your flesh. Touching hands against your waist, your shoulders, tracing the swell of your ass. Wetness pools at your core, warmth spreading across every inch of exposed skin as they gaze down at you like the thing you are- their prey.

You try to raise yourself up off the crate, toes skidding as you seek purchase. It’s for show, the idea that you could escape from them. You know even if you stand, escape past the door it’s only a moment of freedom before one of them catches you once more, forcing you to the ground in defeat.

Before you can entertain the idea further, Ghost’s broad palm settles low between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you flat against the surface of the crate once more.

“You’re not going anywhere, love.” He warns, voice low with the whisper of a threat that makes you shudder with vivification under his touch. It’s the same tone he uses when you bite at him in bed to get a move on, to stop wasting time. Dark, amused, saying with his tone alone that he’s going to take his time in dismantling you piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a gasping, whining puddle of desire.

Now it echoes down at you and promises that same ruin, reminds you of your utter helplessness under their spell. “We’re just getting started.”

Behind you, Soap suddenly yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees, and the sudden air against your bare skin is enough for you to gasp, squirm away from the hands that smoothe over your hips. Yet Johnny’s touch is tender, almost reverent, a reminder of his affection for you, that even as you are their prisoner you’re their partner first and foremost, that they’ll keep you safe, wring the pleasure dry from you and then kiss the tears of overstimulation from your eyes after with a murmur of adoration.

It’s encouraging, and even as your heart pounds up your throat in anticipation your voice trembles as you play the part, snapping at them something to the effect of how they’ll never get away with this, to let you go.

You gasp as Soap’s hand cracks down on your ass smartly, making you flinch in surprise. He soothes his hand over the sting, the calloused palm of his hand grazing against the soft flesh there.

“Watch your words, darling.” He croons, sickly sweet. “Otherwise I’m sure LT will find a way to keep your mouth occupied.”

As if that somehow deters you. Instead you lift your gaze up to Ghost once more, summoning wordless defiance in your gaze. Ghost only chuckles, and you watch his other hand rub himself through his pants. The sight alone of his length pushing against his pants is enough for your expression to change, shift into something hungry.

There’s a pause between them, and as you look up you see a look exchanged between them before Soap’s voice speaks, softer and attentive.

“Color?” He asks gently, thumbs pressing into the dip of your flesh just above your ass.

You breathe in for a moment, consider the stammer of your heartbeat, the race of searing excitement that pulses through your veins in delightful anticipation.

“Green.” You declare. “About as green as a cadet fresh out of boot camp, Johnny.”

Soap huffs a little pleased laugh, talking over your sprawled form to Ghost. “She has a smart mouth, doesn’t she, LT?”

Ghost makes a little noise of assent, and his hand is unexpectedly sweet, reassuring for a moment as it strokes the edge of your face. You nuzzle into it briefly, flicking your eyes to him as a gentle reassurance. There’s a softness in his gaze as he tilts his head down at you for a moment before the mask of a hunter once more settles across his dark eyes, looking to the Scot behind you.

“We should do something about that, shouldn’t we, Johnny?” He asks darkly, palming himself before that same hand reaches to unfasten his belt. You can feel saliva collect in your mouth as he adjusts, frees himself from his pants. The flushed, thick girth of him has you flick your eyes up to him, pleading silently. Yet the look Ghost offers you is only amused.

“Over.” He states, and you feel Soap seize your hips and lift, twist so you suddenly are on your back, arms pressed under you.

“Oh, much better.” Soap observes as he catches sight of your half-lidded eyes. “Shite, we’re going to have so much fun with ye, pretty girl.”

You squirm a little at that, at being so openly on display for them. With your pants down to your knees, your shirt rucked up past your belly button, you shiver at the little thrill of exposure they give you.

You watch as Ghost unfastens himself, and allows his cock to spring free with a little exhale of relief. The girth of him trills low in your stomach with the reminder of just how many times you’ve been split on his cock, his hand pressing you into his shoulder, the pillows, the sheets, your teammates…

“Open.” He declares, voice low but firm, a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips before pulling back. Tease.

