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alltheirdamn · 3 months

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DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

*The Oil Change*

Summary: Joel decides to give you a lesson in changing oil... Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 4k Warnings: Pre-Outbreak AU, mechanic!Joel, f! masturbation, fingering, squirting, power dynamic shift, submission, overstimulation, unprotected piv sex, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (babydoll, darlin', cowboy), ROUGH sex, creampie, lots of banter, questionable information on how to change oil, joel being the MAN that he is A/N: Just a fun lil drabble about our two favorite people ever... also, I am definitely NOT a qualified mechanic with this story, so pls don't follow these instructions when changing your oil lol unless you want to include a mind-blowing orgasm to the mix

Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Okay, so what now?” You asked, staring at the engine of your car.

It was a quiet Saturday at the shop, and Joel had insisted on teaching you how to change the oil. You were ready to get greased up with the car on a jack and the hood open. Joel leaned over the car, pointing to the oil cap beside the engine.

“See that? That’s where the oil is. We gotta check the levels first before changin’ it,” he explained.

“So… just unscrew it and look into it?” You sounded like a typical dumb girl in a mechanic shop.

Joel was patient with you, though, and far too eager to teach you the ropes. Untwisting the oil cap, he pulled out a long stick beside it, covered in dark liquid. Holding it on the base of a dirty towel, he presented it to you, pointing at the lines on the bottom of it.

“S’called a dipstick,” he said. “Those lines on the bottom show your fuel levels. If it’s below that line, means you needa change it. What’s it sayin’, babydoll?”

You inspected the dipstick and saw the oil coating it under the line. So far, so easy.

“Says I need new oil,” you nodded.

Joel hummed his approval, putting the dipstick back into its spot and leaving the oil cap open. Rounding the car, he pulled up some sort of flat-rolling device. He nodded his head over to it, wordlessly instructing you to follow him. He put it at the side of your car, moving it back and forth to show you how it worked.

“This’ll help you get under the car. S’called a creeper. You just lay down on it and slide under. Think you can do it or want to watch me work?”

You contemplated it, knowing you had seen him on it plenty of other times. You spent countless afternoons watching him lying on the underside of a vehicle, with his thighs flexing under his jeans and his shirt riding up to expose his lower stomach. He always had a particular look when he came back out from under the cars, his hair disheveled and a stupid grin plastered on his face. For such a simple job, Joel sure did love it.

“I can do it,” you decided. “You can’t be the only one getting all greased up and dirty.”

Joel smirked at you, his hand coming to palm your ass. Leaning into his touch, you pecked him on the cheek and lowered yourself onto the creeper. Staring up at him, you gave him a questioning look as if to ask what now? Pressing his word boot against your shoe, he slid you under the car slowly, your view of him being replaced by the underside of your car. Everything looked just as confusing as it did under the hood. Joel pushed an empty metal pan under with you, along with a wrench and a towel.

“Alright, babydoll,” he said, his voice closer as he crouched down. “This is where it’ll get messy. Just listen to my instructions, and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m trusting you with my life,” you grumbled. “Don’t let me get covered in oil down here, cowboy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babydoll. Now, take a look up and find the drain plug. Should look like a lil’ metal screw. You got it?”

Your eyes scanned upwards, straining until you settled on the screw. You grabbed the wrench and lined it up with the screw.

“I just unscrew it?” you hollered.

“Wait! Hold on, babydoll!” Joel called out.

You heard shuffling beside the car and suddenly felt his shadow beside you. He squeezed his way under the car with you; his body angled sideways to get a view of the drain plug. You glanced over at his face, giving him a soft smile. He had that look of focus cresting over his features, his lips pursed, and forehead scrunched together. It was cute seeing him take this so seriously.

“Alright, alright,” he exhaled. “The oil s’gonna come out fast, so be ready for it. Try movin’ your body my way so you don’t get it all over ya’.”

“You make this sound so dirty,” you laughed.

“It is dirty,” he said pointedly. “Get that pretty lil’ mind outta the gutter.”

“Or what?” you questioned, shuffling your body against the creep. You leaned into his broad frame, feeling his chest press against your back.

“Focus,” he growled. Despite his irritation, you could feel him harden against you.

“Okay, okay,” you relented.

Reaching up, you used the wrench to loosen the screw, utterly oblivious to the chaos that was about to transpire. The screw shot out onto the metal pan with a thud, followed by a heavy stream of oil splashing against the empty pan. Thick, black oil splattered onto your cheek and neck, the warmth of it staining your skin. You yelped at the contact, rolling off the creeper and falling into Joel’s open arms. His chest shook with laughter as he hauled you further from the oil, still steadily draining out.

“I warned ya’,” he said. “It’s messy.”

“You didn’t tell me I’d get hit with the oil!” you yelled, jabbing him with your elbow, which only sent him into another fit of laughter. “It’s not funny!”

“S’kinda funny,” he chuckled. “I’ll get you all cleaned up after, don’t worry.”

“You fucking better,” you grumbled.

You watched the oil finally finish draining, a slow drip falling into the filled pan. Joel shimmied out from under the car, whispering in your ear to stay put. He came back a moment later, reaching down to hand you some sort of metal canister. Turning it in your hand, you read the label and saw OIL FILTER plastered on the side.

“Now we gotta change the oil filter,” Joel explained. “First, y’gotta get the old one out, then we can replace it.”

“Why don’t you do the rest? I’m already messy enough.”

“Oh, so you can talk dirty, but I can’t, huh?” He teased, squeezing your calf as it stuck out under the car.

“Oh, shut up!”

Joel bent down to lay under the car with you again, tilting his head to look at the oil filter. His hand twisted the old canister until another glob of oil fell into the pan, smearing over your t-shirt. The oil leaked down his hand, covering the straps and face of his watch and coloring his tan skin.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!”

“Why don’t ya’ save that hootin’ and hollerin’ for after the oil change,” he quipped. “I’ll make sure ya’ say that again, just in a different way.”

You glanced at him, welcomed by an overdramatic wink on his handsome face. He nudged you with your elbow, turning your focus back to the oil change. Guiding your hand up to the empty space, he helped you install the new filter, both of your hands working in tandem as you twisted it back into place.

“There ya’ go, babydoll. Good job.”

“Joel,” you warned. “If you keep talking in my ear like that, I’m going to smack the shit outta you.”

“I reckon you’d rather fuck me,” he whispered in your ear.

Joel shuffled out from under the car, leaving the space vacant around you. You managed to get your body back onto the surface of the creeper, propping your knees up to help propel you forward and out, but as you did, an oil-slicked hand grabbed your ankle. You yelped at the contact, your body lurching from under the car and back into the sun-drenched garage. Joel stood over you with a coy grin and a stiffness in his jeans you were all too familiar with.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, an unspoken warning to him about what he was thinking. You were covered in oil and felt absolutely disgusting… he was not touching you.

“Don’t you even think about it,” you warned, sitting up on the creeper. It rolled back against the car, hitting the side door with a soft thud.

Joel stalked forward, crouching to meet you at eye level. He had those stupid fucking puppy dog eyes, and his bottom lip was pushed out and extra pouty. He was undeniably cute, but you wouldn’t cave.

“We got ten minutes to kill ‘til we can recheck the levels,” he insisted.

“Ten minutes? You won’t even last two, cowboy.”

That did him in.

Pulling the edge of the creeper forward, Joel came down to eye level, a flash of intensity cresting over his brown eyes. His hand brushed over your neck, tugging at your ponytail.

“Says you, babydoll. I’ll have you coverin’ the floor in your juices in less than a minute,” he argued.

Your mouth fell open, both shocked and a bit turned on. He wasn’t wrong, but you were determined to prove him wrong. Arching your body forward, your hands gripped the collar of his flannel, hauling him into a long kiss. His tongue brushed over your bottom lip, making you moan helplessly. Damn this man and his ability to make you submissive and pliable.

“Do you think you’re that good?” you taunted, working your mouth down to nip at the patchy beard covering his jaw.

Joel’s hand untangled from your hair and moved to your neck, squeezing your throat gently—a warning. He held you steady as he met your eyes with a fierce look, his eyes nearly black.

“Do you need a reminder, darlin’? ‘Cause I ain’t afraid to teach you a lesson.”

“You’re already teaching me a lesson,” you reminded him, with a touch of sassiness in your voice. “A lesson in changing oil.”

“Keep it up, babydoll. Y’know I love it when you’re a brat. Means I get to fuck it right out of ya’.”

“And I give you full permission to fuck me later. Right now, oil change,” you emphasized.

He huffed a loud groan, rolling his eyes and straightening to his full height. Offering a hand, Joel helped you stand back up, pecking you on the cheek before leading you back to the open hood of the car.

“When the oil’s settled, we’ll check the dipstick again to make sure the filters workin’,” he explained.

“Sounds easy enough. And that’s it?” You asked.

“Yup. All good after that, babydoll. We just gotta kill them ten minutes.” He gave you a side eye, insinuating what you both could be doing.

“I’m sure you can make yourself busy,” you smiled, blissfully aware of how much you were killing him.

“Rather be busy makin’ you scream my name,” he grumbled, inspecting your car's engine.

“Aw, is my man pouting?” You teased, rounding the edge of the hood to hug him from behind. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade, working your grease-covered hands over the buttons of his flannel. Your fingers danced over each one, toying with them just to elicit his response.

“You’re killing me, babydoll,” Joel groaned.

“Am I?” You asked innocently. Your hands trailed down his stomach, inching closer to his belt.

Joel’s hand shot forward, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. You gasped as they tightened around your skin, his arm twisting until he maneuvered you around to stand in front of him. Your ass hit the edge of the bumper at the exact moment his hands came up to pull your face to his. His lips crashed onto yours, his tongue seeking yours as he forced your mouth open wider. A desperate whimper escaped your mouth, only making his movements more intense and all-consuming. Your teeth dug into the plush skin of his bottom lip, tugging gently as he broke away.

“I’m beggin’ you, babydoll. Please let me fill that pretty pussy, I’m about to lose my damn mind.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. His eyes were saucers; his pupils lost amidst the brown in his irises. Despite the afternoon sun still flecking across the corners of the garage, shadows danced over his features, emphasizing the hungry look he was giving you. You knew it would be easy to cave into his needs—you wanted to—but maybe, just maybe, you’d enjoy seeing him work for it.

“You wanna beg for it, cowboy?” You asked. “Let me see it.”

Joel’s mouth parted, words failing him as he studied your posture and dominant voice. You lifted your chin, trying to level him with a heavy stare even with the inches of height he had over you.

“Well?” You questioned.

“Whatcha want, darlin’? Y’wanna see me on my knees?” He suggested, shifting slightly.

Your eyes flicked down to the bulge in his jeans, watching it strain against the zipper the longer you stared. Your tongue darted out, rolling over your bottom lip before you bit into it. Joel let out an impatient groan before sinking to his knees before you. Now, the eye contact shifted, your height imposing over his. Seeing his eyes strain upwards to look at you gave you a new sense of control. You liked it.

“Is this what ya’ wanted?” His voice dropped an octave.

“I don’t hear any begging,” you shrugged.

Joel clasped his hands together, holding them in front of his chest, as he met your eyes with a pleading stare. His kiss-swollen lips pushed out into a pout, and his voice was agonizingly desperate as he spoke.

“Please, babydoll,” he begged. “I’m dyin’ to see you ruin the floors of this damn garage. Fuckin’ desperate to make you cum all over my cock, please.”

“I like you begging,” you mused. “You’re so handsome on your knees.”

Joel groaned, letting his head fall against your thighs. Running his hands up your jeans, his fingers worked towards your zipper, which you quickly swatted away. Carding your hand through the sweaty curls atop his head, you yanked them back to force his eyes on you again.

“Do you want to see me cum?” You questioned.

Joel nodded pathetically, his thick neck straining the longer he looked up at you. You noted the outline of his veins under his sun-kissed skin and how his throat bobbed with each word you spoke.

“Fuck, babydoll. Yes. Please, I want it s’bad,” he pleaded.

“Then be a good boy and watch,” you commanded.

Arousal flooded through your veins as you unzipped your jeans, shimming them down your hips and thighs before discarding them somewhere amidst the mess of the workspace. Standing before him in only a tiny lace thong, you watched as Joel wordlessly tracked your movements, his eyes zeroed in on the apparent slickness between your thighs. You had done such a good job of restraining yourself earlier to saying no, but how could you deny a man on his knees?

“No touching,” you ordered. “You’re only allowed to watch.”

Hooking your thumbs under the band of your underwear, you let them slowly fall to the ground, your legs stepping out of them as you adjusted yourself against the bumper of the car. Pressing your ass against the cold metal frame, you lifted one leg to rest on top of the bumper; your foot pressed down as you shifted your weight to support your body. Joel obediently watched, his hands resting on his thighs as ordered.

You moved your hand down your abdomen, your fingers drifting lower as you teased your wet folds. Joel watched with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving the sight of your hand. You made small circles over your clit, the brush of your fingers against it electrifying your nerves. Unrefined pleasure coursed through you as your movements intensified, your hips rolling against your hand as you chased your orgasm. Joel let out a strangled groan, and your eyes snapped to him, only to catch his hand palming over his cock beneath his jeans.

