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joelmillerisapunk · 4 months ago

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Watermelon Sugar

Dbf/neighbor/daddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,522

Summary: At the annual neighborhood barbecue, you can't ignore the sparks flying between you and Joel Miller, your dad's best friend. What starts as playful flirting leads to a secret, steamy encounter that leaves you both wanting more.

Warnings: 18+, age gap, unprotected p in v, m! oral recieving, soft but dom daddy!Joel, Joel calls reader baby and sunflower, use of daddy, light choking, hair pulling, and spanking. And a lil aftercare. Reader has hair and wears a bikini.

Notes: I've been slow over here and a little inactive due to adulting ughhh, but thank you all for your love and support 🥰 I truly appreciate all of you! tysm @joelslegalwhre & @evolnoomym beta reading for me. Smooching you both forever. Divider by @saradika-graphics

You stand in front of your mirror, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The annual neighborhood barbecue is a tradition you've always looked forward to, but this year, it feels different. Ever since you can remember, Joel Miller has been a fixture in your life—a man who could make you laugh with a single look and who always seemed to know when you needed a friend. But lately, the glances you exchange feel charged with something new, something you're not quite ready to name.

As you dab on a bit of perfume, you catch your dad's voice in the hallway, calling out that he's heading over to Joel's early to help set up.

“Be there soon!” You yell back.

—

As you step out of your front door, the warm summer breeze brushes against your skin, carrying with it the mouth-watering aroma of grilled meat and freshly cooked burgers from the neighborhood barbecue, hosted by none other than Joel Miller - your dad's best friend and neighbor, the one youve had a crush on forever. You can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach as you walk towards his house, knowing that he will be there waiting for you.

Your heart races as you approach the familiar scene; tables filled with food and drinks, kids running around playing games, and adults chatting animatedly under the shade of trees. You spot Joel standing near the grill, his broad shoulders moving up and down as he expertly flips burgers on the sizzling hot coals. His tanned skin glistens with sweat from all his hard work preparing for today's event.

"Hey there!" Your dad calls out when he sees you approaching. "Just in time! We were just about to start eating."

You take a moment to admire Joel's form; how strong yet gentle he looks handling those flaming hot coals like they were nothing more than pebbles in a stream; how those little black shorts sit on his body just right, how that white baggy shirt hangs over his big broad shoulders hugging his thick neck just right. Damn it. Why does he have to look so good?

As you draw closer, the heat from the grill is almost as intense as the warmth that spreads through you at the sight of Joel. His head looks up for a moment as he sees you approach, a wide grin spreading across his face.

You take a plate from the stack and start to serve yourself, trying to keep your hands from shaking. The array of food is impressive: potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh fruit, and an assortment of desserts that would make any food lover weak in the knees. But your focus is on the grill, where Joel is now plating a burger that looks like a work of art.

"Here ya go, sunflower," he says. The nickname, worn in like a favorite pair of jeans from years of use, still makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. "I added a secret sauce.�� He whispers, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Tell me if it's as good as I think it is.” He winks, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, and you can't help but feel a flutter in your chest.

As you take the burger from Joel, your fingers touch briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You try to brush it off as static, but deep down, you know it's more than that. You take a bite of the burger, and the flavors explode on your tongue. The sauce is tangy and sweet, perfectly complementing the grilled meat's smoky flavor.

"Mmm," you moan, closing your eyes in appreciation. "This is incredible."

Joel's eyes light up with pride. "M’glad you like it." His eyes follow every movement of your lips, every chew, every swallow. It's as if he's savoring every moment of this interaction.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest, telling yourself it's just appreciation for a good meal. But deep down, you know it's more than that. Joel has always been kind to you, always looked out for you, but now, as your eyes lock in a silent understanding, you sense something different. Something forbidden.

"So, you really like the sauce?" he inquires, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine despite the summer heat.

You nod eagerly, your taste buds still dancing from the burst of flavors. "Mhmmm! What’s in it?”

Joel chuckles. "That's top-secret information, darlin', Ain't gettin’ it outta me that easy."

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you walk behind the grill and up to Joel. “How about we make a deal? You give me the secret sauce recipe, and I'll show you something I know you wanna see.”

"Alright, you've got my attention."

Slowly, with deliberate grace, you begin to lift your shirt just enough for him to catch sight of the vibrant pattern of your bikini top beneath—your fingers deftly move towards one side strap of this bikini top; teasingly pulling at it as if contemplating revealing even more than intended

"Fuck - " he breathes out, quickly shaking his head to compose himself before grabbing your arm to stop you. "Your dad's right there, the hell you doin'?”

With a mischievous wink, you let the strap snap back into place, leaving just enough to his imagination. "Maybe later then," you tease “If you wanna see the rest come find me Mr. Miller.”

Joel watches you step back and saunter away towards the pool, your words hanging in the air like a challenge. The playful sway of your hips is hypnotic, and he can't help but stare as you make your way over to the pool. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of desire that's clouding his judgment. "Christ," he mutters under his breath, turning his attention back to the grill, but the sizzle of the meat does little to drown out the sound of your laughter carried in the breeze.

He glances over at you, watching as you settle by the pool, your legs dangling in the water. You're a vision, your hair catching the sunlight, your smile bright and inviting. He tries to focus on the task at hand, serving people, and making small talk, but his eyes keep drifting back to you. He can't help it; you're like a magnet, drawing him in against his better judgment.

He watches as you reach for a slice of watermelon on your plate, its vibrant red color promising a burst of sweetness. The juicy fruit is cool and refreshing in the summer heat. As you take a bite, the watermelon's juice is so abundant that it escapes your lips, trickling down your chin.

In an attempt to catch the runaway droplets, you quickly bring your hand up to your face. But in your haste, another stream of juice breaks free, trailing a path down your neck and disappearing into the valley between your breasts. The sensation of the cool liquid against your heated skin makes you gasp softly, making Joel groan under his breath. He watches you with an intensity that borders on feral. His grip tightens around the spatula he's holding as he takes in the sight of you, flustered and trying to contain the watermelon's sweet rebellion. His mind races with images he knows he shouldn't entertain—images of him licking away those sticky trails left by nature's candy on your skin; his hands following suit to ensure not a single drop is wasted; his lips tasting every inch they cover until there's no trace of watermelon left.

His body reacts before he can stop it—a sudden twitch in his pants that thankfully goes unnoticed by everyone else due to his strategically placed apron tied securely around his waist. He takes a deep breath to regain control over his runaway thoughts while simultaneously adjusting himself discreetly under the cover of fabric.

Taking the opportunity to step away from the grill, Joel grabs a cold Corona from the cooler, the bottle sweating as much as he is. He approaches you but stops for a split second to watch you. The sight of you lying there, your body still glistening with juices, makes his heart race.

"Thought ya might be thirsty," he says, handing you the beer, his voice deeper than usual.

You look up as he approaches, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Took you long enough," you say, a teasing lilt in your voice as you take the beer and sip it.

He sits down beside you, his heart pounding in his chest. "You're playin’ with fire, y’know that sweetheart?" he warns.

You just smirk, leaning back in your chair, your gaze locked onto his like a little puppy.

"You keep lookin' at me like that, and we're gonna have a problem," Joel says, his voice a low rumble.

"What if I want a problem?"

His intake of breath is sharp, and you can see the effect your words have on him. His jaw clenches, and there's a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—something that tells you he's teetering on the edge of control. You watch as Joel quickly gets up from his chair and walks away. He rounds the corner of the house before disappearing.

You wait for a moment before you put your beer down beside the one he left and casually stand up to follow him.

Around the side of the house, away from prying eyes, Joel is leaning against the wall, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The moment he sees you, his eyes darken.

"What are we doin' here?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close the distance between you, your body brushing against his. "Something we both want," you reply confidently, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.

He captures your wrist, his grip firm but gentle. "This is wrong," he murmurs, though the conviction in his voice is wavering.

"Does it feel wrong?" You challenge, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through his shirt.