You jolt when Soap leans over you, watching intently as Ghost strokes himself just above your face, and pushes a single finger inside you. He groans at the warm heat of you, the little flutter of invitation that greets him. It’s enough to startle a wanting little moan from you, legs shifting around his hips wedges between your thighs.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” He hisses, dragging his finger out, only to push it back in. It’s embarrassing how wet you are for them, worked up from the chase, from their words, from their touch alone.

“The sight of you, hen” Soap breathes, his hand digging into your thigh to keep you from bucking. “Never seen anything prettier in mah life, I swear.”

You shift shyly, a little modest at the utter reverence in the Scot’s voice, skin warming as he gazes down at you. His lip is caught between his teeth, eyes glinting with utter fixation, watching the way you squirm under the intensity of his gaze. That look never fails to set your skin aflame, feeling his eyes trace your exposed flesh almost like he wants to eat you alive.

Before you can wiggle too far off the crate, however, Ghost presses a hand down on your shoulder to keep you in place with a murmur of “Stay. Put.”

“Can’t get away from us.” Johnny taunts playfully, and he steps back to pull your pants down past your ankles, tossing them to a corner of the room and fully baring your entrance to his burning gaze. “Fuck, look at this, LT.” and you whine a little as he swipes his fingers through your folds, holding them aloft so Ghost can inspect the webbed slick between them, glistening in the dim light.

Ghost hums in appreciation, and your eyes draw back to him as he presses a thumb against the slit of his cock, where a small dribble of precum coats the flushed tip. You can feel your mouth water at the sight, lips parting a half inch in beating anticipation of the weight of him against your tongue. Ghost manages to catch the half-lidded stare you offer him, because you swear you see the fabric of his mask twitch in a smile.

“Eager.” He observes. a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips. You don’t wait for him to tell you to open, jaw dropping so he can push just the head of him against you before retreating. You make a little noise of frustration at that, try to crane your head up to catch him, but Ghost keeps you in place, a hand wrapped around his cock and stroking himself just out of reach.

“Use your words, pet.” He encourages. “All you have to do is ask.”

You feel a flash of indignation at that, brow wrinkling in frustration at the idea that he wants to make you beg. Yet the desire of tasting him thrums low below your belly, and with a little twist of Johnny’s finger inside you the inhibition falls away with a shuddering little moan.

“Please.”

You hear Soap whoosh out a breath from the other side of you, air stolen from his lungs at the need in your voice. There’s a second finger stroking inside you now, and when Soap crooks his fingers you arch up with a little cry of ‘F-fuck, Johhny!’

“That’s it.” Ghost encourages. “Not such a smart mouth now, is there?”

It’s a little mocking, a little teasing, and yet laced with affection. It melts you at the seams, makes you swallow wetly, looking up at Ghost upside down.

“Please.” You beg openly now. “Please Sir, I-I want it. Just- ohh, hmnng-” You teeth your lip as Johnny once more curls his fingers, trying to close your legs for the barest indication of friction, only for the sergeant to plant a firm hand against the soft flesh of your thigh to keep them open.

“Oh, go on LT.” He encourages even as you writhe and whimper on his fingers, trying to force yourself down whilst also trying to rise up towards Ghost’s cock shamelessly. “I think she deserves it.”

Ghost nods with a little pleased huff, purring down at you as he once more presses the tip against your lips. “Good girl.”

Finally, finally he allows the head of him to push inside your mouth in earnest this time, gently cupping your head as he guides you down his shaft. You want to thank him, but your breath stutters to nothing as Soap scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your entrance until your back bows off the crate, drawing taut with need.

Your eyes flutter shut as Ghost gently rocks himself forward until at last the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat before pulling back and setting a gently, rocking rhythm past your lips. The precum of him floods across your tongue and you moan, eyes fluttering shut and opening your mouth wider so he can slide deeper.

“If that isnnae the hottest shite I’ve ever seen.” Johnny curses, and he shifts so he grinds the bulge of himself against you through his boxers. “Shame Price and Gaz aren’t here to see.”

“Day’s young.” Ghost remarks, and fuck- the reminder that they plan to just set you loose after this until your caught again has an electric pulse flutter below your stomach, making you clench down on Johnny’s fingers.