“No,” you said firmly. “You can’t touch yourself yet.”

“Babydoll,” he whined. “S’fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You leveled him with a heavy stare, pushing two fingers inside your aching cunt with a cry of pleasure falling off your lips. You wanted to see him work for it and see how long he’d last without snapping. With two fingers curling deep inside you, you brought your other hand into the mix, drawing those same lazy circles over your clit until you felt that white-hot pressure building inside your core. Joel still hadn’t moved an inch; every muscle in his body tensed as he watched helplessly. You curled your fingers harder, pulling more soft sounds from your mouth as you teetered on the edge of release.

“Joel,” you panted. “I—I need your fucking mouth.”

There was no hesitation.

He crawled to you, replacing the fingers on your clit with his mouth, his tongue stroking the aching bud with fervor. Each flick and drag of his tongue was another shockwave through your nerves, pushing you closer and closer until you were crying out into the space around you. With one large hand gripping the back of your thigh, Joel pressed his tongue harder against your clit until you were crashing over the edge. You came with his name falling off of your tongue, your wet arousal dripping down the bridge of his nose as he pushed his face further into you. Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling your fingers from your wet entrance, and sucked them into his mouth. Your eyes connected as he stared up at you, his tongue gliding up each finger as if he were a starved man.

Fuck control, and fuck the oil change; you needed him. Now.

“Take me, cowboy,” you pleaded. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Y’gonna regret sayin’ that,” he warned, hauling himself to his feet.

Joel’s arms wrapped around the back of your knees, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped at the sudden movement, your hands bracing against his lower back. The garage became a blur as he moved past the cars and mess of tools on the ground. Maneuvering you onto the workbench, Joel guided you back until you were flush with the wooden bench, his body hovering over you. His hands moved swiftly on his belt buckle, letting his cock spring free as he hauled your legs over his shoulders.

“Don’t get grease all over me,” you said. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself, cowboy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, m’gonna make a fuckin’ mess of you,” Joel smirked and lined his cock up with your entrance.

He drove into you with such force your body shifted upwards on the bench, your skin digging into the wood as you tried to adjust to his size. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you were always breathless when he filled you with every inch of his cock. He had you bent in half in this position, his hands braced behind you on the bench, and your legs folded over his shoulders. The strength behind each thrust was brutal, and you cried out with each snap of his hips against yours.

“Did ya’ enjoy teasin’ me, babydoll?” He grunted. “You like seein’ me on my knees beggin’ for this pussy?”

“Yes!” You wailed, tears forming in your eyes.

“Gonna make you fuckin’ beg for my cum, darlin’. Let’s fuckin’ hear it. Scream for me.”

Joel fucked you with abandon until you were a crying mess. Your hands wound around his neck, nails digging into his skin just for stability. The flutter of your cunt around him sucked him in further, plunging his cock at a deeper angle that catapulted you right to the precipice of release. He knows it, too. If you thought his pace was brutal before—this was violent. He was claiming you in every single buck of his hips, and you steal a glance upwards to see his face twisted up in determination.

Your voice was becoming hoarse from screaming his name; the void of the garage filled with the sounds of your cries and the disgusting slap of his hips against your slick cunt. Every muscle in your legs tensed and shook as you tried to quell the desperate need for release. You couldn’t hold it much longer; his cock was rubbing against that perfect spot inside you.

“I can feel that pussy clenchin’ my cock, babydoll,” Joel whispered, lowering his mouth to your ear. “Don’t fuckin’ cum yet. Not ‘til I tell you.”

“Joel, I—I can’t wait,” you sobbed. “Please, I need it.”

“Be a good girl for me,” he growled. “You can do it.”

Your chest heaved with another sob, the tears overflowing as your cunt clenched harder. You were using every ounce of your energy to hold your orgasm at bay, to force your body to wait until he gave you that release. His greased fingers found your overly sensitive clit, pressing right against the bud and alighting the nerves inside you. Your back arched off the bench as you stifled another scream of pleasure.

“Look at you,” he taunted. “So fuckin’ desperate now, huh? Teased me all day, and now y’wanna cum so bad? Alright, babydoll, cum for me.”

The world fizzled out as your orgasm wracked through your body, lurching you upwards into his arms as you clung to him with shaking limbs. A stream of liquid poured from your pulsating cunt, a ripple of pleasure folding over your nerves and tumbling you into oblivion. Joel’s body tensed under you as he filled you with his release, hot ropes painting the inside of your cunt. Another wave of arousal tore through you, drenching the bench beneath you and dripping onto the floor. Even amidst the haze of your orgasm, you could hear Joel chuckling softly.

“Told you I’d have ya’ drenchin’ the ground.”

“Shut. Up.” You panted.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, kissing your tear-soaked cheek.

Joel removed himself from you, easing your sore legs off his shoulders and placing your feet on the floor. Your vision was still blurred as you stared at his face, his lips twitching with a smug grin and a trail of sweat rolling down his temples.

“I reckon that oil’s ready to check now, darlin’,” he said, offering you a hand.

You took it, winding your fingers through his. With a squeeze of his fingers, you walked over to the car, trying—and failing—to hide the limp in your steps. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and down your thighs, but you watched silently as he pulled out the dipstick and presented it to you.

“Good job, darlin’,” he smiled. “Now ya’ know how to change the oil. Whatcha wanna learn next?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your underwear from the floor and slipping them over your hips.

“Maybe I can teach you how to slow down your damn sex drive, cowboy. You’re gonna fucking break me in half one day,” you grumbled.

“Don’t think you’d mind it much, babydoll.”

Joel tugged you close, tipping your chin up to meet his lips with a tender kiss. You were pliant in his hands, molding yourself to each hard muscle of his body. Running your hands up his biceps, you gripped his shoulders and slipped your tongue over his. He palmed your ass, pressing your body tighter against his chest.

“You’re a terrible teacher, you know that?” You mumbled against his mouth.

“But ya’ love me,” he tossed back, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Yeah, I do,” you sighed happily.

“And I love you, babydoll.”

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel miller pre outbreak #one shot #drabble #mechanic!joel #questionable oil change

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gilverrwrites · 2 months

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Skinny Dipping

Pairing: Dean WInchester/F!Reader

Authors note: This has the been the hardest, and biggest of my re-mastered fics so far. I’m pretty sure the original was an amalgamation of imagines from supernaturalimagine and dirtysupernaturalimagines but I couldn’t even guess at which imagines exactly. This is like, my 4th public/semi-public fic in like 3 months, I’m starting to feel like this is a kink I didn’t know I had. Also, Metallica have not cancelled anything, don’t worry. (and I don’t know jack about cars, people that do, please don’t come for me, I really did try, k, thanks, bye.) 💖

Plot: Reader is a mechanic who Dean's been checking in on, and checking out for a while now. Dean has the perfect excuse to see her after baby breaks down nearby.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 2936

Content: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, reckless drunken/tipsy behaviour, being submerged underwater, skinny dipping, teasing, brief retraining, size-difference, dry-humping, (or I guess wet-humping), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, water sex, mild angst.

Please remember: If you never try, you’ll never know.

You switch off the radio, listening to the purr of your car's ignition as you pull up behind a familiar black impala. It was a beauty, but it was nothing compared to your ‘70 boss. You watched as its owner climbed out of the front seat and headed towards you.

Its owner being your old friend Dean Winchester. He and his brother had saved you from a coven of witches a few years back, and ever since he’s been popping back into your life every few months. ‘Working on a case nearby’, ‘just passing through’, ‘baby needs a new compressor’. Every visit he laid the flirting on thicker. You weren’t sure if he was just joking around with you, or if he was serious, or if he saw you as a challenge. Either way you’d been making him work for it. Today it just so happened that his car had broken down a few miles out from your shop, the perfect excuse to see you on a Friday night.

You were pulled from your train of thought by a light tapping on your window. You snapped your head to the side to see Dean hovering over your door. His familiar smile set your heart racing. Okay, so maybe his seduction tactics were working, he was hot, who could blame you?

“Is there a problem, officer?” You joked, rolling down your window.

Dean rested an arm on the hood and leaned in. “No, no, just a routine check.” You knew he impersonated officers and agents all the time, but you hadn’t seen it firsthand. It was impressive how easily he slid into character.

“I am, however, gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for a full strip search.”

Act ruined.

“At least buy me drink first.” You quipped.

“If you can help me, I’ll buy you a whole dinner.” He winked and opened the car door from the outside. You raised your brows at him but climbed out anyway before making a b-line for the impala’s engine.

“What’s wrong?” You directed your question to the car in the same tone you would address a small child or animal, gently rubbing a hand across its roof as you walked beside it. "Has someone been neglecting you?”

“Hey!” Dean barked, clearly offended. “I take better care of this baby than I do myself.”

At that you looked back over at him. He’d forgone his usual flannel today, leaving him in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a grey t-shirt that clung tight and accentuated his broad chest. By the time your eyes reached his face, Dean was sporting a wicked grin, clearly ecstatic to have caught you checking him out. You avoid his smug gaze by popping the hood of his car to take a look at the engine.

“You weren’t kidding.” You whistled; Dean really was taking care of the thing. The motor was almost gleaming. You felt his warm hand suddenly press against your lower back and turn to look up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as that of a proud father.

“Yeah.” He agreed before pointing to the main battery with his free hand: “This is the problem. It’s busted.”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a new one. I’m surprised you don’t keep a spare.”

“Yeah.” To his credit, he looked pretty sheepish. “I normally do, but guess I forgot when the last one went out.”

“I don’t have one.” You said, pursing your lips to express your sympathies.

Dean didn’t respond, biting his lip while he waited for you to continue.

“But I could give you a jump start if you gotta head out soon.” You bring the hood back down and start heading to the boot of your car.

“No good,” Dean calls after you. “I’m not in a rush, but I don’t have enough gas to get me where I’m going.”

“Well… I’ve got a guy. He’s a few towns over. He’s closed at this time.” You inform as you open your boot and pull out your tow rope, flashing it to Dean with a smile. I can tow you into town for tonight, then drive you there and back in the morning.”

“I knew I could count on you!”

An hour later, you’d slowly but surely managed to drag Dean and his baby back into town, argued with him about him staying at a motel or on your couch (you’d won), and successfully swindled him into buying you that dinner he’d promised. Dinner being take-put pizza and over-priced ice-cream. Now, the two of you were sitting in your backyard, sharing the aforementioned ice-cream and an old bottle of Jack Daniels you’d pulled from the back of your cupboards.

“So,” Dean began, his speech slurred by the spoon hanging from his mouth. How’s the garage doin’?”

You take a sip of the JD and proceed to suck on your teeth as you consider how to respond.

“Honestly, bad. Ever since that shitty corporate place set up shop down the road, we’ve been going downhill.” You punctuate your statement with another sip from the bottle before offering it to Dean. “I’m keeping it up and running by tooth and claw, but truthfully, it’s probably only got a few months left in it.”

He gives you a sombre smile as he exchanges the tub of ice cream for the bottle. It's a touchy subject, but you can’t help admiring the way his neck moves as he tilts his head back to drink. You avert your eyes by scooping up the last bit of cold, sugary goodness and placing the empty container on the grass beside you.

“That sucks.” He places a hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “That really sucks. Do you have a back-up plan?”

You grab the bottle back from Dean and take another sip before answering.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think about doing what you do. Kinda.” You begin. You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens before you clarify. “Without the monsters. Just hit the road, get drunk at every bar in the country, visit Disney, become Metallica groupie, an-”

“You know they cancelled that tour, right?” Dean butts in.

“WHAT?” You shake his hand off and stare up at him in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. The smile on his face is anything but sympathetic.

“Bastards.” You cross your arms and pout dramatically. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the laugh that escapes Dean's lips is magical, and you can’t help but join in. When he returns his hand to your shoulder, this time reaching for the furthest from him, thus wrapping himself around you, your skin tingles, and you let yourself fall into him.

As the two of you slowly seize your giggling, Dean checks his watch. He quirks an evocative brow at you when he speaks, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head inside?”

You mull it over, dramatically swaying your head from side to side before you voice your decision. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

You stand up, offering your hand to Dean, who eyes you sceptically. Nevertheless, he takes the bait, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to lead him toward the footpath just outside your garden.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and you can sense the caution in his voice. You assume it’s the hunter in him being paranoid, and you know for a fact that his free hand is hovering over the knife he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans at all times.

“I’m taking you here,” you answer as you pull him through the last set of trees and onto the shore of the local lake. You scan the surrounding area as you kick off your shoes. Satisfied that nobody is nearby, you start pulling off your trousers.

As you bend down to pull your socks off, you look up at Dean. He’s staring back at you intensely, mouth open, cheeks pink.

When you start pulling your top over your head you feel his fingers lightly brush against your hips. He’d stepped closer, and you’re tempted to touch him back or to reach up and kiss him. But you don’t. Instead, you throw your top over his head and sprint for the water.

“RACE YOU!” You challenge, discarding your bra and panties before you reach the water and forward dive in. Dean follows you moments later with a cannonball that splashes your face just as you’re resurfacing from your own dive.

“Fuck! That’s colder than I expected.” You yell to him.