For a moment, he doesn't respond, his gaze dropping to your lips. Then, with a groan of surrender, he closes the gap between you, his mouth crashing onto yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve as if he's memorizing you by touch. You respond with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. The taste of him, a mix of beer and the sweet tang of barbeque sauce, drives you wild.

Suddenly, Joel breaks the kiss, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "We can't do this here," he says, glancing around to make sure no one has followed you.

You nod, your breath hitching as you realize the gravity of what you're about to do. "Then take me somewhere we can," you whisper back, your hand slipping into his.

With a groan that sounds almost pained, Joel takes a step back, pulling you with him as he leads you away from the party and towards the detached garage at the end of the driveway. His grip on your hand is firm, almost possessive, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

The inside of the garage is cool and dimly lit compared to the bright sunlight outside. It's filled with tools and gardening equipment—a testimony to Joel's many hobbies. The door lightly closes shut behind you, sealing out the world and the sounds of the party. The air is thick with the scent of oil and wood, a heady mixture that only adds to the intoxicating atmosphere. Joel wastes no time, pressing you against the cool metal of a parked truck, his body a solid wall of heat against yours.

"You've been drivin’ me crazy all day," he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Teasin’ me like that in front of everyone."

You can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, and it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

His lips crash onto yours once again, demanding and dominant. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. You can feel his stubble rough against your skin.

"You're playin’ a dangerous game, baby," he murmurs against your mouth.

He spins you around roughly, pressing your chest against the truck's hood. You can feel the cool metal against your overheated skin. His hands tangle in your hair, giving it a gentle tug that sends a jolt of pleasure and pain straight to your core.

"Tell me whatcha want," he commands, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

"You," you gasp, arching your back to press closer to him. "I want you, Joel."

He rewards you with a slow grind of his hips against yours, the friction making you moan. "You want me to fuck ya, sunflower?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," you whimper, your hands gripping the edge of the hood for support. "Please, Joel."

He chuckles darkly, his lips tracing a path down the side of your neck. "Beggin’ already? I thought you liked playin’ hard to get." You feel his teeth nip at your skin as he speaks. Your body trembles with need, your breathing coming out in short bursts. You don't understand why this feels so right, but you don't question it anymore. "Stay still," he orders, his voice firm.

You force yourself to comply, your body trembling with anticipation. He takes his time, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow patterns on your skin. When he finally reaches beneath the fabric of your bikini top to palm your breast, you can't help but let out a moan of relief.

"That's it," he encourages, his thumb circling your nipple. "Let me hear how much you want this."

His other hand slides down your body, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. You're already so wet for him, and when his fingers brush against your clit, you can't help but buck your hips.

"Fuck, you're so responsive," he groans, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You're panting now, desperate for release. But he denies you, pulling his hand away just as you're about to tip over the edge. "Not yet," he says, his voice stern. "You don't come till I tell ya to."

He spins you around once again, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of you. "I wanna see you baby," he says, his hands tugging at your shorts. "All of you."

You help him undress you, your hands shaking with need. Once you're standing before him in nothing but your bikini, he takes a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful," he says, his voice filled with awe. "Now, get on your knees."

You do as he says, the concrete floor cool against your skin. You hear the zip of his pants and then them falling to the ground along with his boxers as he steps forward, his hands fisting in your hair guiding you to his cock. "Open up," he commands, his voice gruff. "Show me how much you want this."

You part your lips obediently, taking him into your mouth. He's big and hard, and the taste of him is intoxicating. You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, eliciting a groan from above and then take him entirely until he's hitting the back of your throat.

"That's it, sunflower," he praises, his hips thrusting gently. "Just like that."

You look up at him, your eyes locking onto his as you take him deeper. His grip on your hair tightens, and you can tell he's struggling to last. "Fuck, you look so good with my cock in your mouth," he says, his voice strained.

Your hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense under your touch as you bob your head, taking him deeper with each stroke. The salty taste of his arousal mixes with the lingering sweetness of the watermelon, creating a heady combination that has you moaning around his length.

"Feels so damn good baby," Joel groans, his voice echoing in the quiet garage. His eyes are locked on yours, filled with a raw, unfiltered desire that sends a thrill through you. You feel his thighs quiver under your hands, and you know he's close. But before he can reach his peak, he gently pulls you away, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop.

"Up," he commands as he pulls you to your feet, his hands roaming your body once again. He unties your bikini top, letting it fall to the ground, and then he's cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples. "Tell me you want this," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me you want me to fuck you baby."

"I want it," you assure him, your voice trembling with need. "I want you to fuck me, Joel."

With a growl, he lifts you onto the hood of the truck and with a hunger in his eyes that matches your own, Joel hooks his fingers into the sides of your bikini bottoms, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly begins to peel them away. The fabric slides down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to him. He tosses the bikini bottoms aside, his hands returning to grip your thighs, spreading them apart as he steps closer.

"You're so fuckin' wet for me," he murmurs approvingly, his fingers tracing the seam of your cunt. You can feel yourself growing warm at his words, but you don't have time to feel self-conscious because he's leaning in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as his fingers continue their exploration.

One finger circles your entrance before pushing inside, making you gasp into the kiss. He adds another finger, stretching you deliciously as he establishes a rhythm that has you writhing on the hood of the truck. His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing it in time with his thrusting fingers.

"Joel," you moan, your hands fisting in his shirt as pleasure builds within you. "Please..."

He chuckles against your mouth, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. "Please, what?" he teases, even as he adds another finger, filling you even more. "Tell me what you need."

"I need... I need you inside me," you pant out, barely able to form coherent thoughts with the way he's playing your body like a finely tuned instrument.

Joel's eyes darken at your words, and he withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty and needy.

You ready for me, sunflower?" he asks, positioning himself at your entrance.

You nod eagerly, your body aching for him. "Yes, please."

With a groan, he pushes forward, filling you in one slow, deliberate thrust. The sensation of being stretched and filled by him is overwhelming, and you can't help but cry out at the intensity of it. He stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"Fuck," he groans. "You feel even better than I imagined."

As the initial shock of your union subsides, Joel begins to move, his hips setting a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Each thrust is a sweet invasion, a claim that leaves you breathless and begging for more.

"Look at me," Joel commands, his voice gruff with need. You lock eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze searing into your soul. "Who do you belong to?" he asks, his pace increasing with each word.

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know the answer he wants, the answer that feels right in this moment. "You," you gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I belong to you, Daddy."

A shudder runs through Joel at the sound of the word Daddy falling from your lips. "That's right," he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you with renewed vigor. "You're mine, sunflower. Say it again."

"I'm yours, Daddy," you moan louder this time, surrendering yourself to him completely.

The words, once taboo, now feel like a secret language between the two of you. With each thrust, Joel reaffirms his claim on you, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chases his release.

"Harder," you beg, your nails digging into the flesh of his back. "I need more."

He responds with a growl, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the garage, mingling with your cries of pleasure and his grunts of exertion. "Is this what ya need?" he pants, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

"Yes," you cry out, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. "More... I need all of you."

In response to your plea, Joel reaches up and wraps his hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your heart race and your head spin. The sensation of being restrained by him sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It's a thrilling mix of fear and excitement that heightens the pleasure coursing through your body.

"You like that baby?" he rasps out, his eyes searching yours for confirmation even as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. "You like it when Daddy chokes you while he fucks your pretty little cunt?"

You nod as much as his grip will allow, your breath coming in short gasps as stars dance behind your closed eyelids. "Yes," you manage to choke out.

The world around you seems to blur into a haze of pleasure and desire as Joel continues to claim your body with an almost feral intensity. His grip on your throat remains firm, yet gentle enough not to cause harm, serving as a potent reminder of his control over you. The sensation of his fingers wrapped around your neck only adds to the overwhelming tide of ecstasy that's building within you.

"Come on, sunflower, come for me." Joel grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Wanna feel this pretty little pussy squeezin’ Daddy's cock.”