“Oh, ye like that?” Johnny breathes, amused. “Ye like being our capture or kill little thing, darlin?”

Yes. Yes- You think feverishly past the size of Ghost’s cock rocking into your mouth in slow, languid thrusts. You want to touch him, want him to reach down to Johnny, to circle your clit. Yet your hands remain fastened behind your back, and the thought of that alone has your legs fall open a little wider. You’re entirely at their mercy, submitting to their touch and whims as they use you as they see fit. You moan around Ghost, the sound vibrating through him and he grunts, holding back a little huff of pleasure before rocking into you a little deeper.

“Get on with it, sergeant.” He hisses at Johnny, and you can hear the strain in his voice now, as deeply aroused as you are. You take a little pleasure in that, that you are the one to summon this in him,

“Mah pleasure, LT.” Soap returns a little breathlessly, and he pulls himself from his boxers so the weight of him smacks against your thigh. You can hear the schlick of him as he gives himself a few strokes, making a point to let his length drag against your stomach teasingly. The sound of encouragement you make is muffled by the weight of Ghost’s cock on your tongue. The salty, briny taste of him floods across your tongue, precum coating your tongue as he presses further, further, until your nose presses up against his pelvis and the thickness of his cock makes your throat spasm around him. He waits there until Johnny rolls his hips inch by inch, at last pressing his hips flush with yours.

The whine you try to make only squeezes the muscles of your throat down on Simon’s cock and you hear him force air through his nose with a long, low moan dragging you deeper into the hazy temptation of pleasure. It fogs against your senses, the world narrowing down further and further until the only sensations left are your breathless moans as he retreats and the pressing, unrelenting fullness Johnny presses into you.

You hear the sergeant groan, his thumbs pressed into your stomach as he braces himself, relishing the grip of you down onto his cock. There’s a low, purring pressure as he gives an experimental thrust into you, giving you a moment to adjust before setting a pace in earnest. Ghost pulls out from you long enough to hear the cracked moan that makes you throw your head back against his palm cushioning it from the crate.

“Good girl.” He croons, holding himself and stroking to the same tempo Johnny sets inside you. “Taking him so well, pet.”

You shudder at the praise, nerves glowing brightly, warm with building arousal just as Johnny snaps his hips to yours in a precise, unerring thrust. The girth of him presses a delicious, wanting fullness into you.

“G-God, Johnny-” You pant, chest rising, face warm, sweat beading at your back. “Fuck, Johnny please, please, I want-”

“I know, darlin, I know.” He coos, fingers digging into your hips for purchase as his hips begin to smack against yours. The drag of him has gasps shivering from your chest, a series of punched out little moans as his reward as he begins to fuck you in earnest. “Look so pretty split on mah cock, shite-”

He groans, and when your eyes flutter to him you see him throw his head back, brow scrunched shut and beading with sweat.

“Fuck-” He curses, lost in the sensation of your walls gripping down on him, the stretch of you around his cock as you try to drag him deeper, deeper. “Gonna fill you up so good, give Gaz and the captain something to look forward to, aye?”

You choke on a little broken noise at that, at the idea of Gaz and Price getting their hands on you only to find Johnny’s load still dripping between your thighs. It whimpers up your throat, arousal sparking taut through your form and drawing your muscles a little rigid and wanting in response.

Yet then Ghost has the audacity to hush you, lifting your head and sliding himself back into your mouth once more to muffle any other noises you can offer. He too offers a long, drawn out groan as he resumes his thrusts a little faster than before, relishing your gasping moans around the width of him sliding into you wetly. His other hand braces against your chin, keeping you in place as he pushes just shy of your throat. You curl your tongue against the tip of him and relish the surprised little grunt he offers you in response, hips stuttering for a moment before he collects himself and pushes a touch deeper in response.

“Good girl.” He practically snarls, and his other hand raises to trace the slight rise of his girth in your throat. “Fuck.”

A hand descends to your chest, twisting a nipple through your thin shirt and you jump a little under his touch, clenching down on Johnny’s length buried inside you.