“I’ll warm you up.” Dean replies as he swims close to you. You let his hands return to your hips, not expecting it when he dunks you back under the water.

You cough and splurge as he brings you back up. You flail your arms around until you find the top of his head, and you cling to him for dear life, but Deans is stronger, taller, and he’s found solid ground to plant his feet onto below the water. He escapes your grip and throws you under again.

“STOP. MERCY!” You yell when you come back up. This time, you use your legs for safety, wrapping them around his hips. You'd be safe if you could just get a grip on his arms. You’d been too distracted to notice his erection until you feel it poking at you. You’re about to make a comment about it, but Dean speaks first.

“You’re cute when you’re scared.” He laughs, you silence him with a swift but playful punch to the chest. In defence he grabs at your wrists, able to trap both in just one of his hands. His other hand slides up your arms, over your shoulder, your neck, until he reaches your cheek. He leisurely rubs his thumb against your wet skin.

You stay like that for a while, watching each other, before you finally ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Without any further hesitation Dean lunges forward, forcing his lips against yours. His kiss is hard and animalistic; he skips straight past the pecking and teasing to roaming your mouth with his tongue. His fingers leave your cheek and weave into your hair, holding you against him, his stubble scratches against your skin.

In a play for dominance, you dart your own tongue out, grazing his chapped lips, but he denies you. Instead, he pulls away from your lips, refocusing his attention on nipping and kissing at your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this.” He utters onto your skin.

“What, this exact scenario?” You joke.

“Not exactly.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, and the gust of air against your skin makes you tremble.

“Then what?” You challenge. Your inability to touch him is frustrating you. In an attempt to stimulate him back, you grip your legs around him tighter, using him as leverage to grind against him. The tip of his cock doesn’t quite reach your clit, but its added pressure helps it spread your lips. “Tell me.”

He drops his hand from your head, and cups it under your asscheek. Firmly guiding you up and down, assisting you in rutting against his cock. Shakey breaths become grunts, and after a few seconds he releases your wrists so that he can grip you with both hands. Free to move, you shimmy down his body until you can feel his dick brush against your clit with each grind.

“Come on, tell me.” You plead, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening every time he hits your sweet spot. You know he's not shy, that he’s just getting lost in the feeling, and it pains you to say it, but eventually, you taunt. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you don’t tell me.”

He whimpers at your empty threat but finally confesses. “Just you. Your body, under me. Every night, I think about how you’d look, how you’d feel squirming, moaning my name.”

“Fuck. That’s hot.” You reply and he smiles as you plant your lips against his once again.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, speech slurred as he tries to speak between kisses.

“Yes.” You respond instantly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Please fuck me, Dean.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on your ass is like a vice as he lifts you up slightly. You both work in sync to position yourselves just right until he lowers you onto his cock, slowly pressing into you. There’s some resistance as he stretches your walls, but the sound of his whispered praises helps you relax until he finally bottoms out, stretching you in all the right places.

“Fuck, that feels so good. You took me so well.” He affirms, and even though he’s already balls deep, you can’t help the heat that spreads across your face.

He begins lifting you again before you can respond, sliding you up and down his cock in slow, steady movements. You grip tight to his shoulders and hips with your hands and knees, using them as leverage points to help move your body up and down. Each thrush is slow and shallow, but Dean seems to be loving it; his head rolls back, and he releases breathy moans with every rock.

“Shit.” You shout, holding tighter still when Dean unexpectedly shifts below you, repositioning his legs to a sturdier position. You watch through hazy eyes as he reaches up and grips your hand, before guiding it down the tight space between your bodies. You get the message quickly, and begin rubbing your clit in lazy circles, keeping in time with the pace of Dean's cock.

The added stimulation had your toes curling in no time. When your pussy starts clenching around Dean’s cock, you see the sudden concentration in his face. His brow furrows, and he bites his lip as he focuses on riding you through your orgasm. The sight was the final push you need to take you over the edge.

“Fuck, Dean. Fuck fuck fuck, that feels good.” You cry out as you hit your climax.

“Keep saying my name, baby.” Dean begs as he continues rolling your hips together. You feel his body shake as he starts to struggle with your combined weights as he chases his own release.

You try to assist, desperately pumping yourself up and down despite the newfound sensitivity as you chant his name.

“Fuck, yes baby.” You feel the twitch of his cock inside you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he hits his orgasm, rutting his cock as deep as he can as he cums inside you. “oohhh yeah.”

You stay in position for a long time following, holding on tight to each other, listening to each other's breathing as you come back down, until Dean guides your body backwards so that you’re face to face again. “How you feelin’?”

“Good.” You reply with a smile.

“Good.” He grins at you mischievously before plunging backwards into the water, taking you with him.

“So, was that everything you imagined it to be?”

He purses his lips in thought before teasingly responding. “Eh, it wasn’t bad.”

You both laugh as you lay your head down on Dean's bare chest; his arms envelop your body as you both blankly look up at the stars. You play with the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him when you emerged from the water and re-dressed.

“You should do it.” Dean says when you're both fully settled down.

“Do what?” You query, popping your head up to look at him, unsure what he’s talking about.

“Hit the road.” He clarifies, revisiting your earlier conversation. “I mean, life on the road isn’t easy or sustainable, trust me, I know.”

“But…” You prompt, knowing fully that he wasn’t going to stop there.

“But it could be fun for a while. If it’s what you wanna do. Hell, I’d totally be a roadie if… you know.”

“I know,” You reply. You’re smiling at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The reminder of your failing business stung, but you didn’t want it to spoil your night. You lean forward, caressing his cheek; his stubble feels rough against your fingers. You gently pull his face forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I might. I probably will. If it comes to it.”

“I can’t come with you.” He says when you lean away. You hadn’t expected him to want to come with you. Hoped, maybe? But you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

“I know.” You repeat.

He carefully reaches up to run his hand across your damp hair as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is longer, softer than any you’d shared all night. When you’re done, he lets his head fall back against the ground, and you perch yourself against his chest once more.

“You’ll still call me though, right?”

“Always.” He replies instantly. “You’re my best girl. Well, second-best girl.”

“The car?” You ask deadpan. Of course, the car is his number one.

“Who else?” He replies shamelessly.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, entwined in each other’s arms, spent and damp under the stars, until eventually, you feel your lids growing heavy. You fight it for a while, willing yourself to remain awake, until eventually your tiredness wins out. You cuddle closer into the warmth of Dean's chest as you fall asleep.

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #gilverrwrites

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mirandasidefics · 5 months

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But Home is Nowhere

Pairing(s): Lucien X Plus Size Reader, Azriel X Plus Size Reader

Part 1 Summary: Reader is pulled into Prythian by an unknown force and comes face to face with members of the Night Court. However, the welcome is less than warm.

Word Count: 3.9K

Warning(s): Minor violence, minor self-harm, mentions of body issues/past self-harm.

A/N: This is my first ACOTAR fic and first story I've even considered posting since 2013, so please be gentle. The story is fully outlined, but due to the fact that I work full time and really weird hours updates will be once a month. Use of cisfemale descriptors used. Key: (Y/N )-Your Name, (e/c)-eye color, (h/c)-hair color.

You gathered your belongings as you did everyday before heading into work. ‘Phone, wallet, keys, charger, make-up…’ the list in your head prattled on as you secured each item in the black backpack. Once satisfied that you had everything you needed you swung the leaden object over your left shoulder. Pausing before the near full-length mirror at your door you tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind you ear. Your (e/c) orbs roamed over for anything that could be out of place. It took a considerable amount of effort not to let your gaze pause on the parts of yourself that you hated. You pulled the dark red sweater down, covering your large and sagging lower belly and too wide hips. You debated on going back to put shapewear on so your muffin top didn’t hang over your dark black skinny jeans too much, but you were already running late. You quickly slipped your dress flats on to your feet as you whispered a small affirmation to yourself. ‘Everything happens for a reason.’

You were not looking forward to today. The laundry list of to-do tasks was miles long. Hours of work meetings, followed by even more hours of research and writing for your thesis. You were always writing. You paused again to double check that you had the required USB drive that held your many months’ worth of research. A quick glance reassured it was safely tucked away on the hook in your pack, and you stiffly grasped the handle of the front door. No sooner than pulling the door open, your feet tripped over the lip of the frame, and you plummeted down through the threshold.

Bracing for a faceplant against concrete, you were surprised to find soft grass under your fingertips. The grass was a deep rich shade of green and still held the wetness of early morning-dew. Slowly lifting your head, you glanced around the spot where you fell. You immediately noticed that you were no longer at the threshold of your duplex if the wide expanse of grass was to be trusted. Slower still, you raised yourself up on your knees. The sky you looked at was now clear of the pale grey clouds you spied out of your bedroom window only minutes before. The bright yellow-white sun was high enough above to indicate that it was midday. A chilled and briny breeze floated across your shoulders and caused strands of your hair to blow away from your face. You pushed your glasses a little further up the bridge of your nose as you took in the distant buildings to your left. Not a single one of the simple brick and mortar buildings appeared to be more than 3 to 4 floors in height. Further down you could make out some shops and an open square. It reminded you more of a smaller European town than of a bustling city suburb. Yet the buzz in the air told you that there was much more than what met your eyes. You could only make out a few figures as they darted through a bustling crowd. Despite the feeling that there were a large number of inhabitants in the city beyond, there wasn’t a single sound of a motorized vehicle. Your head tilted up to examine the vast blueness above you, looking for any sign of the planes that constantly passed over your home, but the sky was also empty. You held your breath, willing for the sound of a jet engine to be heard in the distance. All was silent, except for the brush of the wind and bubbling of water. You turned toward your right an observed a large house that sat just along the river’s edge. Your eyes followed the winding path of the turquoise water as it stretched into a decent sized bay, complete with docks and what appeared to be old wooden sailing ships. You felt like you had stepped back in time.

Panic began to seep into your bones. You could clearly tell that you were no longer in your own city, but where you were…that was wholly unknown to you. Was this even real? Maybe you hit your head when you tripped and this is all just some dream. Yeah, that had to be it. You reached for the backpack that had landed at your side when a shadow flew over you. A heavy thud was heard to your right and your head whipped up to look at the dark silhouette that now towered over head. You initially thought there had been the shape of wings along the figure’s outline, but after blinking away the shards of sunlight that your hand didn’t block, you determined that it must have been your imagination.

“Well hello there,” a velvety smooth tenor reached your ears, “You’re not an associate of Ms. Quinlan’s, are you?”

“W-What?” Your voice trembled, a strong metallic scent radiated from the man as he knelt down. Your breath caught in your throat. He was absolutely stunning. You mentally slapped yourself after feeling your jaw literally drop. You could have sworn his eyes held flecks of starlight in them. However, his humorless chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you know Bryce?” He surveyed you this time.

“I don’t…I don’t know any Bryce,” You couldn’t help the rise of your flight response start to kick in, “Where am I?” A part of you didn’t dare look away, but you had to gage your possible exits out of the periphery of your vision. The man continued to stare and evaluate you. You swallowed thickly in an attempt to clear the non-existent obstruction that was your unease and opened your mouth to ask another question. Before you could speak the man cut you off, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If you’re not here for or because of Bryce,” Something about his darkened expression filled your bones with fear, “then, unfortunately, I’m not in a position to readily trust you. I must protect my people. I hope you understand that my actions are nothing personal.” Confusion laced your features at his words and you clutched your bag tightly against your chest.

Without warning your entire body froze as what felt like ice cold claws scratched against the surface of your skull. Fear gripped you tightly, the need to run or fight back utterly demolished as you locked eyes with the man. He truly didn’t appear to be bothered in the slightest over how terrified you were.

‘Mother above…he’s going to kill me.’ Your mind reeled and you were certain that you would have emptied your bladder had you not done so before exiting your home. You couldn’t get your voice to cooperate, to beg for mercy as the claws gripped your skull harder. You couldn’t even scream as you felt the flesh tear near your right temple. Your heart beat erratically, hoping it would give out before you could feel any of the pain that was sure to accompany your death. It took all of your mental strength to dampen the fear down and whisper the prayer you incorporated into your own practice so long ago.

“Mother hold me, let me pass through the gates into that immortal land of milk and honey. Let me fear no evil, feel no pain, and let me enter eternity.” Eyes still locked with the man you saw a glimmer of…you honestly had no clue what emotion it was that passed over his expression. But as soon as it passed the feeling of the claws were gone and air rushed back into your lungs. The man stood to his full height and continue to stare at your gasping form. A rush of nausea swept over you and you heaved. The stomach acid burned your throat more than normal after not eating anything for well over 24 hours.

You spit the remaining mucus onto the grass and you were suddenly hauled up to your feet. His grip on your forearm was so tight you could already feel the bruises forming. While the man’s features appeared calm and unbothered, his eyes simmered with caution. However, he remained silent as darkness converged on you both. Your stomach rolled and plummeted with the sensation of your body in free fall, but the man’s grip never lessened. Suddenly your feet impacted against solid stone. Your vision blurred and your other arm reached out towards anything to purchase itself to keep you up right. Your throat burned again but the stomach acid never reached your mouth. Your outstretched hand finally found a wall and you clung onto it for dear life.