His words are the final push you need. With a cry that echoes off the walls of the garage, your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, causing your entire body to convulse with the force of it. Your inner muscles clamp down around Joel's shaft, milking him as he continues to drive into you with powerful thrusts.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Joel isn't done with you yet. He pulls out, leaving you feeling momentarily empty, but before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach with a strength that leaves you breathless. Your body is still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax as he roughly pulls you up, positioning himself behind you.

"You think we're done?" he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I ain't even close to being finished with this sexy body of yours."

His hands grip your hips tightly as he lines himself up with your entrance once again. With one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely and causing you to cry out in a mix of pleasure and surprise. The new angle allows him to go even deeper than before, hitting spots that make your toes curl and your breath hitch in your throat.

"Fuck," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he sets a brutal pace that has the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the garage. "You feel so fuckin' good like this."

One hand releases its grip on your hip and tangles in your hair instead, pulling it just hard enough to tilt your head back and expose the long line of your neck. His lips find the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, kissing and nipping at it as he continues to pound into you from behind.

"Such a good girl," he praises between thrusts, his voice a low rumble against your skin. "Takin’ Daddy's cock so well.”

His other hand comes down on the curve of your ass with a sharp smack that makes you gasp and push back against him for more. The sting of the slap only adds to the overwhelming sensation of fullness as he drives into you again and again. Each smack is followed by a soothing caress that sends shivers down your spine and makes a heat pool low in your belly once more.

"You like it when I spank this naughty little ass?" Joel asks wickedly as his hand comes down on the other cheek, this time eliciting another moan from deep within you. "Answer me, baby girl."

"Yes," you manage to gasp out between thrusts, your body shaking under his relentless assault . "I love it when you spank me, Daddy.”

The sound of your admission seems to spur Joel on even more. His thrusts become wilder, more uncontrolled, as he chases his own release. The hand in your hair tightens, pulling your head back further, forcing you to arch your back and take him even deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel another orgasm building within you, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

"That's it, baby girl," Joel growls, his voice ragged with desire. "Come for me one more time."

His words are all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge once more. Your body convulses beneath him, your inner walls clamping down around his shaft as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you.

Joel lets out a guttural groan as he feels your orgasm milk his own from him. His hips stutter against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he finds his release. You can feel the warmth of his seed filling you, marking you his in the most primal way possible.

For a moment, the only sounds in the garage are the ragged gasps of your breathing and the pounding of your hearts. Slowly, Joel releases his grip on your hair and hip, his hands gently caressing the skin he'd so roughly manhandled just moments before.

"You okay, sunflower?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with concern as he carefully withdraws from your body.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah," you manage to say, your voice shaky but filled with a satisfaction that you've never felt before. "I'm good. More than good."

Joel chuckles softly, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck. "You're more than good, baby girl. You're incredible."

He helps you to your feet, his arms wrapping around you to steady you when your legs threaten to give out beneath you. His eyes scan your body, taking in the marks he's left on your skin—the redness where his fingers had gripped you, the faint handprint on your ass, the love bites that dot your neck and shoulders.

"Let's get ya cleaned up," he says, his tone gentle as he leads you over to an old sink in the corner of the garage. He turns on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before wetting a clean rag and using it to gently wipe away the evidence of what just happend.

You watch him, your heart swelling with emotion as you take in the tenderness of his actions. This is a side of Joel you've never seen before—a side that's caring and attentive, a side that makes you feel cherished and loved.

Once he's satisfied that you're clean, he helps you dress, his hands lingering on your skin with each article of clothing he helps you into. When you're fully clothed again, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're so beautiful, sunflower," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "Inside and out."

The warmth of Joel's embrace and the tenderness in his voice make your heart flutter with a mixture of joy and trepidation. You're standing in a moment that feels both surreal and more real than anything you've ever experienced.

"Joel," you say, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your encounter, "what does this mean for us now?"

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes with an intensity that takes your breath away. "It means," he begins, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently, "that I can't ignore these feelings any longer. It means that I want to be with you, truly be with you, in every sense of the word."

Your heart leaps at his words, but reality quickly sets in. "But what about my dad? What about everything else?"

Joel nods, understanding the weight of your concerns. "I know it's complicated," he admits. "And I don't have all the answers right now. But I do know that I can't go back to pretending there's nothing between us, that you're just my best friend's daughter.”

You smile at that, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "So... where do we go from here?"

"First," he says with a grin, "we get back to that barbecue before your dad sends out a search party." He gives you one last lingering kiss before stepping back to survey the scene. "Then we figure this out together—away from pryin’ eyes and family gatherings."

With a nod of agreement, you follow Joel out of the garage, your hand securely tucked in his. The world outside seems different now—brighter, more vibrant, as if your encounter has somehow altered your perception of reality. The sounds of laughter and music from the barbecue drift towards you, a stark contrast to the intimate silence you've just left behind.

As you approach the party, Joel gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We'll take this one step at a time," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the noise of the gathering. "Okay?"

You nod, grateful for his presence and his promise. Together, you reenter the party, blending seamlessly into the crowd as if nothing has changed. But everything has changed, and you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the secret you now share with Joel.

Throughout the afternoon, you catch each other's eyes from across the yard, exchanging knowing smiles, and subtle touches whenever possible. Your dad, none the wiser, chats happily with neighbors and friends, his laughter mingling with the sounds of summer.

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm golden glow over the neighborhood, you find yourself standing next to Joel by the grill once more. He hands you another beer, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent gesture of affection.

"So," he says, nudging you gently with his elbow, "how's that secret sauce treatin ya?"

You can't help but chuckle, the memory of your earlier exchange bringing a flush to your cheeks. "I think it's safe to say it's the best sauce I've ever had," you reply with a wink, taking a sip of your beer to hide your smile.

Joel laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, I don't know about that," he teases. "I might have to give you a few more samples before you can make such a bold claim.”

But before you can retort, your dad saunters over to join you by the grill. He claps Joel on the back affectionately and turns to address both of you.

"You two look like you're up to no good," he says with a smile. "What are you plotting over here?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words—does he suspect something?—but Joel seems unfazed as he throws an arm around your dad's shoulders with brotherly affection.

"Just discussing some top-secret barbecue business," Joel replies smoothly, giving your dad a reassuring squeeze before releasing him and turning back to tend to the grill once more.

—

Eventually, as the crowd begins to thin and the night grows deeper, your dad announces that it's time to start cleaning up. You join in, helping to gather plates and cups and fold tables, all the while feeling Joel's gaze on you.

Once the last of the guests have said their goodbyes and the yard is returned to its peaceful state, your dad claps Joel on the back, thanking him for another successful barbecue. "You outdid yourself this year, Joel," he says with a smile.

Joel returns the smile, though his eyes flicker to you for a brief moment. "Always happy to host," he replies, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of emotion that passes between you two.

Your dad turns to you, his eyes tired but content. "I'm gonna head home, kiddo. You coming, or are you gonna help Joel clean up?"

You glance at Joel, who gives you a small nod, understanding the silent question in your eyes. "I'll stay and help out, Dad," you say, your voice calm and composed. "You go get some rest."

Your dad chuckles, shaking his head. "Always the responsible one, just like your mother. Alright, I'll see you in the morning."

With a final wave, your dad heads off down the street, leaving you and Joel alone under the starlit sky. The moment his figure disappears into the distance, the air between you seems to crackle with anticipation.

Joel steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and intimate.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'm good. Just... processing everything, I guess."

He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "We don't have to figure it all out tonight," he says softly. "But I want you to know what happened between us... it wasn't a one-time thing for me."

Your heart swells at his words, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "It wasn't for me, either," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around you fading into insignificance. Then, with a shared look of understanding, you both begin to tidy up the remaining mess, working side by side in comfortable silence.

When the last dish is washed and put away, and the yard is once again pristine, Joel takes your hand, leading you to the porch swing. The night is quiet now, save for the distant sound of a dog barking and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

You sit down next to him, the swing creaking slightly under your combined weight. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both look up at the stars.