“Shite-” The sergeant moans, a little high in his throat. “Fuckin stranglin’ mah cock, hen, Christ-”

You huff as Ghost gently pulls back from your throat, and make it a point to flex your muscles and clench down on the stretch of Johnny inside you, if only to hear the keen that escapes from him in response.

It gives him the indication he wants, because soon you feel him thrust a little deeper, the curve of his cock grazing over something pulsing warm and full inside you. The sound you offer just as Simon pulls himself almost entirely out of you is nothing less than obscene, bucking up into him in an effort to repeat the sensation of your limbs going completely weak against the unyielding wash of searing, white-hot desire that coils sharply in your core.

A thumb smears the tears of pleasure beading in the corner of your eyes as Ghost pauses to take in the sight of you with dark, hungry eyes. You’re splayed on your back, bottom half entirely exposed as Johnny buries himself deeply inside you. The thin tank top you’re wearing bunches around your collarbone, revealing the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, gasping in desperate pleasure.

“Bleedin’ Christ.” Ghost growls, a hand twisting an exposed nipple again if only to see you jump with a little gasp of “A-ah-!”

“Aye, don’t forget about me.” Johnny teases, as he too speeds his thrusts into you, hands dragging you by your hips to greet the slap of his thighs against yours. It makes a muffled little whimper escape you, partly silenced by Ghost’s cock as it slides wetly over your tongue. You can only force your mouth wider, eyes rolling back as Johnny thrusts into you, each press of his cock filling you with delicious, addictive pleasure. It weakens across your hips, forces you pliant and open between them as they fill you at both ends, rendering you limp to their pleasure, and to yours.

You can hear every dragging breath from them both as they begin to use you in full, and you float endlessly in pleasure, unable to tether yourself down as something molten coils tighter in your core with every thrust. Whatever words they say next are lost to you, deafened by the series of choked moans that spill around Ghost’s cock, suffocating your chest in a searing, hot push of air that clouds your senses in warm velvet.

It’s so much, and you try to catch yourself but you can’t, helpless between them as pleasure winds tighter below your belly. The wet gush of you squelches lewdly around Johnny’s length as he thrusts with firm, precise thrusts inside you, and when he lifts a leg to give himself more access he manages to graze over that perfect, glowing nerve that briefly has you seize against them both, endorphins drowning out all other sensation as electricity races up your spine.

“Fuck, fuck-” Johnny swears in response to the broken, whimpering groan you give him, and you feel yourself suddenly twisted so you lay on your side, one ankle slung over his shoulder as his hips stutter against yours in an uneven rythm. Ghost adjusts to the new angle, and with every thrust you can feel him bump against the back of your throat, his voice dropping in a series of low, choked groans as he chases his climax.

You wish he’d pull back long enough for you to babble senselessly for them, your words an unending mantra of Yes, more, please, good, so good-

You’re lost in them, in the pull of Johnny’s hot, pulsing cock in the wet clutch of your cunt, the ridged veins on the underside of Simon’s cock tracing over your tongue. The marrow of you feels weak against pleasure, surrendering to them twisting you to their whims, reverent and yet merciless, knowing the map of your desire and plucking the threads of you until the stuffing of you spills free into their touch. Fuzzy, muffled by the thrum of blood in your ears and the drum of your heart in your throat.

You’re going to come, you realize. You can feel the inevitability of it winding through your veins, nerves alight with sparkling, glowing desire that burns brighter, hotter between the three of you. It draws closer, closer, and as it does you feel as if you gaze up at a towering wave that threatens to crash over your head. It shadows your senses and you try to climb upwards as it crest so you don’t drown-

Yet then Soap presses a thumb down on your clit and you sob at the sudden intensity of the pleasure right as your orgasm breaks over you, drawing you down into an endless tumult of sensation. Distantly, you can feel your walls spasm around Soap’s cock, your entire body going rigid as you suck in a breath against the urgent swell of pressure that releases from your core and floods through every fiber of your taut muscles.

You hear Soap whimper.

The sound must do something to Ghost, because suddenly he’s grabbing his sergeant’s shirt and dragging him closer, rucking the mask up to his nose so he can press a sloppy kiss against Soap’s parted, panting lips.