The surface was cool and rough to the touch. You chanced a glance around and found yourself in a small dimly lit room. The walls and floor appeared to have been carved directly out of the stone. The dampness to the air clued you in that you were not inside a building, but some structure more akin to a cave. The room held no furniture, unless you counted the metal sconce that held the only source of light. You did a double take as the light itself was strange, appearing to be condensed to the size of a lightbulb, but it was quickly obvious that there was no material encasing its source. Was there even a- your thoughts were interrupted by the screeching of metal hinges as a single wooden door swung open.

A second man appeared in the entry way and ducked down to avoid hitting his head on the top of the frame. Once he was fully inside the room you couldn’t believe your eyes. You blinked several times yet the insanely large bat like wings never disappeared. You attempted to take in his dark appearance, but shadows seemed to swirl around him. He wore a scaly leather outfit that appeared to be some type of armor. You couldn’t tell if it was multiple pieces or a single body suit in the dim silver light, but that didn’t matter as soon as you saw the first of the seven blue stones intermingled into his outfit. Your eyes widened. The first man handed the newcomer your bag, allowing you to get a good look at his winged back. You immediately noticed there were no straps that held the wings in place. Nor were they attached to the clothing he wore, but rather connected to and protruding from the skin underneath. With this realization the room spun as their soft voices drifted over towards you, but you couldn’t make out what was said as your knees gave out and everything went dark.

When you finally awoke the room was cold, dark, and damp; which sadly reminded you that recent events weren’t just a dream. You found that you were now alone, but weren’t sure if that was a good sign. There was no telling if either of the men-no males- would come back. A part of you hoped that someone would at least give you answers, even if just to tell you that you would rot away in this cell. If that was the case, why didn’t the first male just follow through with killing you? What caused him to stop and bring you to this place you now found yourself? Unsure of what to expect you backed yourself up into a corner on the opposite side from the door. A dim light filtered through the wood panels and space between the door and ground. You could hardly call what you sat upon a floor given all the dirt and rocks. Unfortunately, it did little to comfort you while the room was largely in shadow. Despite your best efforts and desire to make yourself as small as possible, your round and plump frame wouldn’t allow you to curl your knees towards your chest. So, you opted instead to sit with your legs stretched out in front of you, ankles crossed. A false picture of being unperturbed with your current circumstances. The longer you sat there in the silence, the more your anxiety seeped into your muscles. You shook your foot trying to expel the nervous energy. Your ears strained for any semblance for sounds of life beyond the door. Surely there had to be other prisoners or guards. Unless you really were just left for dead. You fought back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“This is fucked,” You mumbled, “I’m fucked. What the hell is happening?” You could feel the panic rise up your throat. Your heartbeat increased and your breath became shallow. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots. Tiny pin pricks of pain blossomed as the blonde strands became taut. You felt pain, or rather discomfort. You’ve felt that in your extremely vivid dreams before, but it gave you an idea. Moving on to your hands and knees you began to feel around for any rocks or other items you could use. If you could find something and make it sharp enough, maybe you could wake yourself. The door looked the same, but maybe it was different. Maybe you were in a different REM cycle, meaning a different dream that just piggy backed off the first. After all, there was no way to determine if the male that took you was going to come back. ‘This has to be a nightmare.’

“Please, please let there be something,” You crawled through the darkness, eyes straining to make out any shapes. Your hands finally found a smooth stone about the size of your palm. In the darkness you couldn’t tell if it was granite or something else, so you went ahead and bashed the side against the stone of your cell wall. The side of the object splintered off as if the stone was made of glass.

“Obsidian…” You smiled to yourself. The obsidian shard would be sharp enough to draw blood wherever you managed to drag it along your skin.

“Where to cut, where to cut…” You felt along your body, the scars on your covered legs sang with expectation. Were you willing to risk taking off your pants in this place though? Were you willing to take off any of your clothing? Finally deciding against the removal of your clothes you crawled over to the door and lowered your hands to the soft light that filtered through. Pressing the shard against the palm of your left hand you hoped that there would be no feeling as you dragged it against the skin. Oh, how wrong you were.

“Fuck!” A searing pain erupted over your hand as the makeshift blade tore at the skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth as blood pooled at the seams of the cut. The obsidian hit the ground.

“Why did you do that?” A deep tenor filled the space near the back of your cell and you screamed. The sconce on the wall lit up. Your head whipped around to the opposite corner from where you had been sitting. Your eyes took in the retreating shadows as they revealed the male that you really didn’t want to see. The cobalt stones again caught your eye as your gazed wondered over his form. The wings were still there. You cradled your bleeding hand and you backed away from the known male that stared you down. You figured that you were about to pass out again as the shadows behind him seemed to writhe and undulate around his frame.

“Don’t come any closer,” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you wanted to kick yourself for how pathetic you sounded. The male rolled his eyes and walked towards you before crouching down. His wings stretched out and angled themselves so as to not drag along the stone beneath. The sight of their movement took your breath away. They were real. All of this was real. He grabbed your hand and began to exam it. Your attempts to pull it back failed as his grip was tight. Clicking his tongue against his teeth he locked eyes with you, hazel orbs boring into your own. Despite yourself you noted just how attractive he was as he continued to scrutinize you. He continued to look at you expectantly and you realized that he must have asked you a second question. He sighed and gave you back your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” He stood and left. As soon as the door shut you scrambled to your feet and retreated back to your corner. Had he been in the room with you the entire time? If so, why was the light off? And…you felt pain in your hand. You glanced down at the jagged cut, the blood had yet to start to congeal and clot, but it was superficial at best. Honestly nothing to worry about. You’ve done worse to yourself before. But…you felt pain. Real pain, not just a semblance of a memory of pain as you’ve dreamt of before. This was no dream. Everything pointed to this being a very real place. And you were in very real trouble. Especially if you ended up in-

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. Whomever was there didn’t wait for you to respond as they entered. A man-no again male- with long red hair and almost equally red-brown eyes walked into the room. He wore a simple off-white billowy linen shirt that appeared as if it was from the Renaissance or possibly the Victorian era. Honestly, you were really sure. The history of the fashion industry wasn’t your area of expertise. He also wore a simple pair of dark brown pants. He was definitely different compared to your captor and the winged male. He appeared…warmer. Maybe it was the soft smile that graced his lips. However, his eyes-which you now saw that the left had a long scar that ran down towards his jaw- held a certain sense of sadness to them. Pity.

“Hello,” He held out his hand towards you as he cautiously approached, “Can I take a look at your hand?” He seemed friendly enough, but you still pulled your hand closer toward your chest. You shook your head and backed away, not trusting your voice. The red head looked back at the door, where you saw the winged male patiently waiting.

“She does understand our language correct?” He turned back towards you after receiving an affirming nod from his companion. He took a tentative step closer. You felt like you were being treated like a wild animal.

“Stop!” You hissed, “I’m perfectly fine. You can leave.” The male just stood, his gaze trailing to the blood that dripped down your forearm.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” He stated, “I need to heal your hand. Will you let me do that?” You paused.

“What do you care if it heals?” You squeezed your hand into a protective fist causing blood to gush out faster, “Isn’t it easier to just let me be?”

“Honestly I don’t care,” His demeanor changed like the flick of a switch, “If you don’t want help then that is your choice. My question then is why cut yourself in the first place?” You held his stare. You didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wouldn’t make any sense to the stranger.

“This is going no where Lucien,” the winged male finally re-entered the room, “Just heal her hand so I can begin my questioning.” Lucien scoffed, but did as requested. Grabbing your wrist, he tugged you away from the corner you backed yourself into. You held your breath as he pried your fingers open so he could get a look at the cut. You honestly tried to pull your hand free, but he was clearly much stronger than you. Almost unnaturally so. You were left with nothing to do but to watch. You heard a faint whirring sound, before he hovered his free hand over the injury. A warmth enveloped your open palm and was accompanied by a slight metallic scent to the air. Within seconds your skin had stitched itself back together. All that remained was the trail of drying blood. You stared at the healed skin, mind racing with jumbled thoughts. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in the world could do that. It was like…magic. Your breath caught in your throat. Just where the hell were you. You flicked your gaze back to Lucien standing before you, only this time you noted the golden mechanical eye and the arch of his ears. The pointed arch of his ears. The jumbled thoughts became cloudy and you felt darkness start to descend.

“There,” Lucien let go of her hand, which was something that he would immediately regret. It took less than 30 seconds for her wide (e/c) eyes to flutter shut. He watched as her knees gave out as she crashed towards the ground. His reflexes were fast enough to allow him to catch her before her head hit the hard stone. Azriel was immediately crouching next to him.

“That’s the second time she’s fainted,” He whispered, cursing under his breath. He removed her outer sweater and placed it under her head before standing up to speak to the male beside him.

“How long has she been down here?” Lucien questioned also rising to his feet. This didn’t sit well with him. The woman was clearly frightened, and there was no absolutely no trace of any lingering magic emanating from her. So why was she being kept beneath the throne room in the Hewn City?

“A few hours,” Azriel explained, “Rhys found her this morning. According to him, she literally just appeared. Much in the same way Bryce did. Fell flat on her face outside their home on the Sidra’s edge.” Her face was pale, honestly, too pale for Lucien’s liking. He knelt down beside her, straightening out her legs so they weren’t tucked under at an odd angle.

“Does Feyre know?” The Shadowsinger remained quiet. Lucien looked up at the male. Azriel couldn’t meet his eyes. That wasn’t a good sign. There was no way that Feyre would be comfortable with having a defenseless and harmless human female locked away. It was unusual for Rhysand to keep things from his mate, not without there being a definitive threat.

“This human has no magic. Absolutely none. She’s completely powerless,” He spat out, “There are no traces of any spells surrounding her either. Whatever brought her here, she had no control over. Its likely she had no knowledge of what was happening either.”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Azriel stated simply. If he was irritated with Lucien’s outburst he didn’t let on. “So now that she’s healed and you’ve completed your assessment, you can leave.” This really didn’t sit well with him. Bryce had been brought right into their family home when she arrived. So, what was it about this human that set the High Lord on such edge that she’d been banished from what would probably be the safest place for a human in Prythian? Lucien really didn’t like what was happening, but knew better than to argue with the Spymaster. If anyone did get answers out of the woman it was going to be him. However, he wouldn’t let this injustice go to the way side. So, without so much as a word to the Shadowsinger, Lucien left the cell. He was determined to have a very stern word with the High Lord.

Part 2

#acotar x reader #lucien x reader #azriel x reader #plus size reader #BHINfic #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #lucien acotar #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader

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kairiscorner · 8 months

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˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

day 2: mechanic miguel o'hara

you grumbled as you begged your car not to give out on your way to the nearest auto repair shop. it wasn't that fancy, not that any auto repair shop you came across was anything too grand, but if the mechanic inside did the job right, you wouldn't kind waiting here for a few hours.

you cussed as your engine sputtered and your air conditioner gave out, but you were right on time as you parked the hunk of junk inside the garage, and might've accidentally bumped into one of the mechanic's under chassis trolley, knocking all their tools over with a series of loud clangs and clinks. the sound of the back door to the home connected to the auto repair shop flew open, and a big, tanned complexioned man with a white tank top and low rise ripped blue jeans entered the garage, muttering some things in spanish.

"puta madre, qué diablos trajiste a mi garaje?" he asked you in a gruff, irritated tone. the mechanic ran his hand through his tousled, dark, curly brown hair and breathed in through his teeth and shook his head, he picked up all the wrenches and screwdrivers that fell over and put them all in his tool box.

you climbed out of your car and accidentally stumbled over in your haste to apologize. "sorry, it's just, my car's–woah!" you exclaimed as you stumbled and fell down on your knees. he sighed and clicked his tongue as he went over to you to help you up, extending his large hand out to you that was a bit stained with oil and dust, but one that wanted to help you get up on your feet after you failed trying to help him out.

you took the man's hand, and as though you were nothing but a feather in his hand, he lifted you up with ease and set you down on your feet. he walked past your fazed figure, fazed and dazed at how strong the man was. it wasn't surprising, his size was nothing to joke about, he was... very, very built. "tell me, what's wrong with this thing?" he asked you as he began to lift the hood of your car, the muscles on his back flexing as he did. you couldn't help but check out every curve and bump on his back; from his shoulders down to his waist, and even lower than that.

you gulped and tried explaining to him how your engine was giving out for the past few weeks, to which the mechanic sighed and put the hood back down and wiped the sweat off his forehead from the blazing hot sun beating down on you two. "this might take a few hours, this baby's been begging for maintenance." he muttered as he walked over to put on his gloves and to get his tools.

he pulled up a chair for you to sit in, and when you didn't sit, he raised an eyebrow at you. "por qué no estás sentado? don't make me feel like a bad host, take a seat." he insisted as you darted your eyes from his glistening, sweaty collarbone and neck to the chair he was holding out for you. you mumbled out your thanks and awkwardly sat in the chair, shifting from here to there as the mechanic nodded to you in response.