As you sit there, nestled under Joel's arm, the stars twinkle above, casting a serene glow over the quiet neighborhood. You feel a sense of peace and contentment that you've never experienced before, a feeling of being exactly where you're meant to be.

"It's beautiful tonight," you murmur, your head resting against Joel's shoulder.

“It sure is," he agrees, his voice a soft rumble. But when you tilt your head back to look at him, you realize he's not looking at the stars. He's looking at you. His eyes trace the contours of your face, drinking in every detail as if to memorize you, to etch this moment into his memory forever. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, a silent indication of the smile he wears in his heart, a smile that reaches out to you, enveloping you in its embrace.

"Joel..." you begin, unsure of what to say next. There are a million thoughts swirling in your head, a million questions about what the future holds for the two of you.

He seems to sense your unease and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll figure it out, sunflower," he assures you again.

You take a deep breath, letting the comforting weight of Joel's arm around you anchor you to the present moment. The uncertainty of the future looms ahead, but for now, you choose to bask in the warmth of his affection.

"I know we will," you reply.

Joel's smile is soft. "That's my girl," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Brave and beautiful.”

The gentle sway of the porch swing and the rhythmic chorus of crickets lull you into a state of peaceful tranquility. Your eyelids grow heavy, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, you find yourself succumbing to the pull of sleep.

Joel notices your drowsy state and smiles softly, his eyes reflecting a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. "Come on, sunflower," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your weary senses. "Let's get you inside." With surprising gentleness, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stands from the swing. You let out a sleepy protest but quickly settle against him, your head resting on his shoulder as he carries you into the house.

He navigates through the darkened rooms with ease, making his way to his bedroom. He lays you down on the bed, pulling back the covers so he can tuck you in.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he moves around the room, turning off lights and setting an alarm for the morning. When he's satisfied that everything is in order, he begins to undress, shedding his clothes until he's standing in nothing but his boxers. The sight of him—all hard planes and toned muscles—makes your breath hitch in your throat despite your sleepy state.

Joel catches your gaze and chuckles softly. "Like what ya see?" he teases gently as he slips into bed beside you.

You nod, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and desire. "Always," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's eyes darken at your confession, but he makes no move to act on the attraction that still crackles between you. Instead, he reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Get some sleep, sunflower," he says softly, his fingers tracing a gentle path down the side of your face.

You nod again, snuggling deeper into the covers as Joel turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The bed shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, the heat of his body a comforting presence in the cool room.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel Joel's arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, and he lulls you into a deep, peaceful slumber. In the quiet darkness of the night, with Joel's protective embrace surrounding you, you feel safe and cherished. The worries and uncertainties of the future fade into the background, replaced by a sense of contentment and belonging and you know this is exactly where you were meant to be.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 6 months ago

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The Corn Cob (The Surprise, Part 14)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, discussion of AFAB body parts, pregnancy times, blood, medical/miscarriage scare, invasive medical exams (hello, again, Pap smear), vague references to past abuse, happy ending Word count: 2.4k

Summary: When you find blood in your underwear, you panic. Emily races to you, both working against time to make sure the baby is okay.

Week 24: The Corn Cob

You’d thought it was going to be a normal day, a good day even. It was Friday. Emily wasn’t in the field. She’d even promised to be home on time. You’d just returned from the grocery store with ingredients to cook dinner, when you had to run to the bathroom. You were always running to the bathroom these days. Little corn cob didn’t leave a whole lot of room for your bladder.

But when you pulled down your pants, a flash of red made your stomach drop. You sat down heavily on the toilet, head reeling. You felt like you might be sick. You’d had cramps today, but that wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t supposed to be unusual. But the blood? This was way too much blood to be spotting. You looked down at your stomach, placing your hands on either side, and hoping, praying, with everything you had in you, that the little one was okay. But you hadn’t felt her kick all day. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Your breath was caught in your throat, and you couldn’t seem to pull it in. You pressed your hands to your face and noticed that you were crying, that your hands were shaking. You didn’t think you’d ever been so scared, so helpless.

You pulled out your phone, letting out a sob as your home screen came to life–one of the sonogram photos of the baby’s blurry little face. It was dialing, and suddenly you were even more scared to tell Emily. What if you had lost the baby? You didn’t think you’d ever forgive yourself if you lost her. How would Emily?

“Hi, honey!” Her voice was so bright, so happy. You felt paralyzed with fear.

You sucked in a shaky breath, and Emily’s tone changed immediately.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Emily, I’m bleeding!” you gasped, tears streaming down your face as you wrapped your arms around your baby bump.

“What!?”

You could hear her voice shift, could hear movement, and you knew she was coming. You felt the wave of panic subside just a little. Not much, but a little. Emily was coming. She was on her way. You needed her, and she was coming.

“What do you mean bleeding?!” she asked, frantic. “Bleeding where!?”

“Out my vagina!” you cried, sucking in big gulps of air that didn’t seem to ever get to your lungs. You felt lightheaded.

“Okay,” she said, and you could tell she was trying her best to stay calm, even as her voice shook, even as you knew she had to be panicking herself. “Okay. Honey? I need you to hang up and call Dr. Delgado.”

“I’m scared, Em…” Your voice was high and desperate, and tears dripped from your face.

Her voice changed again, and you heard the ambient noise of traffic. She would be here soon. She was coming. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. Alright? I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. But I need you to call Dr. Delgado. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you.

“Okay. That’s good, honey. You’re doing great. Now you hang up and you call her. And then you can call me back right after, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” Emily added. And it was only then that you could really hear the fear in her voice, the absolute terror.

“I love you, too,” you told her, trying to stop a fresh wave of tears.

All the panic Emily’s voice had kept at bay came flooding back in after she hung up, and your fingers were shaky as you scrolled through your contacts to find Dr. Delgado.

The conversation was quick, no-nonsense. Just questions and answers. But as soon as Dr. Delgado determined that the bleeding wasn’t light, she got serious.

“Y/N, you need to go to the emergency room as soon as possible,” she told you.

“Is this…” You gulped. “Am I miscarrying?” You were afraid to ask, afraid to hear the answer.

“It’s rare in the second trimester, but I can’t say for sure. It’s imperative for you to get to the hospital as soon as you can.”

“Okay. I will.” You were suddenly even more scared than you’d been before.

“Give me a call once you’ve been seen,” she told you.

“Thanks, Dr. Delgado.”

Trying to pull yourself together, you got up, running to your closet for a new pair of underwear, adhering so many pads to it that you might as well have been wearing a diaper. You rang Emily on speakerphone, and she picked up immediately.

“What’d she say?!”

“I need to go to the hospital,” you told her, stumbling as you pulled on a pair of maternity leggings.

Emily exhaled shakily. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Meet me in the parking lot. Are you okay? Can you make it down there?”

“Mmhm.” You sniffed. “How’d you get here so fast?!”

“I took a Bureau SUV. Morgan’s driving. We’ve got the lights and sirens going.”

“Please hurry,” you said, quiet and scared, locking the door behind you and sprinting to the elevator.

“I’m coming, baby. Just a little bit longer. It’s gonna be okay.”

Emily quite literally leapt out of the passenger side of the SUV as it screeched into the parking lot. Her eyes were wide and alarmed as she ran to you, nearly tackling you in a hug. You were so relieved to see her you thought your knees might buckle under you. Seeing her triggered a fresh wave of tears, and she cupped your face, wiping them away.

“It’s alright, honey. I’m here.” She led you to the back of the SUV, never letting go of your arm, never removing her hand from your back where she held you steady. Then, slamming the door, she sprinted to the other side, jumping in the backseat with you.

“Drive,” she told Morgan.

“Jesus Christ, Derek!” you exclaimed, as you peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road, swerving and moving at speeds that would be illegal in any other situation.

“Sorry, mama,” he called back. “Gotta get you to the hospital.”

“Just close your eyes, honey,” Emily said, kissing the side of your head, and pulling you protectively into her.