You feel Soap’s hips stutter as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to pulse through you, and he presses himself flush with your hips before a silky wet warmth spills deep inside you. The groan that pours from his lips is only swallowed by the lieutenant in front of him as Ghost shifts to pull himself past your lips.

Simon releases Johnny, and as you heave and gasp for air, shuddering as your orgasm begins to recede, he fists his cock over your face, the shine of your spit glistening against the flushed width of him. He plants a fist next to your head with a cracked moan, bracing as his hips buck forward into his grasp, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure before his cock twitches, cum squirting across your face and fluttered gaze.

Johnny leans over you, thrusting a few shallow, slow jerks into you as the fluttering pulse of you milks him dry. His chest heaves, arms shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he slowly gathers breath. He braces on his forearms, bent over you, and you can feel the warmth of him press against your stomach as he gasps, hips jerking reflexively.

“Fuck.” He grits, letting his head drop to the plane of your abdomen for a moment as the three of you gather yourselves. “Fuckin’ beautiful, darlin. Did so well for us.”

“Y’good, sweetheart?” He gasps after a few moments, and it takes a few extra to offer him a nod, head drooping with the sudden dearth of energy your orgasm has left you. You can feel your heart still hammering in your ears, body slumped against the crate under you.

When Soap pulls himself from you, there’s a little whimper of overstimulation at the drag of him against your walls. Yet he only shushes you gently, kneading little circles into your hip to ground you once more.

“Shh, you did so good, baby.” He tells you earnestly, voice still a little breathless as he gathers himself. Likewise, Ghost forces breaths through his nose above you, trying to even his breathing and bracing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from flopping onto your back at an uncomfortable angle. When he shifts, it’s to reach for something on his belt. There’s a click as he flicks open his knife, cutting the zip ties from your wrists and freeing you once more.

“Solid, sergeant?” He inquires gently, and you nod to him.

“Right as rain, sir.” You offer, and he huffs a little noise of contentment at your response. His hands land on you gently, hauling you upright as Johnny fumbles for your pants tossed forgotten in the corner of the room. You tilt your head back into Ghost’s front appreciatively as Johnny gets them over your ankles the same way they came up.

“Can you stand?” Ghost asks, and even though you hesitate for a moment you nod. As you rise off the crate both he and Johnny tuck themselves back into order, exchanging a few words over you to check in with each other as well.

You wobble a little on your legs for a moment, and you can feel the smugness radiate from both of them without even looking. You shoot them a dirty look, but the look Soap gives you in return is full of mischief.

“Better get a move on.” Ghost intones, and his voice too is tinted with a chuckle. “Gaz and Price are waiting.”

“Aye, LT is right.” Soap drawls. “Day’s still young. Plenty left to play before it’s over.”

You nod, take a single step forward. Yet then you yelp as Johnny’s hand smacks against your ass, making you jump about a foot in the air in surprise. You stumble a few feet before you dart off, heart thrilling at the remainder of the game left just as the sun dips below the horizon.

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coefore · 2 months

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I did it! This is an IDW AU born while watching The Green Knight (2021), specifically from one movie shot that I'd like to redraw. I was torn on whether or not to draw them all as robots or humans, so I started making designs for their human counterparts first - mostly because it is more fun to come up with clothes and accessories. I will eventually tackle a robot version. This is a long post, btw!

Indeed, this is a completely separate version from the Lion King AU I had come up with a couple of years ago, I just borrowed the crowns because I really liked those designs lol.

But let's set the stage under the cut. You can listen to the playlist on spotify dedicated to it: I've placed the songs in sequence so that they can create a certain vibe for the scenes I had in mind. You can read the plot part while listening.

Some character traits

This royalty au supposes a parliamentary monarchy (like the UK, Spain or Japan). This work is an in-between of later Roman/early Medieval aesthetics and some Futuristic Stuff. The Autobot brand is the royal family crest, while the Decepticon brand can be used to signal the Protector and their entourage, but only in formal settings outside the nation. Usually, the Protector can show elements of the Decepticon colours (red) in their attires.