"ah, thanks for... you know, doing this." "you're paying me for this, the money will be enough thanks from you." he told you as he got down underneath the car and began to check the bottom of the vehicle. you chuckled awkwardly and shifted in your seat again, fidgeting with your thumbs. "right, right... um, i never got your na—" "o'hara." he responded promptly. you coughed a little at his response. "i meant your first name." "...miguel, miguel o'hara." he introduced himself as you nodded. "well, thanks for fixing my car, miguel." "again, thank me when this is over–" he said as he pushed himself out from underneath the car and looked at you with a piercing gaze, with those pretty light brown eyes of his that were so hypnotic. "–and in cash." he muttered in the end, his eyes glued to you for a few seconds until he went back underneath the car to begin fixing it.

though... maybe he would bring the fee down a little, if you'd stay there and keep talking to him to keep him company; but he'd keep that offer on the table, show him a good time with some equally good company and he'd probably do this for free–but that's all just a probably.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

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bigtreefest · 2 months

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Chapter 1: Shuffle With Me, Houston Stranger

From: Handiwork Series

Pairing: Mechanic! Farmhand! Curtis x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Curtis keeps a busy life between helping out on the farm and running the garage. There are some moments and places that give him reprieve, though, and one of them happens to be a bar where a certain sweetie works.

Word count: 3,386

Content/warnings: not many, mentions of drinking and alcohol, bar setting, weird vague emotional states, another guy hopelessly head over boots (what else is new, y’all should know this is how I write all my love interests at his point), menacing foreshadowing

Author’s Note: this takes place at the same time as chapters 3, 4, and 5 of YCMBWH and chapter 1 of The Rainmaker. You can technically read it alone, but the other stories help fill in some gaps. Check out the rest of the AU!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Outta Nowhere AU | Series Masterlist | Next >

Curtis walked into the shop with sore shoulders and a slight ache in his heels from a long day of unexpected work and standing. His cousin had called him in to help out with a few chores at the farm since she had to run the Friday farmer’s market, so the day was long and tiresome.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was go through and double check his books for the auto body shop, so he decided against it. Even if he went through everything tonight, it’s not like it would be quality work.

He figured he’d just quickly make sure everything was in its place in the office and the garage to make paperwork easier for him on Monday and work easier for the guys in the morning. Then, he’d be able to join his cousin and her new farmhand at the bar.

Curtis was organizing his socket wrenches by size when he heard a rattling sound become louder behind him. He turned as he sensed it coming closer, seeing an old truck pull into his garage.

He looked down to check his watch. The shop had been long closed by now, and he had places to be. Based off the noise though, he couldn’t deny something was definitely wrong with the vehicle. If Curtis weren’t such a good man, he would’ve turned the patron away, but there was no saying how far a truck that sounded like that could possibly get.

He tilted his head, examining the vehicle and attempting to peer through the glare in the drivers side window when the engine turned off and he saw a pair of old, comfy shoes step down from the cab. His eyes traced up the body before him and Curtis was speechless. Your hair was just tucked under an old ball cap, nothing fancy.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind, I’m not sure what this sound means and was hoping you had time to take a look at my truck. I know you guys are closed, so it’s no rush, but I’d really appreciate it. I’d rather know where my car is than get stranded out in the middle of nowhere.”

Curtis continued to stand there, mesmerized by you until he shook his head back into the present. “Oh, um, sure. I think I have the evening free, so let me just check on a few things real quick and I can take a look at it.”

Curtis pulled out his phone to text his cousin that he wouldn’t make it to the bar tonight.

He stuffed his phone in his back pocket, going to grab a chair from the front office as you followed. “Never good when a truck that old makes a sound like that.”

You nodded along. “Oh trust me, I know. Darn thing’s even older than me. Usually I’m able to figure out the minor stuff, but this is beyond what I know.”

Curtis nodded when he went to set a metal folding chair down by where you had pulled the truck onto one of his lifts. It scraped against the concrete floor, and he was surprised by the way you simply looked at it, as if you were offended that he’d want you to sit down.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Curtis, I own this shop.” The mechanic stuck out his hand, cleaner than you would’ve expected, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you. One of my coworkers actually suggested I come here when the truck started acting up. Said his best friend was the big cheese.”

Curtis laughed. “Um, he used those exact words? Or are those yours? Where are you from?”

You shook your head. “Oh no, sorry, those were my words. I think he just called you the boss, he’s the bouncer at the bar?”

Curtis clicked his tongue as he walked over to the hood of your car, propping it open. “Okay, you’re talking about my buddy, Edgar. Yeah, I’m glad he sent you to me. He works some shifts for me now and then. So you’re new to town? I go to the bar pretty often, I’ve never seen you there.”

You nodded your head tentatively. “Yeah, didn’t think it would be so noticeable I just moved here from Houston, but I’m really from here and there, lived almost everywhere. Been working at the bar for about a week now.”

Curtis nodded as he looked deeper into your engine, testing the tightness of parts and how full each fluid was. “Well how about that. Yeah, we don’t get too many people moving here, but I’m sure it’s a nice change from the city.”

You nodded and hummed, walking over and leaning under the hood of the car with him. “Agreed. I don’t think many mechanics would be this patient with me out there.”

Curtis lightly chuckled as he looked up at you over his shoulder. “Well I’ll be honest with you, patience is one thing, but you probably won’t think I’m very kind when I tell you this truck probably wont survive the next time you take a far journey if you plan to move…”

His small smile was replaced with a grimace. Maybe if he knew you were leaving soon like you seemed to do so often, he could hold himself back more. He could tell himself that there was no point in being attached, being himself for you to see. He’d hold off on the kindness that poured out to everyone he knew and loved, because it would hurt for you to take it and leave.

Your face held a small smile, though, despite his look of worry. “Well what if I planned on staying?”

Curtis looked back into the engine in an attempt to hide the redness in his cheeks. He was warm at the thought of you sticking around. He jiggled the loose part he found, grunting from leaning over so far, before he spoke up, partially avoiding your question.

“Well, you see this right here. I’d replace it and say it would be good for another couple of years.”

You beamed. “That’s good news!”

Curtis stood up to his full height and for the first time, you noticed just how towering his stature was. Anyone else would be intimidated from a distance, but from this proximity, you could see the kindness in his eyes.

“Yes and no.” It came out softer than he had intended. “I’ve gotta make a special order, and it will probably take at least a week to come in. Do you have another way to get to work?”

You nodded. “Yeah, my apartment isn’t too far from the bar. Walking shouldn’t be an issue.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Are you sure? I know you guys have some pretty late shifts.”

“Curtis, I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than I look.” He sighed in response.

“Alright, if you say so. I’ll put in for that part and in the meantime, your truck can stay here.” He walked over to the workbench and scribbled on a piece of paper, tearing it off and handing it to you.

“Here’s my personal number. In case you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me. I could even set up a ride for you if you change your mind.”

You took the paper, creasing it in the middle and stuffing it in your pocket. “Well, I’ve got a shift tomorrow and I think I might get there on time if I start walking now. Bit of a ways to my place from your shop. Any chance you could drive me home so I can sleep?”

Curtis sighed and checked his watch. “Yeah, I guess so, considering I’m holding your car captive. Come on, I’ll close up and we’ll get you home.”

As you waited for the new car part to be delivered to the shop, you kept working. Bills had to be paid. You had to keep living.

You were surprised the next day at work when Edgar had offered to walk you home after your shift, and every night after then, but didn’t question it. You were just appreciative to have a nice coworker you could trust.

Another surprise was the amount of take out orders that you’d have to give out from the bar. Most of which were going to a certain handsome mechanic.

It was Wednesday night, and the fourth time he’d come to pick up dinner this week. The man must really like cheese curds. You didn’t question it, though, as you handed him his order, asking for updates and waving goodbye with a somber smile as he left too soon, and spoke very little.

What you didn’t know was that Curtis had food at home, sitting in his fridge as he opted for the extra opportunities to see you. You also didn’t know how much he feared opening up his mouth and exposing himself by saying the wrong thing to the first person to make him nervous in a long time. Curtis was generally steady, driven, easygoing, but he could feel that world, that demeanor, start to tilt.

Curtis had a long week. A week much longer than he expected with the extra work he had to do out on the farm instead of in the shop. Sure, he was getting along better and better with Bucky, but that didn’t change the fact that there was too much going wrong.

Cole, that little shit from high school, was back and Curtis’s cousin had gotten stuck in a mine. There was no time for sleep, let alone stopping by the bar with this much of a crisis going on.

As soon as the rocks collapsed in the mine, Curtis was freaking out. “We have to call the police, the fire department, someone to get her out of there. She might not be injured now, but I can’t say the same if there’s a secondary collapse. We need to do something. Now.”

Bucky grabbed him by his collar. “No. No police. It’ll ruin everything.”

Curtis put his hands up in surrender. “Okay then, what do you suppose we do, big guy?”

Bucky paced back and forth, biting his thumbnail with worry. “Gimme a second. I’m figuring it out.” He stopped in his tracks. “Who all knows about the mines?”

“What? What does that ha-“

Bucky cut Curtis off. “Who. All. Knows?”

Curtis shook his head and shrugged. “I-I don’t know, not many people. Me and her, her college roommate, and Jake. That’s it, I think.”

Bucky rapidly reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Curtis a card from his wallet. “This is my associate Sam. You’re going to call him and tell him those names. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Curtis immediately pulled out his phone, trusting the judgement of his new friend. He called Sam, telling him everything he could about those who were close enough to have heard of the mines. After that, he got to work.

He assessed what all would need done in the next day and did as many small tasks as he could, staying up until he could greet the helpers on the way.

All Curtis wanted to do was sleep, this was taking a toll on him, but he did his best to not let it show, to not become a grump. He just put his head down and made himself useful while Bucky waited back at the mine. At the first available opportunity, he was going to drop into a bed and nap. This week was stretching him thin.

Meanwhile, you continued to work at the bar. After seeing him for several days in a row, it was concerning that Curtis seemingly fell off the face of the Earth. Surely that wasn’t your business, though. Maybe it was just a coincidence he was ordering food so often before. He had better places to be, like work, or maybe on a date.

Why would you care, though? He was just the nice guy fixing your car. There was no way he was going out of his way to visit; probably just had some late nights at the shop and that’s why he picked up dinner, not to see you. Anyway, work was always busy enough for your mind to be occupied. You’d at least see him again hopefully once that coveted car part came in.

After a much easier Saturday at the farm, Curtis was ready to have a nice, relaxing time at the bar. As the crew he came with went inside, he hung back to talk to Edgar. He clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Edgar patted him back. “Good, I’m good. Been walking your girl home like you asked. She’s working tonight.” A smirk crept onto his face as Curtis looked down.

“But besides that, what’s going on with you?”

Curtis sighed and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. He turned a picture of Cole Turner towards Edgar.

“Um, I’m alright. A little stressed, but I’m hoping you can help. I’ve got something for you.”

Edgar looked up from the piece of paper. “What’s this?”

“Someone who we need to make sure stays out of here. And if you see him, you let me know, okay?”

Edgar nodded. “Sure thing. Have fun with your girl.”

Curtis rolled his eyes and walked through the door to catch up with everyone else.

You were pouring out drinks for the group that came in when a familiar tall, broad form approached from the doorway. You took in the way his shoulders pushed at the flannel fabric of his shirt as he sauntered into the room. You couldn’t help the way the smile already on your face grew to see him again.

“Oh hey, if it isn’t the big cheese.” He laughed at the nickname, shaking his head as he moved to take a seat at the bar.

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t been in for awhile. Had some family matters to attend to. Speaking of which, that’s them over there.” He gestured toward the group who had just ordered food and drinks from you before heading towards the booths on the far side of the room.

“Ah! Okay, in that case, this is for you.” You grabbed a short rocks glass from the lower counter in front of you and set it up on the bar top in front of Curtis. The glass made a small thud against the finished wood as you looked at him.

Curtis tentatively grabbed it and sipped. After swallowing he hummed.

“Sweet. Like a cherry.”

You nodded. “Oh yeah. That’s because it’s got extra cherries. Your buddies over there said you’d drink whatever, so I made you my favorite.”

Curtis lowered the glass and looked at you deeply with his warm, burning sapphire eyes. His voice grew low and raspy. “I wasn’t talking about the drink.”

He winked at you and you had no idea how your legs didn’t fail you right then. You were able to quickly recover, though, shooting a remark right back.

“Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you test that conjecture.” You could see his cheeks grow warm at the suggestive statement. You grabbed your rag and threw it over your shoulder, leaning closer to the towering man who was just confident, now evidently bashful.

“Curtis, are you…blushing?”

His eyebrows were quick to arch as his attempt of a scowl failed to break through past a shy smile. “No! Blushing is fake. It doesn’t exist. That’s just an old wives tale.”

You looked at his skeptically, not even attempting to hide the laugh that burst out. “What do you mean you think it’s fake? You’re so red right now.”

Curtis’s eyes shifted around the room, unsure of how to respond. “I just feel really…warm…when I look at you.” He muttered so low you could barely hear it.

You wanted to keep pushing before his embarrassment made him turn away from you.

“Hey listen, I’ll be back. I’ve gotta check in with the group, but keep this stool saved for me?”

You nodded. “Sure thing.”