Emily scanned you up and down, one of her hands resting on your baby bump. You were trying very hard to keep from crying.

“Are you in pain?” she asked quietly.

You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Cramps, but I didn’t think anything of it. I should’ve known something was wrong. I just– I thought she was sleepy today. I haven’t felt her move. God, I’m so stupid! What if she’s–” You sucked in a shaky breath.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Emily said, placing her hands on either side of your face. “You’re spiraling. We don’t know that anything’s wrong. Let’s not worry until we have to.”

But she was worried, too. You could tell. Your eyes were swimming. “I’m so scared, Em,” you squeaked.

“Me too,” she sighed, pressing her forehead to yours.

At the ER, you thought Emily might actually assault a health professional to get you seen faster. Your anxiety came out in tears. Emily’s anxiety came out in her being absolutely, terrifyingly authoritative. You kept tugging on her sleeve, hissing, “Em, don’t be mean! They’re just doing their jobs!”

But you had to hand it to her. She got shit done. You were in an OBGYN exam room with a doctor–”A doctor, not a nurse!” Emily insisted–within fifteen minutes of your arrival. Which, in your experience, was nearly unheard of.

The doctor sat and rolled over to the exam table. You sat, holding Emily’s hand tightly, already in the hospital gown one of the nurses had given. “Thank you so much,” you’d said, trying to make up for Emily’s brashness. He held a clipboard, reading the scribbled intake notes the nurse had taken.

“Alright, Ms… Y/L/N?”

You nodded.

“I’m Dr. Booker. I see you’ve had some vaginal bleeding today. Would you classify it as a lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you replied, voice shaky.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Any pain, nausea, fever?”

“Umm, just some cramps. Nothing really bad.”

He scribbled a bit more.

“Okay.” He set the clipboard down and slapped his hands on his thighs, rolling even closer to you. “Mind if I take a look?”

You gulped and nodded, tears threatening at your eyes again, as you watched him roll to the nearby cabinets and pull out a speculum. Emily squeezed your hand, watching you sympathetically. She knew that you did, in fact, mind if he took a look. This was your worst nightmare as far as doctor visits went. Not only did someone have to touch you, look at you, shove something inside of you, but it was a man. And you hadn’t had any time at all to emotionally prepare.

You trembled. Emily pressed her lips to your ear as the doctor pulled on gloves. “Do you want me to ask for a woman?” She was so quiet you could barely hear her.

You shook your head, staring hard at the ceiling. “I just want to know what’s wrong,” you whispered. “As fast as possible.”

She kissed your forehead, smoothing your hair as you lay back. You breathed deeply, trying to prepare yourself for the cold metal, the pressure, the feeling of being violated that somehow never went away, no matter how many times you had to do this stupid examination. But this time, it was for your baby. And you would do anything, anything at all, to protect your child.

So you braced yourself against the speculum, sucking in a shaky breath as the doctor forced it inside of you, seemingly oblivious to the ordeal he was facilitating. Emily held your hand tight in one of hers, the other gently rubbing the side of your face, catching any tears that fell.

She hated this. She hated this for you. But she loved you so deeply, so desperately for being so brave. She’d always known that you were the one for her, had known from the very beginning, but she knew even more now, in this moment, that she couldn’t have found a better person to have a child with. You were mothering, she realized. Right now, on this exam table, choking back tears, trying hard not to write away from the doctor’s hands inside of you. You were being the baby’s mom. And she loved you so much for it.

“Ah!” the doctor exclaimed, rolling away for a moment and leaving the speculum inside you. You felt your heart drop. You couldn’t breathe as you waited for him to roll back, to finish his thought. Emily’s leg bounced so fast and so hard that the sound seemed to take over the whole room.

The doctor rolled back with a petri dish, and you flinched as he reached back inside you. You felt a pinch and gasped, then grimaced as the doctor placed a small stalk of tissue into the petri dish and shut the lid.

“Cervical polyp,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. The little buggers just bleed a lot.”

“Oh, thank god.” Emily let out a shaky sigh, bending forward and pressing her hand over her mouth.

“So the baby’s okay?” you asked, terrified to hear the answer.

“Healthy as a horse,” he nodded. “I can do an ultrasound if it’ll make you feel better.”

You both nodded vigorously.

“What about Y/N?” Emily pressed. “Is she okay? What is a… cervical polyp?”

He waved her off. “She’s completely fine. Cervical polyps are just irregular growths. Very common. Almost always benign.”

“Almost!?” Emily exclaimed, sitting up rail straight, eyebrows furrowed.

“We’ll send it off for testing just to be sure, but 99% of them are benign.”

Your body shook with relief, but you couldn’t quite let the anxiety go. Not until you’d seen the baby.

Emily bit her nails as the doctor squirted the gel on your belly, rubbing the wand over your baby bump.

You let out a relieved sob as the baby’s head came into view, and Emily planted kiss after kiss on your cheek. The sound of the heartbeat filled the room, and you and Emily pressed your heads together, both weepy, both more relieved than perhaps you’d ever been.

“All’s well, ladies,” he said, removing his gloves and handing you a paper towel to wipe off the gel. “It’s been a pleasure. A nurse will bring your discharge papers by. You might experience some cramping, and the bleeding won’t stop right away. But it should slow and stop within the next 24 hours.”

“Thank you so much,” Emily said, rising to shake his hand. She was all charm now that you and the baby were okay.

But, even still, she did not let her hands leave you even once as you walked into the waiting room, Derek wrapping his wide arms around both of you.

“I’m not gonna lie, mama, you had me worried,” he said, squeezing your hand. He left to get the car, and you and Emily made your way outside to wait for him.

“Jesus Christ,” Emily mumbled shakily, her arm around your waist to steady you. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”

You frowned at her. “You’ve literally been held hostage. You had to fake your own death.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, pulling you into her chest and resting her chin on your head. “And the thought of losing you or the little guy is way worse than either of those things.”

Emily held your face between her hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead before melding her lips with yours. You sighed into her, the anxiety and panic of the day rolling off of you.

You jumped at the sound of a car horn. Derek smirked, rolling down the window. “I swear, you two can’t go two minutes without being all over each other.”

You blushed, and Emily flipped him off, but you were both loose and happy with relief. You let Emily wrap you in her arms in the backseat, knowing that she’d need that for a while–to hold you close, protectively, to reassure herself that you were safe.

You knew you’d get home and lay down and she’d get you your heating pad, and then she’d pull your head into her chest, lace her legs with yours. And you’d feel like nothing bad in the world could touch you, not in Emily’s arms.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hurt/comfort #emily prentiss fluff

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casualaruanienjoyer · 1 month ago

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Right haven't done one of those is so long buuuut....

What would be the favorite food of these AOT characters?

Armin: he strikes me as a fish guy, someone who enjoys carp dinner perhaps? Or maybe crab cakes? Something light, maybe even caught fresh. Well, it has to be, because Annie probably hates the smell of fish. He needs to be very careful with how he cooks it!

Annie: do I have to say this?? SWEET PASTRIES! Of any kind!! But she'a fond of jam donuts with powder sugar on top. She can eat an endless amount! No, for real, the bakeries can't keep up with her anymore.

Mikasa: Soup! She loves how warm and familiar it feels to her. It's like eating a hug, and she can always try new combinations of ingredients for it. She also likes to feed everyone who visits, even if they are hungry or not. You go to Mikasa's place? You eat soup!

Eren: he's a bit of a strange one, but there's just something about nuggets and fries that just works. Every day. Every time. Beige food is Eren food.

Jean: he's a fancy guy, so obviously... stake! Delicious juicy stake, and we can't forget about the wine! Only the finest! Until he spills it over himself... every time.

Reiner: the first thing that came to mind was mashed potatoes with meatballs and sweet tomato sauce. A very barebone recipe that just hits the right spot for him! Something that makes him feel at home. I bet he cries every time he has it too.