Optimus Prime

Optimus is prideful and domineering: he knows he has the power to do real damage to people. After all, he was born into royalty and has known no other life. He has anger outbursts, but that's a side effect of his paranoia. At the start of the story, he is not the prime yet. He's around 23-24, already suffering from a mental affliction much like schizophrenia, but, just as in ye old days, the court and his father (Zeta) are not really concerned about his odd behaviours. "He is just volatile", you know. He is also dramatic, making big scenes when his emotions are too cooped up. Optimus, though, is not intentionally cruel - this isn't a Shattered Glass au where he wants some kind of bloodlust sated. He has a deep inner mind, feeling much more like a philosopher and a writer than a brute. This makes him a little naive, too, having people in court (like Prowl) taking advantage of him - and sometimes even Megatron uses his influence on Optimus to stir him where he wants to. He reads a lot, is curious, and is deeply in love with Megatron - sometimes becoming a little cringy about it. He can be a bit of a goofball, telling jokes and being rather affectionate with his family. Sadly, he's a Pisces.

Megatron

Megatron is a diligent engineer who just so happens to pick the Prime's son's interest at some point while assisting his father (Terminus, a strict, distant man) in a job at court. Optimus and Megatron are the same age. He is aloof, quiet and a very good listener. That means he often allows people to speak over him or for him - that doesn't mean, however, that he isn't going to correct them or speak his mind. He is just a careful man. Coming from a rather cold family environment, he has a hard time expressing his emotions, both verbally and physically: he kisses and hugs, sure, but that doesn't come naturally to him. After becoming protector, he has a hard time getting used to the court lifestyle since he is quite bothered by the intricacies of royal "rituals", may they be clothing, hairstyles or make-up choices. Or Starscream fussing over him about that all day. He also often stands up against abuse of power, especially from Optimus. They fight quite a lot. He enjoys drawing (buildings, like architecture) and reading novels, but he's not particularly cultured. He is also, sadly, an Aquarius. (And transgender, but this has no political or social bearing in the story besides being Rodimus' biological carrier).

Prowl

Prowl is about fifteen years older than Optimus, becoming his advisor once Zeta Prime passes in "a tragic accident". He is ambitious, cunning and... Deceptive. His ultimate goal is to push Optimus to insanity, convince the parliament he is unfit to rule and become reagent in his stead. This would allow him to create an oligarchy with other senators. His words always support Optimus' delusions, abusing the Prime's naivety for his scheming. Prowl thinks of Optimus as an idiot lucky enough to be born in a high position in the social pyramid. He has attempted various times to "warn" Megatron, one of the few people who is extremely suspicious of Prowl. And by warn, I mean having him pushed down the stairs, giving him a nice broken leg. He also acts suspiciously around Rodimus.

Zeta Prime

Zeta Prime was a balanced, careful ruler. He held concerns about his son's future, as he thought Optimus wasn't fit for a leading role. He was a stern man and often frustrated by Optimus' antics. However, their relationship was on good terms. He was "found" dead by Prowl during a political meeting abroad, as he was standing in for Alpha Trion (Zeta's advisor), prompting Optimus' coronation. Zeta wasn't sick, but all primes in this AU suffer from haemophilia (a hereditary illness that makes it harder for the body to stop bleeding).

Rodimus

Rodimus was born three years into Optimus' primacy. He was brought up in a restrictive environment, as Megatron grew more suspicious of Prowl, fearing for Rodimus' safety. That translated into Rodimus feeling anxious when Megatron's not around (for too long, at least) and becoming a little jealous of him, even if it's Optimus taking Megatron's attention. Rodimus uses "dad" for Megatron and "Father" for Optimus. He doesn't like Optimus too much, usually bearing his presence and ignoring him whenever he can, but deep down he worries about his father, too. He is a very knowledgeable child with a vast vocabulary, as he enjoys books of every kind and, just like his dad, he is a good listener, learning a lot from the "adult conversations" around him. Rodimus is often seen together with Starscream (his nanny, in a way lol), who he is fond of but has difficulties showing it. He becomes Prime-to-be at the age of 16, like all Primes.