As soon as Curtis returned, he was glued to his chair. He spent the entire evening chatting with you, asking about your life, and telling you about his on the farm and at the shop.

You were honestly grateful for the one bit of peace on a busy bar Saturday night. Every chance you got, you were leaning against the counter by him to take a breath, watching his friends ride the bull and dance together. What a group of great people.

“So, have you been able to make it home alright this week? I’m sorry that truck part still hasn’t come in yet.”

You nodded as you poured a line of shots for a group of girls waiting on the corner. “Yeah, it hasn’t really been a problem. Edgar’s been insistent on walking me to my door, which helps me feel better when it’s that dark out. Just makes me feel bad, though, because I think I finish a little later than his shift time is supposed to be.”

“Well that’s nice of him. If you want, I can drive you home tonight. Might take some of that load off if you’re worried.” Curtis’s eyes watched you slide the shots to the patrons as you came back to his seat and sighed.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you staying here later than you have to, either. It’s really okay. I can definitely take care of myself.”

Curtis shrugged. “I don’t doubt that at all, Cherry. But I’m offering. And I’d be a fool to prematurely end one of the best nights I’ve had in awhile. I really don’t mind.”

“Okay, then. Sounds like a plan.”

As the night was winding down, and Curtis’s group had already come over to close out the tab, the two of you watched the remaining people prepare to head out. Who was Curtis that he knew someone with a black card? Supposedly they were business associates of the farm. Was farming really that lucrative? You guessed so.

You rejoined the present as the last few slow songs came on the juke box and Curtis held out his hand.

“You know how to dance?”

You scoffed, “Curtis, I’m still working. But yes, do you think I could’ve gotten by all this time without a little bit of knowledge?”

He shook his head. “I would’ve been worried if you did. Come on, there’s hardly anyone left. Shuffle with me, you little Houston stranger.”

You sidestepped the bar and walked out the small half door to join Curtis on the dance floor, holding both his hands and looking up into his eyes. “I’d say we’re hardly strangers now. You don’t learn nothing after hours of talking like that.”

You began to swing to the twangy music, holding each other close. Curtis twirled you and pulled you into his chest where your ear could hear his racing heart. The warmth and the scent of his cologne were comforting. His arms blanketing you, shielding you from all other thoughts besides this moment. As the song faded out, you realized you two were the only ones left besides the other employees doing the final tidying up before shutting down for the night. You reluctantly pulled your body from Curtis, left only holding each other’s hands.

“I should probably go help with the closing duties. Can you wait for me by the door?”

Curtis nodded. “Of course. I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

Curtis watched you go back to your cash register as he walked back towards Edgar, keeping an eye on you the whole time.

“So, anything interesting happen tonight?”

Edgar nodded with with wide eyes. “Um, yeah. That guy you gave me a picture of, he came by. Threw a fit when I wouldn’t let him in. Some dude in fancy clothes and a mustache was with him, too. Not sure what that was about, but they at least respected the badge.”

Curtis huffed and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

This was not good. Curtis pulled out his phone and texted Bucky.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Tbh, even I don’t know where this story is gonna go, but I love Curtis a lot and will need some time to find a niche plot that will do him some justice.

I hope you enjoyed. Comments, reblogs, and likes are sooooo appreciated.

#Curtis Everett #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #mechanic! farmhand! curtis x bartender! reader #mechanic farmhand curtis x bartender reader #mechanic! farmhand! curtis #mechanic farmhand curtis #mechanic curtis #farmhand curtis #outta nowhere AU #handiwork series #handiwork chapter 1 #shuffle with me Houston stranger #bartender reader #bartender! reader #old truck #snowpiercer #Chris Evans

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eliwashere · 10 months

Text

Can't Hear You

summary: König gets a radio from you in the middle of battle. You tell him your hearing aids got busted, and he runs. tags: könig x gn!reader, hoh!reader, angst (?), fluff, pining, canon-typical violence, no use of Y/N, slightly proofread word count: 2.9k words

fyi this is my first fic on here!

and i'm also aware that hoh ppl can't join the military but i just like the feelings

requests are open !

The ride is bumpy.

König’s sniper hood scratches the tip of his nose as the van moves along gravel, the vehicle shaking, the engine revving. The sweat-caked fabric scrapes against his lips, a familiar feeling, one that he’s gotten used to over the years here with Kortac. He leans on the wall of the vehicle, eyes scanning over his squad.

The mission had sent them to the middle of South East Asia, the humidity sticking uncomfortably to König’s skin. He hears the quiet murmurs of the squad, silently complaining about the heat. His eyes land on you, seated across from him. You have your hearing aids turned off, your eyes closed as you simply wait till the van stops or gets attacked.

Your colonel knows you like to take moments to yourself, to let the noise muffle out. Well, you’d told everyone on your first day, when you’d just been shifted from another base due to your battle-earned hearing loss.

Your first day, when you first met König.

===

König remembers it well.

He remembers his superiors introducing you to the team, taking an extra moment to specially mention that you were hard of hearing. It surprised him, though he didn’t let it show (he couldn't anyway). Usually, they’d let soldiers go if they lost something on the field, a limb, a sense. But he figured that maybe they had a reason to keep you around, and that intrigued him.

“Sometimes I take them off, at night or during down time,” you said, pointing to your hearing aids as the Kortac squad stared you down, whether it be to size you up or… other actions with other motives. You had clocked König in the crowd from a mile away, his head sticking up among the others like a tower in a field. He had a tilt in his head, which he held unnecessarily high. You could almost hear the whirring behind his eyes, the churning cogs in his brain, trying to figure you out.

“And so, if anyone would like to partner up with your new teammate here, it would be greatly appreciated,” your superior had said, and you almost sighed. Someone had to keep an eye out for you, in case there was a drill, or an alarm you couldn’t hear. It bothered you that you needed to be followed around, that you’d likely be assigned a caretaker, or god forbid, a roommate. You need privacy, everyone in this base needed privacy, and having to share that space with someone felt akin to an intrusion.

But of course, the military couldn’t take any chances.

When no one answered, König couldn’t say he was surprised. Nobody would want to follow someone around all day on the off chance that there was a danger to the base, and he figured that you wouldn’t want that either, especially not with total strangers.

“Alright, then I guess we’ll have to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Heads whipped back to König, who only looked at his teammates once before looking back at you. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he pitied you, like you were the kid that got picked last during a game, or maybe he just related to the silence that you were met with, all too familiar.

“Well, that’s settled then.”

===

The van came to a stop at the edge off the main gravel road, the hood of the vehicle poking into the forest. You turn your hearing aids back on, the soft hum of the world flooding back into your senses. The team filed out of the back of the van, dirt and rock crunching under your boots. König checked his rifle for the nth time, before looking over to you. You met his gaze, an unspoken understanding for you to stay close by him filtering between the two of you.

The squad started north not long after, towards the enemy base. König, as colonel, leads the team. His head is on a swivel, looking out for any stray enemy soldiers, or landmines and traps on the forest floor. He spares a half a second to glance at you, your rifle held tight in your hands, expression focused, almost unreadable. It’s the expression you wore whenever you were training with the team, the expression that engraved itself into König’s retinas during your first few days with them, with him.

===

To your luck, they still let you have your own quarters, but also to your luck, you had to spend every other moment out of your room with König. Protocol, you had heard him say, accent deep set into his voice. You hadn’t expected it, to be honest, for a man his stature and size to have that voice. By no means did you not like it, in fact, there was something mesmerising about it whenever he was out on the battlefield. Crazed, you would describe it, crackling, like radio static.

König never did hear your voice often, one of the many silent types in the team, him included. He’d figured he’d leave it alone, but it was rare to find someone that spoke less than he did. He found himself observing you most of the time, which he had a lot of with you.

He noticed that you spoke more with your actions than anything.

When you were tired, you’d stretch the muscles in your neck, sucking a breath in as it emits a satisfying pop.

When you were frustrated, you’d clench your jaw, or you’d press your tongue into your cheek. If it was the other teammates bothering you, especially with their volume, you’d turn off your hearing aids, which has made König chuckle on more than one occasion. You’d never hear it though, but you could see the creasing of his eyes, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

===

The base is fairly barren, though most of the people who are there are heavily armed by the looks of it. That means it’s easy for your team to pick them off without getting seen, but it means a longer process and a more distance between the team. König can’t help but worry when you weren’t near, your presence having been a constant in his life for months now. At base or at battle, you would be at his side. So, when he sees you more than ten feet away from him, he breathes in a little deeper.

All it takes is one mess up, one wrong move, and suddenly the base’s sirens go off, the enemy soldiers yelling and firing. On one hand, König’s annoyed, because he’s going to have to find out who messed up and come up with a way to set them straight, but he can’t deny the adrenaline that pumps through his veins as he guns down enemies like target practice. The colonel watches their bodies drop with a twisted sort of satisfaction, the chaos of the moment fueling his hands as he slams an enemy into the brick wall of the building, a sickening crack and choked wail emitting from the now limp body.

König is a soldier, has been for a long time, and this is his element, his work, his life.

The static from his radio brings him out of the moment, and he ducks behind a wall for cover as he brings the device closer to his face.

“König?”

Your voice rings in his ears, and it would’ve bloomed a warmth in his chest if it wasn’t for its shakiness, the uncertainty in your tone. He doesn’t even get time to answer before you speak again.

“They…they’re broken, König. My hearing aids,” you say over the radio, ragged breaths and stutters punctuating your words. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t answer, knowing you can’t hear it anyway. He could hardly stomach the fear in your voice. You’re never scared, at least you’ve never shown it like this. But not being able to hear on the battlefield, not knowing if someone is behind you, or if a grenade had landed nearby; it scared König more than it did you.

“Nor–northern building, second floor.”

It’s all the information König needs for him to start running, sprinting to you.

===

It took a while for König to open up to you, four months, if anyone was counting. But König didn’t have anyone to really compare your time to, because you were the first one to ever try.

It was late in the night, König remembers. He forgot why he was even up, likely due to a nightmare, or simply the inability to even fall asleep, but he found himself in the common room, sat on the couch with a cup of tea in hand, the type that was supposed to help with sleep. He took a sip, sniper hood draped over his lap, his face exposed. The tea was warm, soothing, and König sighs through his nose as the liquid down his throat.

Training had been rather rough that day, with most of the soldiers already fast asleep by the time it hit midnight (a rarity). So, König hadn’t expected anyone to walk in, until you did, half asleep, feet dragging across the floors. You hadn’t noticed him, and he watched you open the shared fridge, pulling out the milk carton.

König hadn’t even considered the fact that his hood was off, and made no move to put it on either. He simply watched as you poured yourself half a glass, drinking it till it was gone. Your hearing aids weren’t in, he noticed, just as he noticed everything else. The scrapes on your elbow from training, the mess your hair was in, the dark circles under your half-lidded eyes… you looking right at him.

You tilted your head, empty glass in hand, the other holding the milk carton. At first glance, you had no idea who he was. Perhaps it was the sleep eating away at your brain, or the fact that he was sat in the dark, none of the lights on in the common room. But the electric blue of his eyes was familiar, and you knew.

The first thing out your lips was a hurried apology, looking away in favour of returning the carton into the fridge, placing the empty glass in the sink. You knew König never took that mask off for anyone, so to see the face under it felt like a violation of sorts on your part.

“It’s fine,” König had said, only to realise that his words couldn’t reach you, words that he was surprised he said himself. ‘It’s fine’? Was it actually fine?

Was König actually fine that you saw his face?

That your brows raised ever so slightly, surprised.

That you took a second to scan his features, despite the darkness of the room.

That your apology was so quick and so soft, that he swore his heart stopped for just a moment.

As you washed the cup in the kitchen sink, a hand finds itself on your shoulder, and you turned to face König, who was still unmasked.

To the untrained eye, he would’ve looked absolutely terrifying. Scars slashed across his features, his expression set and serious, but you saw the hesitation in his eyes, which were somehow the most expressive part of his face, yet the one feature he didn't hide.

König stood back a little, preserving your respective personal spaces as he drew his hand back to his side. You saw his lips part for a moment, as if to say something. You looked up at him, had to, because he towered over you, but you saw the indecision in his body language, and you gave him a nod.

“I can read lips,” you reassured. König heard you loud and clear, and his eyes look back into yours as he swallowed, adam’s apple moving along his neck. He thought for a moment, about what he wanted to say to you. A hard decision, considering the fact that he wanted to say everything in that moment, but he had a tendency to swirl into German if he got too carried away. So, he kept it simple.

“I don’t mind,” he said, aloud. He didn’t want to go out of his way to mouth the words to you, it felt rather condescending. But you got the message anyway, shown by the upwards curve of your lips, the single breath that you let out through your nose.

König breathed in. It was shaky, and filled his lungs to the brim. It felt like how he’d feel post-battle. The feeling of sinking emotions, of deep breathing and a mouth running dry. The feeling of pupils dilated, of his hands flexing and clenching at his side because god did he touch your shoulder just now? He didn't mean to do that.

“Are you sure?” you asked, cocking your head to the side with that slight grin, almost like you were anticipating, excited by the prospect of him wanting to share this part of him with you, one that he keeps so heavily guarded at all times. The thought made your chest ache.