Connie: spicy food!! Of any kind! Maybe Indian, maybe Mexican? Doesn't matter! The only important thing is for his tongue to be ON FIRE!

Sasha: anything. She's a living, breathing food trashcan! But if she had to pick, perhaps any kind of game meat, wild animals that she hunted herself.

Pieck: She's all about pasta, any form, any shape. However, her favorite seems to be anything coated in copious amounts of Pesto!

Gabi: she's that kid that just LOVES sour candies. The ones that are so sour they make your eyes water. She likes pranking Reiner with them and watching him suffer.

Falco: he doesn't usually admit it, but he loves a good strawberry shortcake. Sometimes, when Annie buys some for herself, she'd also get Falco a slice. It's their little secret.

Zeke: this man will absolutely obliterate a burger. The taller, the better. Sides? Hell yes, add some fries and some corn on the cob and this man is SOLD. What's that? Unlimited refils on the drinks? You bet this man will do his best to make the most of his money!! People often have to physically pull him away from the drinks machines.

Yelena: Sushi, particularly sashimi. Simple, elegant food. She will kill someone for it if she needs to. So please, never take sashimi away from her. Ever.

Onyankopon: my dude can COOK, he's absolutely amazing at it, there isn't a single person who hasn't tried his cooking. He struggles to pick favorites, though he does really enjoy a good goat curry with rice, veggies and a delicious spicy sauce on top.

Levi: good old fashioned tea cakes. Obviously! Although not often, he does really enjoy snacking on them, especially when he enjoys a warm cup of tea on rainy days.

Hange: pizza!! So many different kinds it's almost impossible for her to pick!! Veggie?? Meat feast?? Italian?? Or why not ALL OF THEM AT ONCE!

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ranticore · 4 months ago

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Cuinn POVs... 2!

meeting ilya. he seems nice!

The warm spring breeze blew in across the Amha steppe and rocked the new bowers above the walled village of Kosa, rousing Cuinn from his nest. There was a damp softness in the air that foretold a light misty rain but no great showers or thunderstorms. In his home flock he had dreaded the turning season, no matter how he preferred the warmth; the snow was gone for another few months and his feathers would become stark and painfully visible again.

Old fears and vulnerabilities were not the providence of a king. He rose from the nest and wove it as the sun struggled to pierce the clouds, twisting the branches back into a neat circle. Mikalai would call later, he’d promised. Cuinn would trust no other promises, and only Mikalai could spur him into neatening his nest. Only Mikalai could even be permitted to see his nest so close without being chased away or dropped off the tower.

The flock below rose like loose tea leaves in a cup, calling to one another for positioning. One of the annoying cobs touched down briefly on the perch that projected from the mouth of Cuinn’s bower, rocking the structure, and Cuinn was forced to emerge to put some order on the fliers. The warp was light, more a suggestion than a dragging current, and he was carried nicely by it with very little weft to tug him off course.

The flock pulled close around him, the youngsters calling out their news. Newcomers, they said. Humans and harpies both had arrived from the south. One spoke of a large wheeled cage, in which a trio of new harpies had been perched for the journey. Odd. Could they not fly? Or were they imprisoned, mistreated by their falconers? It was always the most likely possibility.

He didn’t bother to wonder if they had a king. No human-raised harpies had kings, aside from his own ragged little flock. Still, though, as he turned into the weft and banked on a wingtip to follow his flock’s directions, the commotion at the gates of Kosa resolved into a sharper image. One fly-by was enough to spot the strange vehicle, pulled by a pair of horses. The bars partially obscured the shapes of harpies inside.

The humans waiting at the gate with their three other carts were in discussion with the lord of the gate. Cuinn’s low pass elicited gratifying yells of alarm. They were impressed with his size and ferocity. Whether or not their harpy captives would be was another question, and one about which he cared far more.

He swung up into the sky again on the warp and landed on one of the wall watchtowers, his talons curling around the perch pole that had been nailed up only a couple of weeks before, under the lord’s new inclusivity objective. The rest of the flock circled in slow rings, each trying to catch a glimpse through the bars before rising again to settle on one of the lesser perches around the tower, on the battlements and roofs of buildings around the gate.

The gates creaked open. As the heavy vehicle made its very slow, earthbound crawl up to the keep, Cuinn alighted upon it. Ignoring the stupid humans’ cries of alarm and their arm-waving efforts to spook him off, he lowered himself to his belly on the roof of the cage and looked down over the edge, his head tilted so that one large pale eye could look inside.

The three harpies did not appear overly mistreated or upset. They perched on padded bars and huddled together companionably. They were two small cobs and a pen, of a kind Cuinn had not seen before on the steppe; small straight beaks with exaggerated, heart-shaped nares, useless little claws that would never be useful for killing prey emerging from their white feathery feet. Their colours were good, at least, an interesting addition to Cuinn’s flock; white underneath and dark on top. A cob and a pen were grey with an interesting iridescence, while the remaining cob was a soft and light brown, though as he turned his head to blink sleepily at Cuinn he revealed large, beautiful brown eyes dark enough to hide the pupil.

The three roused quickly at the brown one’s chirp of surprise. Alarm flitted across their neat little faces and the pen burst into a whirlwind of activity, calling for human aid with a low, round-edged voice, so different from the piercing cries of Cuinn’s eagle-kind.

Alerted, the humans sent one of their own to climb onto the vehicle roof to dislodge Cuinn with a long rake for gathering straw. He ripped it from their hand and cast it away, then lifted into the air to avoid another strike.

Mikalai had mentioned diversifying the flock, so Cuinn could only conclude that this was what he had meant. He flew ahead, beating hard to rise into the warp so that it would bear him easily to the keep. There, he found Mikalai with Lord Andrei and Yuriy, all three in discussion in the old mews ring.

Cuinn landed on one of the perching blocks and shrieked for Mikalai’s attention.

It was always gratifying to see Mikalai drop his silly talks with other humans to come to speak to Cuinn.

“They are message-senders from the south, a town called Mira,” Mikalai said, not bothering to ask what Cuinn wanted. That much was obvious. “They’re interested in sharing falconry resources with us; not wealthy enough to maintain a full eyrie of their own. The attacks of the crawling beasts have grown frequent there. So we have taken on some of their messengers who will speed communication between there and here. The birds are faster on the flat than anyone else.”

Cuinn nudged his beak against the crook of Mikalai’s neck, denting the man's skin with its point. There was surely no human more sensible than Mikalai, but this felt odd. Permanently stationing strange harpies here was one thing, but for a village with no wealth? No way of prospering? They didn’t deserve the aid of Cuinn’s flock.

Mriya swept over the mews, her voice happily announcing the arrival of the first human representatives from Mira. They arrived on horseback, banners flying above them, and to Andrei they presented a gift offering of nicely woven cloth patterned with geometric shapes, pleasingly hard-edged. They had nothing for Cuinn, though he did stare pointedly at them until their horses began to prance nervously, and Mikalai’s placating hand on his breast was required to make Cuinn avert his eyes.

“They were unsure about bringing their birds here,” Mikalai murmured, leaning closer to Cuinn’s face. Cuinn opened a winglet to listen as Mikalai dropped his voice. “They have never worked with a king before, or a flock that gets free run of the village. They’ll need time to adjust.”

Cuinn hissed disparagingly under his breath. Well, the humans being insufficiently deferential would be easily fixed by a display of might, but truly it wouldn’t matter. As long as they understood that any harpy brought here was his subject, they would have no quarrel.

Presently, the cage rolled up across the lawn to the mews. The three harpies inside were fully awake now, still pressed together as they peered out at their new surroundings, and their new king. The cage front slid back and, with a look of doubt about this odd practice, the handler gestured at the harpies and let them have their freedom.

The pen burst out first; the largest of the three, she had taken a customary dominant role over the cobs. She landed on the roof of one of the old nesthouses, cooing nervously. The grey cob followed. Cuinn was pleased and proud to see that his new subjects were indeed very fast on the flat, their pointed wings slicing through the weft with precision.