Starscream

Starscream was the royal alchemist, an inspired researcher and a man of science. He is loyal and has strong opinions on many subjects, especially on morals and ethics. That is also why, during Zeta's late reign, he was demoted to servant with the accusation of insubordination. He is still a high-grade servant, usually dealing with bureaucracy... Until a new Protector shows up, that is. As soon as Megatron becomes a Protector-to-be, he is assigned the role of first maid in assisting him, a task he takes very seriously. Although Megatron's distance and lack of interactions with him drive him quite mad at first, he slowly realises they're quite compatible. Their relationship evolves into confidants and then friends, as Megatron often takes Starscream's side. Also, Starscream has been suspicious of Prowl since day one. He enjoys Rodimus until he starts being a little opinionated pest-- but he's fond of the child, even as he grows older and more anxious. His hobby is sneaking into the court laboratories and fixing whatever annotations made by other alchemists he deems wrong.

Skywarp & Thundercracker

They are part of the Protector's entourage (and Starscream's brothers). Skywarp is a little airheaded, a bit clumsy, and usually focuses on entertainment, mostly writing poems and songs. He is the only one who knows all the intricate inner passages of the court's buildings by heart, meaning he never gets lost. Thundercracker, on the other hand, is a bit more cocky. He is built like a brick, so he helps with manual tasks and is a decent leader, usually picking up the ranks when Starscream is busy. Both of them were not demoted like their brother, they just started working at the court as high-grade servants. They are very loyal to Megatron, although they treat him more like a royal than a friend.

The Plot (generally speaking)

Optimus is interested in this one engineer working at the court he has seen a couple of times in the last few months. He is gorgeous, and it sounds like a fun time to fill in his afternoons, maybe even getting some sex out of it. That's a thing he hasn't lacked in his life, like most royals he was used to having sex workers available at whim. However, Megatron doesn't seem too affected by the Prime-to-be's attention. He is very deadpan and interested in him as a person; he finds Optimus interesting and funny, so, in a matter of weeks, they kind of hit it off, Optimus falling madly in love with this man, spending most of the time daydreaming and absolutely useless at his duties, much to Zeta's dismay.

As this love story progresses over the next couple of years, Prowl's machination starts rolling out: being a young overachiever, he patiently waits for the chance to get rid of Zeta in a way that doesn't point directly to him. After all, Prowl is trusted and seen as loyal and caring for the Primes he serves; he is an incredibly talented actor, having the support of a few Autobot senators, too. On an out-of-country political trip, he lets Zeta bleed to death, coming back home in a hurry to announce the Prime's death and rushing Optimus' coronation. At this point, Optimus is not mentally ready to hold that position; he is quickly pushed to marry Megatron, making him his Protector. In a matter of a year and a half, Optimus' mental state quickly deteriorates, allowing Prowl to take hold of the neo-Prime's decisions.

Optimus' mental illness worsens, which stresses Megatron into stirring his husband away from Prowl. Rodimus is born in that worried, paranoid environment. Although mostly wanted by Optimus as one of his fixations (and also discouraged by Prowl himself), Rodimus brings more stability to the court. Megatron finally takes hold of Optimus' volatile behaviour as Rodimus grows older, making the Prime doubt his advisor's suggestions more than once. Prowl, thus, "warns" Megatron to lay low, having him pushed down the stairs. The goal wasn't to kill Megatron but to show him Prowl could. As Rodimus turns seven, Megatron becomes more anxious and paranoid, rubbing that over to his son. Optimus doesn't allow them to go around the court or outside without being accompanied.

Prowl's hold on Optimus slowly slips away. At the time of Rodimus' coronation as a Prime-to-be, during a medical examination for his haemophilia, the court physician (Ratchet) tells him he needs to be careful, as that illness was Zeta's cause of death. That was a known thing, of course, but it made Optimus think over the mechanics of his father's death in a way only an obsession-driven man can. He confides with Megatron over his suspicion of Prowl killing his father, and finally, they seem to be on the same page on this...

This is somehow the story up to now. I don't know if I'll update it further. I just enjoy the idea of whatever can happen in this setting. I hope you enjoyed reading this wall of text.

#transformers #shattered glass #maccadam #starscream #megop #megatron #optimus prime #rodimus #megaop #prowl #alternate universe #skywarp #thundercracker #humanformers #fanart #erinni #Spotify #a morte

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