Your colonel nodded, wetting his lips.

“I trust you.”

===

König runs incredibly fast for a bulky 6’10 man with tactical gear on and a rifle in his hands.

Fuck stealth, fuck sneaking and scouting around corners because every second he's not running is a second that you're alone and in danger. If any enemies are in his way, he simply shoots, not caring to make sure that they’re dead, he just needs them out of his fucking way.

He kicks in the door to the northern building, the sound reverberating through the building that he’s sure that you can feel. The colonel steps over the limp body of an enemy soldier, the puddle of red pooling under their lifeless corpse, soaking their camo maroon. His throat tightens when he sees your hearing aids sitting in that pool of red, or what’s left of it. Blood seeps into the shattered plastic, finding its way into the cracks, into the torn wiring of the device.

Making his way up the second floor, König catches a glimpse of the barrel of your rifle sticking out from behind a wall. Reckless on your part, but he could hardly blame you. He steps towards the corner, unsure of how to approach without startling you. The last thing he wants is for you to shoot him when he’s already so close to you; just behind a brick wall.

===

König found out why the military kept you around.

The first ever mission you go on together was his favourite. Before that, he’d heard the other Kortac officers talk about you, about how you'd snipe down enemies like candles on a cake, how you could scan a room in a single swipe of the eyes, how you’d saved their asses from more traps than they knew possible to put in one room.

He’d believed them, of course, because he never wanted to assume anything more than the best from you. But seeing was believing, and god, he was never more certain of anything in his life.

It was like coming face to face with an angel from a religion he didn’t know existed. He watched your steady hands, the rise and fall of your chest that held whenever you fired. You hardly missed, but when you did you’d pay it back by taking two more enemies out. König almost missed the grenade that landed by his feet, to which you kicked away before he could even react.

The two of you had to get shrapnel removed from your legs that day, but König smiles whenever he sees those scars, a reminder of you and your magnetic monstrosity.

===

He was right, you do try to shoot him.

König is lucky that your reflexes are just as good when retracting your rifle. He stares down at you, hands splayed and raised at his sides, firearm hitting the hard concrete floor with a cloud of dust. You’ve backed yourself into a corner where you had the best vantage point, where no one could see you through any windows or balconies. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he sees you like this, reduced to frantic breaths and wide eyes.

“König,” you say, his callsign slicing through your breathlessness as you lower your weapon. The relief sends chills down your spine, stirring together with the adrenaline in your blood; a boiling broth of feelings. You had half-expected that König didn’t hear your radio distress call, that someone had gotten to him before you’d gotten through. It was an imaginable thought, that someone would be able to take down this hulking boulder of a man, but you thought the impossible.

You watch him lower his hands, reaching them out towards you instead. You push yourself from the corner, your back killing you as you grab onto his wrists. His hands clench around nothing, the muscles in his wrists flexing under your grip.

“König, I can’t… can’t hear you. I-I can’t–”

Without a second thought, König slips his arm from your hands and lifts his hood over his helmet.

“You’re safe,” he says aloud, making sure you have your eyes on him. Eye-black mixes with his sweat, a trail of ink running down his pale skin. He’d lowered himself to your eye-level, definitely straining his back. He holds onto your bicep, giving it a squeeze. The pressure is comforting, grounding you to reality, to König’s presence.

You nod, movements stuttered. König smiles, and so does his piercing blue eyes.

“You’re safe with me.”

#konig #cod x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #angst #fluff #konig x gn!reader #canon typical violence #first fic #cod x gn!reader #no use of y/n #someone pls teach me how to use this hellsite #like what do i include in an intro or masterlist post #send help

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agbpaints · 10 months

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"Test Vehicle One to Control, ready for final checks." Colonel Kinkaid said. Despite the prototypes immense size, the Mackie's cockpit was immensely cramped for all the diagnostic equipment that had been stuffed in it, as well as the bulky interface helmet he wore. Everything hummed with the quiet vibration of the fusion engine buried in shielding a few meters below his feet.

"Control to Test Vehicle One, T-minus 30 seconds, begin final checks. Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal." The voice of the officer in the control room responded back over the radio. "Weather forcast for Yakima Valley Proving Grounds is 21 degrees and sunny, perfect for making history. You're free to proceed to the test range, Colonel."

"Roger." Charles Kinkaid responded as he pressed forward on the foot pedals. Around him, the mech reacted- myomer bundles tensed and loosened, armor plates slid across each other, the great gyro in the mech's core joined the hum of the fusion reactor- and he felt it through the helmet as a second body. Slowly, the Mackie lifted one gargantuan foot and placed it down in front of the other. Then again and again. The mech baby's umbilicals detached and retracted as it cleared the gantry, leaving Kinkaid to walk freely. He turned and stepped out of the hanger and into the sun and history books.

#hobby #miniatures #mini painting #battletech #battlemech #mecha #mech #mech warrior #assault mech #mackie #proliferation cycle

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bleongambetta · 10 months

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Oil your sword, check your engines, and get ready to race! Deadly Kobold Racing is coming!

EDIT! The Minimal Viable Product of the game is available now on itch.io! Check it out here!

Deadly Kobold Racing is a kart racing board game built for quick one-off sessions, a legacy racing campaign, or to slot into your existing dungeon game. Players choose a racer, pick a track, and slam on the accelerator to take home the win! Use your hero abilities, track hazards, and a pile of chaotic items to dominate the opposition.

Deadly Kobold Racing will run on a one-time-buy seasonal release model that allows players to contribute to world-wide achievements that unlock new loadouts, characters, items, and more! At your own table, unlock Fans and get permanent equipment to chain together races, or just drop in a single race for a change of pace!

The Game At A Glance

All of the materials for this game will be available as print and play or in a digital format. Print out the race and both the racer card and mini for each of the racers.

Each player chooses a racer like Beins & Bufo below!

1) Name, team name, and flavor to introduce the character

2) HP: The number of hit points you have before you get spun out

3) Size: The weight of your vehicle

4) Gears: How many spaces you can move each turn (speed) and how many of those can be diagonal at each gear.

5) Stats: Your four stats, roll under these when you use them (the picture shows an old version! These will be more like D&D stats!)

6) Defenses: Your four defenses, turns a hit against you into a partial hit if the roll is under this

7) Abilities: Your two racer abilities. Includes how often they can be used, their effect, and whether it is an Action, Reaction, or Passive.

Rolls and Actions:

When you make a roll (from an Action, hazard, or otherwise), roll a d20 under your indicated Stat. If you roll under your Stat, that's a Hit!

If you have a target and roll under their indicated Defense, that hit becomes a Partial Hit.

If you roll exactly your stat, that's a Crit. Be sure to make an appropriate sound to your character (ex: a Wahoo! or a Ribbit!)

Play goes in turns with play order determined by the current track.

On your turn:

1) Move your current Gear's Speed forward. You may use Swerve to move diagonally instead of straight forward.

2) At any point during your movement, you may use an Action, resolving it as it requires. You may also use as many Free Actions as you would like.

3) If you enter a square with something in it, resolve that immediately as explained by the rules for common situations (ex: Crashing Into Walls, Jumping Ramps, or Picking Up items) or using the special track rules (ex: Entering Blood Portals, Bouncing on Crocs).

4) At the end of your turn when everything else is done, you may choose to shift your Gear up or down.

Items

As you move around the track, you'll sometimes pass over item chests. When you do, get an item by drawing a printed card or using [perchance link]. Some items will activate automatically, but most can be held and used like any other Ability. Unless the card says otherwise, assume that an item is a one-time use.

Events and World-Wide Play

Creating new stuff for Deadly Kobold Racing is easy! Racers require only a couple of stats and two abilities, items are extremely simple, and even tracks don't add a ton of complexity.

Because of this and a deep abiding love of Events, my intention is to continue to support Deadly Kobold Racing far beyond it's initial release. When an Event is launched, it will introduce some new Racer options (either loadouts that change an existing Racer or a whole new one), a track or race-style, and a handful of items. These themed Events will also introduce at least one world-wide achievement.

After each race, you may fill out a form that gives the results of your race. You'll be able to say who raced, who won, and check off whether certain events occurred. When an achievement is fulfilled, all players will unlock something new for the game! Additionally, when each Event ends, the results will have an effect on the world (ex: changing a Racer, giving a new loadout, altering a track, etc).

Down The Road

There's a lot of things to come that I'm excited about, but I don't want to let this post get too much longer. So just as a little treat for myself, here's some of what's to come!

*Long Term Play: Upgrade your character, get new cool equipment, and build a fan base that gives you bonuses!

*Campaign Play: Travel from track to track dealing with bandits, street racers, and explore the locations around the racetracks!

*Original Racers: Make your own Racer, including advice for using your other dungeon game's stats to inform your racer!

*Collabs: Play as characters from and inspired by indie ttrpgs, podcasts, and more!

SO WHEN IS IT?!?

As soon as I'm done with layout, a minimum viable product will drop! Following that, it's art for minis and races! I'm hoping this month!

What do you think? Excited? Confused? Are there collabs, racers, or other stuff you'd like to see? Let me know!

#ttrpg #ttrpg design #ttrpgs #ttrpgdesigntwitter #indie ttrpg #deadlykoboldracing #mario kart #dnd

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pathfinderunlocked · 3 days

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Biker Gang - CR12 Humanoid Troop

You ain't a soldier. You're a scumbag with a few paid skills. You're a thug, just like the rest of us.

Artwork is from Shadowrun, copyright FASA and Catalyst Game Labs.

This is a troop version of the CR 3 Chain-Wielding Biker stat block that I posted a few days ago. Note that a troop attack is a free action that happens at the end of a troop's turn, so it can use its molotov attack and its troop attack on the same round.

Biker Gang - CR 12

This gang of rough-looking, burly bikers is drowning the area in deafening noise from their engines. They're swinging metal chains, and wearing matching leather jackets.

XP 19,200 CN Medium humanoid (troop, human) Init +2 Senses Perception +13

DEFENSE

AC 28, touch 21, flat-footed 17 (+1 armor, +1 armor focus, +2 Dex, +9 dodge, +5 natural armor) hp 175 (13d8+117) Fort +15, Ref +8, Will +8 Defensive Abilities troop traits

OFFENSE

Speed 80 ft. Melee troop (6d8+8 plus debilitating injury) (see surrounding attack) Ranged molotov +11 touch (5d4 fire plus 5d4 fire one round later plus 10 fire splash (DC 18)) (10 ft. range increment) Space 40 ft.; Reach 5 ft. Special Attacks debilitating injury, surrounding attack

STATISTICS

Str 26, Dex 15, Con 23, Int 14, Wis 18, Cha 17 Base Atk +9; CMB +17 (+19 overrun); CMD 37 Feats Armor Focus, Dodge, Greater Overrun, Improved Overrun, Lightning Reflexes, Toughness Skills Craft (mechanical) +6, Disable Device +10, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (local) +9, Perception +13, Ride +22; Racial Bonuses +4 Intimidate, +4 Ride Languages Common SQ rowdy gang Gear flails (actually just 4 ft. metal chains), padded armor, molotov cocktails (function as alchemist's fire), motorcycles

EQUIPMENT ABILITIES

Insignia Jacket A biker gang's padded armor bears the insignia of the gang, and provides a a +2 circumstance bonus on Diplomacy and Intimidate checks to influence a person from that organization, similar to parade armor.

Molotov As a standard action, a biker gang can toss molotov cocktails at a target within 50 ft. This is a ranged touch attack which counts as a thrown splash weapon with a range increment of 10 ft. A target struck by this attack takes 5d4 fire damage, plus an additional 5d4 fire damage 1 round later. If desired, the target can use a full-round action to attempt to extinguish the flames before taking this additional damage. Extinguishing the flames requires a DC 15 Reflex save. Rolling on the ground provides the target a +2 bonus on the save. Leaping into a lake or magically extinguishing the flames automatically smothers the fire.

Adjacent targets (including the target, if the attack misses) take 10 fire splash damage, and can attempt a DC 18 Reflex save to halve the damage. The save DC is Dexterity-based.

Motorcycles A biker gang rides Large-sized motorcycles which give them an 80 ft. move speed. If a biker gang uses the Run action for multiple rounds in a row without changing direction, its speed increases to 160 ft. after the first round.

A motorcycle is treated as a mount in many ways, although a biker gang cannot dismount (if all of its members dismount, it ceases being a troop and no longer uses this stat block). Motorcycles do not have any actions of their own, and the biker gang must expend its own actions to control the vehicles. A biker gang is treated as mounted for all feats and effects unless otherwise noted.

For additional information on motorcycles, see the Chain-Wielding Biker stat block.

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Debilitating Injury (Ex) Whenever a biker gang deals troop attack damage to a foe, it can also debilitate the target of its attack, causing it to take a penalty for 1 round. A target that is immune to flanking or precision damage is immune to this ability. The biker gang can choose to apply any one of the following penalties when the damage is dealt.

Bewildered: The target becomes bewildered, taking a –2 penalty to AC. The target takes an additional –2 penalty to AC against all attacks made by the biker gang. Disoriented: The target takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls. In addition, the target takes an additional –2 penalty on all attack rolls it makes against the biker gang. Hampered: All of the target's speeds are reduced by half (to a minimum of 5 feet). In addition, the target cannot take a 5-foot step.