As the brown cob emerged he instead made a beeline for his handler’s shoulder-pad, his pretty brown eyes alighting on Cuinn with shy curiosity. He, like the others, wore a leather harness with a scroll case on the back, though it was empty.

Cuinn puffed out his feathers at the cob, a preamble to a threat, just to ensure the newcomer didn’t get any wild ideas about his place in the flock. The cob pulled in his feathers and appeared to shrink, revealing his light and fine form under the clean brown and white markings. He did not challenge Cuinn and closed his winglets, though his eyes continued to linger curiously.

Mikalai and the humans sorted out the newcomers’ accommodation. Messenger harpies would need to be quickly accessible for the humans in both villages, so they would be stationed relatively near the keep. Cuinn watched from a distance this time as the bowers were made ready, and the messenger trio settled in. He watched their food be brought out; a steaming grain mash with nuts and seeds, not a scrap of meat in sight.

“They call the pen Strelka, the grey cob Lexei, and the brown is Ilya,” Mikalai murmured into Cuinn’s ear. “They were not human-raised.”

That explained the appropriate de-escalation shown by Ilya. He knew how to behave appropriately around creatures other than humans, and wouldn’t have to be taught, as all of Cuinn’s human-reared subjects had. But these pigeonkind harpies had likely never seen a king of Cuinn’s type, accustomed to their own kind. If they had heard any wild rumours about Cuinn, they did not show it.

Over the next few days the new harpies were shy but not shut-ins, exploring the hybrid skyline of Kosa with their swift and neat flight. A few mornings later they started carrying messages, and one would always be gone for the day, at the other village, before winging back rapidly through the sky to arrive that evening. Another of the three would be sent out in their place. In this way, only two were at Kosa at a time, and it appeared three had been chosen to ensure safe redundancy.

Soon, their usefulness was proven. Only four days after their arrival, Ilya came darting through the air to the messenger station, where he sat and rang the bell until someone came to accept his message. The call for battle came up seconds later, and the swirling mass of Cuinn’s flock rose into the night. Half went south to the other village, which was still too destitute for Cuinn himself to visit, though he was reassured by Mikalai that the small village size meant that only a half measure of harpies could protect it.

Cuinn alighted on the roof of the messenger tower to watch his harpies fly off, and looked in to see Ilya still panting after his sprint through the strong weave, the open message-scroll unrolled under his fluffy white feet. His human handler was speaking words of praise to him, holding up a cup of water for him to drink from.

Cuinn let himself into the tower through the tall arches. He wanted to see more of Ilya, whose delicate features had been fascinating to him since the messengers’ arrival. Ilya glanced sideways at him and chirred in surprise, while the handler jumped and took a step closer to Ilya with visible nerves. The humans from the other village were not comfortable around Cuinn and showed it, giving him an unnecessarily wide berth. They were not accustomed to harpies who rivalled themselves in size.

Cuinn hissed softly at the human, warning him not to attempt to get between him and Ilya again. Ilya was Cuinn’s subject, after all, not the human’s. The hiss worked, for once, and Cuinn was able to extend his neck to look more closely at Ilya. He was undoubtedly pretty, a rare thing in the flock, with his clean colour blocks and almost pastel brown beside the white, his little pink claws poking out from the white feathers.

Cuinn’s body knew what he wanted before he did; he desired to nudge closer into Ilya’s clean white breast feathers. He remembered Salmon Scale Flash and Midnight Stars, rare beauties from his home flock. Tiercels. And what king was complete without tiercels of his own? He’d never entertained the idea with regards to the human-reared harpies in Kosa, deeming them overgrown chicks with bad attitudes and muddy feathers, but Ilya was not like them. In fact, he preened under Cuinn’s attention, fluffing up his throat feathers.

His voice, finally raised in speech, was heavily accented, but the soft low tone was gorgeous to the ear, like a brush of down. “Hello, Ice Storm over Orra,” he said. “I often see you watching me. You are just as striking in life as I was told you would be. More, even.”

“Do you like my village?” Cuinn said, his voice a sibilant hiss beside the rich tones of Ilya. He had never taken a tiercel before, though he had been taken as one, of course. Thunder Strike on the Ama had not bothered with preamble conversation, he had simply descended from above to snatch Cuinn out of his ragged nest.

“Very impressive,” Ilya said. “Ours is not so prosperous. We have no walls to protect the groundlings and the eyries are bare. Here is so much better. If only I could stay.”

The human had relaxed, seeing the conversation. It was not one he could follow so he had started sweeping away bedding-straw from the messenger nests, paying no more attention to the harpies.

“With my flock, and my protection,” Cuinn said, hopping down off the rampart to stand by Ilya’s perching pole, so that they were eye-level, “your village will soon be prosperous, as well, and then it will be my village also. Kosa is already the envy of all flocks. It will draw even greater envy with you in it.” It was somewhat clumsy, but, for a first attempt, not horrible. Or so Cuinn hoped. He could see Ilya become receptive, his eyes lidding with relaxed curiosity,

“What do you mean by that?” Ilya cooed, extending a winglet to cover his face as if in embarrassment, or shyness. “I’m only a messenger.”

“You are a great beauty,” Cuinn said forcefully. Ilya chirred with delight and covered his face entirely, his feathers rising.

Enough preamble. Awkward as it might have been, the deed was done. Cuinn was satisfied he had made his intentions clear. He hopped onto the perch, into the cramped space that remained between it and the roof, and seized Ilya by one ankle.

lya’s eyes widened and the look in his dark eyes was one of challenge, not resistance. But the human yelled, and kept yelling as Cuinn launched off the perch and into the night sky, Ilya dragged in his wake like a piece of prey to be taken to Cuinn’s bower and enjoyed at his leisure.

Cuinn had killed and carried bigger and heavier beasts. He was a white dart wheeling into the weft that swirled around his spire, blatant in the night sky, and many of his flock followed his progress from their own perches and bowers. He flitted through the round opening and cast Ilya down onto his nest.

Ilya crouched there, his wings half-spread so the feathers softly cupped the air. Now was no time to immediately declare him Cuinn's; there were protocols to follow, offers to be made. Cuinn had to prove himself capable of providing.

He stalked around the nest for a moment, rummaging through his ramshackle pile of belongings, and emerged with something he hoped would match Ilya’s beauty; a golden egg from the keep he had gotten from Andrei once, which opened into two halves so that small objects could be stored inside. It was the gift that had marked Cuinn's acceptance of the lord's rule over the groundlings of Kosa; not a rival, but an equal.

The metal surface was shaped into swirls and flowers, with little gems winking as they turned. He hopped back to Ilya and placed the egg beside him, opening it up to display the rich, deep indigo blue of the velvet inside. It was a rare colour to find outside human villages, and inside them as well, given its signifier of wealth.

Ilya watched the blue fabric with wide eyes. His particular shade of powdery brown looked very good beside it, standing out against the white down and sheep fleece that lined the nest.

Cuinn placed the other half on the other side of Ilya, to frame him.

Natural law dictated that tiercels remain in the nest to be spoiled, so it was where Ilya stayed. Until morning, anyway, when the bell requesting Cuinn's attention rang in the dawn light. Cuinn lifted from his nest, leaving Ilya dead asleep, and spiralled down to Mikalai at the rooftop base of his spire.

"Is he there? Yes? Unharmed?" Mikalai sighed loudly, his hands planted on his broad hips. "They're not going to like this. Ilya has to work tomorrow after his rest day."

"The Miran dovekeepers want to know what you did with Ilya," Mikalai said, in a tone suggesting he didn't need to guess what Cuinn had done. "They're not happy about one of our flock attacking theirs."

Cuinn nudged into Mikalai's side affectionately. He could not explain the laws of the world to a human who could not experience them, but Mikalai seemed to understand this. Cuinn indicated the spire and his bower, where Ilya slept.

Cuinn snorted, blowing back Mikalai's hair. It wouldn't do to have a tiercel work at all, no matter how many rest days he had. The remainder of his life would be a rest day.