These penalties do not stack with themselves, but additional qualifying troop attacks extend the duration by 1 round. A creature cannot suffer from more than one penalty from this ability at a time. If a new penalty is applied, the old penalty immediately ends. Any form of healing applied to a target suffering from one of these penalties also removes the penalty.

Rowdy Gang (Ex) A biker gang's speed, motorcycles, coordination, and bravado grant the troop a +5 natural armor bonus and +8 dodge bonus to AC. The biker gang also gains an additional 2 hit points per hit die. These bonuses are already included in its statistics above.

Surrounding Attack (Ex) A biker gang's troop attack includes 3d6 sneak attack dice to represent the bikers surrounding their targets. The troop attack's damage dice is reduced by 3d6 against targets immune to flanking or precision damage.

#d&d #pathfinder 1e #humanoid #human #npc #rogue #troop

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amenders93 · 1 month

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Molly Goes Missing!

Later that night, Ginger was standing by the road when a large truck with red tail lights trundled past her. Then the vehicle stops in the middle of the road, the engine still running. Ginger can hear squawking coming from inside. He hesitates, then slowly walks toward the back; she just had to see what was inside. Just as suspicious hen reaches the door, it flies open to reveal her worst nightmare - Mrs. Tweedy holding an axe! Ginger lets out a large gasp; the wicked witch of a lady snarls at the chicken speaking in a distorted voice: "Your daughter is going to be delicious!" Just as Mrs. Tweedy swings her axe, Ginger screamed.

Ginger woke up with a start and found herself in bed, relieved that it was just a dream - a horrible nightmare. Her scream wakes up Rocky, causing him to fall out of bed. It's so cute how they share a bed; after all they're married now. 🐓❤️🐔 Our island king picks himself up groggily but then perks up when he notices something towards Molly's bedroom. Our island queen gets the same idea; her next thought was of their daughter. Rocky and Ginger ran to their princess's bedroom to check up on her, but instead finds her bed empty and the window wide open. Molly was gone! 😬

With no time to lose, our island king and queen search the island in a panic. All the chickens got up to help them too. Torches flashed as they looked into dark corners and behind bushes to see if Molly was there. Ginger suddenly notices something and lets out a gasp. Rocky notices this and following his wife's gaze, he sees what she sees - a gap in the leafy screen they had all made earlier. Ginger runs through it to the water's edge, with Rocky following in pursuit. They look across to the mainland to see that a raft had been left on the other side and there were footprints heading up the bank. To make matters worse, those footprints were Molly-sized. In despair, Ginger cries to her husband that their daughter has left the island! They just have to find her! 😱

Meanwhile, Molly was on the mainland, having made her way from the raft to some dark woods nearby. It was pitch black and our island princess was feeling very scared so she tries to make herself feel better by saying to herself over and over, "I'm big and I'm brave". She could always hear her mother calling her a big, brave girl so that's what our spunky young princess can tell herself. Suddenly, Molly hears a rustling noise in the bushes. Scared more than ever, she runs out of the woods and finds herself in the middle of a road. She looks up to see two bright lights heading straight towards her. Since she's never been off the island, she doesn't have the sense of get out of the way. Instead she ponders what they could be. A huge truck suddenly appeared and a chicken dived out of the bushes towards her. Just as the truck was about to mow Molly down, the chicken rugby-tackled her and they both landed on the side of the road with a crash, the huge truck whooshing past them. They were safe. Phew. That was a close call. 😮‍💨

Molly looks up to see her rescuer - a cheeky-looking teenage chicken, just a few years older than her. The chicken panted, asking Molly if she had a death wish for standing in the middle of the road where she could easily been mowed down. At first Molly sternly says no and picks herself up, but then gets confused about the concept of a death wish. The chicken looks Molly up and down, then asks her if it's a little late for her to be out, calling her a baby girl. Molly defiantly says she's not a baby girl, but is instead a big, brave girl. Then our spunky princess turns right around and asks the chicken if it's a bit late for her to be out too. That clearly got the chicken's attention; she likes this spunk. Then the two girls introduce themselves to each other; we learn that the teenage chicken's name is Frizzle.

Frizzle notices the truck stopping at a gas station. She takes a few steps forward and then looks back at Molly, asking her if she's coming along. Molly is puzzled until Frizzle mentions that the truck is the happy chicken truck that she saw earlier that day. Her eyes grew wide with excitement. Frizzle does the cheesy grin and the thumbs-up sign from the chicken logo on the side of the truck; Molly smiles and does the same sign. Frizzle then excitedly says that wherever the truck's going, it's going to be cooler than a penguin's toenails. Molly realizes that she really didn't know much about the outside world like what a toenail is or even what a penguin is. Frizzle shakes her head, states that her new friend has so much to learn and starts to walk off towards the truck. Molly looks back, thought for a moment and then starts to follow her new friend Frizzle. Well at least Molly won't be alone anymore.

Meanwhile, Rocky, Ginger, Mac, Bunty, Babs and Fowler had jumped into log canoes and set off across the water. As Rocky and Ginger paddled to the mainland, our island king tried to explain to his queen why he had been telling Molly all about his past adventures. He explains that Molly just found his poster so he told his little princess a story, adding on that it wasn't such a big deal. But Ginger just paddles furiously, berating her husband that it was perfectly sensible for him to encourage their daughter to be a Lone-Free Ranger. Rocky berates his wife right back that if she had it her way, Molly would still be in her shell. Angrier than before, Ginger mutters that it would be better for Molly to be in her shell than out on the open road. At this point, I’m pretty sure that Rocky is just glad he’s sitting behind Ginger in the canoe so he couldn't see her face. 😬

Back on the mainland, as Molly and Frizzle walked along, Frizzle explained how the happy chicken truck had picked up lots of chickens from her farm, but she was too small to go with them. But now she had escaped and was making her own to way to Fun-Land Farms. Our frizz ball thought it sounded so brilliant - a chicken gets to sit in a bucket. After all, what chicken doesn't want to have their own bucket? Although Molly wasn't quite sure why, she wanted a bucket like Frizzle does. Then as typical teenagers or almost teens, Molly and Frizzle both agreed on the concept of themselves is that they want to go where they to go, whenever they want with nobody telling them what they can and can't do. And with that, Frizzle grins at Molly saying, "Me and you, kidda - all the way!" Molly grins back at this. This sounds like the beginning of a new and beautiful friendship. 🐥🤝🐥

The girls soon arrive at the gas station. They see the happy chicken truck and hear lots of excited clucking sounds coming from inside. Delighted, Frizzle comments that it's like a party in the vehicle. At that moment, the driver came out of the gas station. Molly froze, terrified at seeing a creature she had never seen before. She questions Frizzle about this creature; her new friend is surprised that this chicken has never seen a human before. Frizzle comments that there were humans back at her farm and that they were stupid. Humans are basically like waiting staff since they fed and tidied up after the chickens. If only she knew the ugly truth. 😔

Then our little frizz ball walks up to the truck driver and gets his attention. The driver turns, spotting both Frizzle and Molly. Then he goes to get them. Frizzle does a thumbs-up to Molly, asking her if she wants to go on the adventure of a lifetime as the driver picks her up. Our island princess hesitates and looks behind her, thinking about her parents, trying to make up her mind. But before she could decide, the driver grabs her too and he puts our poor girls in the back of the truck amongst the sea of chattering chickens.

Luckily, Rocky, Ginger and the gang had just arrived at the edge of the woods and spotted the truck in the distance. They watched in horror as the driver picked up Frizzle, then Molly, and put them both inside the truck! Our island king and queen have just witnessed their precious princess getting kidnapped and is about to be taken to her doom! Ginger screams to her daughter, but her voice is drowned out by the noise of the truck driving off. They only have one choice right now - FOLLOW THAT TRUCK!!!!!! 😱😱😱😱

#chicken run #chicken run 2 #chicken run dawn of the nugget #dawn of the nugget #chicken run 2 spoilers #ginger and rocky #rocky and ginger #rocky #ginger #molly

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ami-journal · 1 year

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Vehicle Engine Number Check |How to find the Engine number for a used vehicle?

Are you thinking of buying a used vehicle? Are you worried about the authenticity of the vehicle? The engine is the beating heart of every vehicle and also a crucial identifying factor that can be used to figure out if your used car is authentic or not. If your engine number doesn’t match as per the given paperwork, you have a problem. This article will teach you how to discover your vehicle's Engine Number.

Get engine number check using CarDotCheck's used car reports that are affordable and detailed. Find out information about your used car before making a purchase.

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littlenightma · 2 years

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Reader Meeting Unmasked Jesse Cromeans

The local cafe you worked at was experiencing a change shortage. It had gotten so severe that you and your coworkers had to tell customers you could no longer accept anything above twenty dollar bills and that, according to your manager, was unacceptable.

So here you were waiting in line that seemed never-ending, holding a bag that very well could have payed your rent for the next few months and then some. What it must be like not needing to live pay check to pay check.

You then sensed a presence behind you. The air felt too thick to breath as a shadow fell over yours, weighing heavily on your chest, pushing down until your lungs felt as if they were on the verge of collapsing.

You fidgeted slightly, eyes averting to the floor as you try to find anything to distract yourself and distracted you were as two large, polished shoes came into view, standing only inches from yours. No doubt they belonged to a man judging by the size. You swore that you could feel his hot breath skimming the exposed skin of your neck. Suddenly the open space of the bank felt too cramped.

By the grace of God, it was finally your turn. You walked up to the counter, grateful for any kind of distance between you and the stranger, and sat the bag down.

“I need an exchange done, please. Two hundred in fives and four hundred in tens.”

The woman worked efficiently, or maybe she was keen enough to know you were uncomfortable, because as soon as she left, she was back, handing you a much heavier bag and a receipt.

“Thank you.”

The moment of relief came fleetingly. Upon turning around to leave, you became face to chest with the owner of the shoes and he looked exactly like the kind of man who would wear them. He was the walking epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His aura radiated pitch black; depth without an end; winter without a sun.

You didn’t stay to ogle him. Your feet were already headed for the door, eager to leave, although not eager enough. The stranger turned his head to glance at your departing figure with a sneer.

Your car was, thankfully, not that far away. You happily climbed in, turned the engine on, and a little too carelessly threw the bag of bills on your passenger seat. Just as you were locking your seatbelt, you spotted the dark stranger exiting the bank. His strides were long and determined; confident.

Or arrogant, you thought.

He was dressed in black from head to toe, from his well-pressed suit down to a pair of crease-free leather gloves. The man was dangerous. It was not an assumption or an opinion. It was pure, undeniable fact. No one dressed like that was merely out doing casual business.

You watched as he went to put something in the pocket of his suit and watched as that something fell right onto the sidewalk.

You wanted to pretend that you didn’t notice the envelope fall to the ground. You wanted to get back to work and forget about the man and his sneers. You wanted to, for once, not be the good, well-behaved person your parents raised you to be, but the universe was intending for a cruel day. You begrudgingly stepped out of your vehicle but not before you slammed your head into the steering wheel as punishment.

It felt heavy in your hands when you picked it up, and the thick, rectangular outline blantantly told you what was inside it. You were forced to jog in order to catch up to the man before he made it to his car. He must have heard your footsteps for he stopped mid-stride, turning around just as you held up the envelope.

“You dropped this.”

His eyes crinkled around the edges when you handed him the envelope, surveying both you and it from behind his shades. You expected at least a small look of gratitude, but the stern, intimidating expression never wavered, even as he took the envelope from your hands.

An image of you being pinned against the concrete flashed in your mind. A knife to your throat, a hand twisted in your hair and a clean shaven head lowering to meet your open mouth as you try to scream.

He reached into his pants pocket to pull out a phone, sliding it open with a flick of his thumb. He typed into it rapidly before showing you the screen.

THANK YOU

“You’re welcome.”

His way of communicating was odd. Could he not speak or did he not want to?

Back in your car, you made sure to lock your doors before anything else. Your own bag of money still laid innocently in your passenger’s seat. You gave it a searing glare.

“You are so not worth the effort.”

The man watched you speed out of the parking lot, thumbing over the envelope he purposely dropped in order to lure you into his trap. He expected you to take it and run. He wanted you to take it and run just so he would have a reason to hunt you down. The fact that you didn’t made things less fun, but as disappointed as he was, he still found himself intrigued by your honesty.

It wasn’t as if you couldn’t use the extra funds. The jeans and shirt you wore had more stains and holes than the backroads of LA and your car had to be nearing the end of its life.

He could tell he intimidated you. Even so, you still chose to bring him the envelope when you did not need to. If your intentions were not to steal the money, nothing had forced you to personally return it either.

He sent a single text to Spann.

FOUND A NEW PIGGY - J

Spann was instant in her reply.

Need dinner prepared? - S

The man could still smell your fear, but with it lingered something else, something that he wanted to use against you. Since you were so nice to return his money, he figured he should at least make a house call in order to properly thank you.

NO. THIS ONE IS SPECIAL - J

#jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #slasher x reader #slasher community #laid to rest (2009)#jesse cromeans #chromeskull

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