"No, look," Mikalai sighed, tugging at one of Cuinn's mane feathers to show he meant business. "We can't have a freeloader here, and he's not ours to keep. He belongs to Mira and the handlers, and his own flock."

Cuinn shook his head.

He didn't budge on the topic, even as Ilya emerged later that day to visit the messenger tower, where his dinner was waiting. He flew down and gave a little start to find himself accompanied by Cuinn, who shadowed him down to the platter of pigeon-feed waiting for him. The human handler was there and at the sight of his wayward charge he gave a great exclamation and darted forward to check Ilya's ankles where Cuinn had grabbed him.

Nobody was allowed to touch Cuinn's tiercel but himself, and when the human came too close he was there, slashing with his own massive talons to get the man away.

Ilya chirped, watching over Cuinn's spread wing as the human cradled the bleeding gashes on his forearm. Ilya was not put off at all by the sight of the blood, or Cuinn's defensive fury. In fact it seemed to please him.

Cuinn hissed at the handler sharply and lashed out again. He hooked his talons in the man's coat and dragged him towards the ramparts, prepared to toss him over, but at that moment the inner door burst open and Yuriy was there. He took stock of the situation, Cuinn's foot crushing the handler's shoulder, and darted towards Ilya. Only this would convince Cuinn to release the man, whom Yuriy immediately seized and pulled through the door to safety.

A loud crash; the handler's food bucket fell to the floorboards and spun for a moment before toppling, spilling out more grain mash. Ilya made a noise of delight and hopped down from the perch to take advantage of the windfall.

"If you are hungry only tell me," Cuinn said, standing guard at the door.

"To speed our flight, they keep our crops empty," Ilya said, with an air of great injustice. "So we are always hungry. That man, he is the worst, I never want to see him again."

So Cuinn swore to him that this would be the case.

None of the humans appreciated the significance of Cuinn's choice. He chased away anybody who dared approach Ilya, until it came to pass a few days later that everyone had learned their lesson and no longer attempted to go near the tiercel. The messenger humans from Mira sported bandages around their forearms and shredded clothing, which they took to Lord Andrei along with their other complaints.

Predictably, Mikalai came to mediate. Cuinn had situated Ilya in one of the nicer towers, close enough to the walls that any outsider harpies might feast their eyes on Cuinn's wealth, while still being defensible. When Mikalai's voice called from the other side of the inner door, interrupting Ilya's careful preening, Cuinn bristled but did not sound a warning.

"Who is he?" Ilya asked, rearranging how his wingtips sat. "He speaks to you often, as though you could reply in his language."

Cuinn placed himself between the door and Ilya. "He is as close to a king a human could get, he is honourable. I trust him."

"But a human?" Ilya said, with sincere confusion.

The door came open and Mikalai did not step closer, remaining on the threshold at a respectful distance. Cuinn let his puffed feathers fall flat and his silhouette turn sleek again.

"They're very angry at you," Mika rumbled. "Those handlers from Mira claim we stole Ilya."

We? Cuinn widened his eyes, signalling disapproval.

"I know," Mika said. "I've tried to explain. They think it's wrong to have an idle harpy sitting about on their tab, they have to pay their part for room and board of three birds. Understand?"

Cuinn understood that the humans were ridiculous and ignorant, yes. He turned his head away, his eyes sliding half-shut. He wasn't going to entertain such nonsense.

"Andrei also has concerns that you're so occupied with Ilya that you won't be ready to defend the village," Mikalai said. He leant against the door frame. "I agree with him. The rest of the flock are aimless now and the falconers can't get them to understand why you're suddenly playing favourites."

That had Cuinn turning back to face him. He hissed softly. He would show them 'defending the village' now that, for once, the place had occupants worth defending.

Mikalai left him there. He perched himself on the edge of the tower's landing platform, waiting for the evening alarm bells to ring. They had not sounded since the battle at Mira, making it increasingly likely with each passing moment that there would be an overdue attack.

"He seems to think you're weak," Ilya observed lightly. He perched behind Cuinn, with his grain rations. "That you're not going to defend the village."

"I will," Cuinn said, bristling at the slight.

He was given a chance to prove his dedication only that evening. As he ripped open a bag of grain and poured it into a bucket half-filled with water, the clanging of the mustering bells broke the night.

Ilya's feathers stood on end, his big brown eyes widening. Cuinn first ensured that the door was locked, and that there was enough space for Ilya to take off to escape any potential harassers. Then he launched into the cool air, surrounded by tolling bell and the calling of his flock. They swirled around him like snow into a slow, spiralling column formation, waiting for the falconers below to rouse and bring their horses and weapons down to the fields.

Mriya darted up with lightning speed, her jesses snapping in the wind, and she let out a piercing cry to indicate the southern field complex. As she slid away again towards it, Cuinn turned to squint down towards the south.

The field was dim but getting brighter, torches flaring into life and spitting out sparks into the dark. Cuinn saw the black coiling flank of one of the crawling beasts among the potatoes. The soil boiled around it, churning up into a mess of smaller beasts that writhed and looped as the acid of their bodies caused the crops around them to steam.

Members of his flock dipped abruptly to greet their respective falconers as the humans came racing out of the mews on horseback. Yuriy in front led the charge to the field, slipping through the portcullis to reach the bank of torches.

Cuinn called his flock and folded a wing, his soaring flight flinging him down into a shallow bank, his beak pointed below the horizon to catch as much good warp as possible. The fields rushed up with bone-breaking promise and around him his fellows peeled off to follow the falconers' directions. Cuinn alone bore straight down on the big crawler, tipping back into level flight in time to swing his killing talons forward to bear. Harpies advanced in a neat line, snatching up the small worms on the wing without landing, while Cuinn caught hold of the big crawler's metallic skin and grounded himself.

But it was a king's privilege to fight on the ground. He mantled his wings over his prey to steady himself and moved one foot to crush the head of the creature, knocking it back down into the dirt before the flailing jaws nicked him. He squeezed its long, fleshy body, his talons stabbing in as his grip crushed brutally. The others were flying back around, writhing baby worms in their talons, and made to drop their quarries in the larger bonfire built by the torches. The stink of burning crawler filled the air.

Black oil bubbled up around Cuinn's feet. The thing bucked and writhed and almost threw him clear, forcing him to release one foot and kick down, stamping into its back over and over. The thing struggled still but with sluggish movements, the tail kinking weakly in the group as the pincers opened and closed on nothing. Jaws large enough to sever a human leg were rendered useless.

As soon as it was still enough, he spread his wings. With a series of massive downbeats he did what no smaller cob could ever manage; he took to the air while carrying a grown crawler.

Alarm shrieks rang up around him. His mouth open as the effort made him pant, he hauled his prey into the air and caught the breath of the warp. It took him and pulled, bearing him to the bonfire. He swung up, rode his momentum high until his wings stalled and he had no choice but to drop the crawler onto the bonfire.

It plummeted into the flames, where its black grease ignited and punched out a wall of fire. The heat shoved up under Cuinn's wings and cast him higher on the column. Far below, the humans had called warnings and dived to the side to avoid the burst of flame and now swarmed back to it, using long-handled sticks to poke the burning crawler back into the heart of the fire, so that all of it was reduced to ash.

#mansplain manipulate malewife etc etc #ice storm over kosa #writing tag #again this was 'written on my phone into discord before going to sleep' tier writing its not my best

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thebaddexample · 2 months ago

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FILM THEORY: DEATH RETURNS TO INANIMATE INSANITY!! BUT IT'S NOT TACO OR LIGHTBULB!!

Warning, spoilers and possibly cringey or bad writing, but it's 1am for me so eh

(First off, shout-out to my mom for coming up with this idea for me to make a theory on- You're the best :3)

(Second, thumbnail by me :])

(Thirdly, I might rewrite this during the day at some point because I'm really tired, but had to get this out before I slept bcs I'd forget to otherwise)

(Fourthly, I know that this isn't a completely original idea, and people have done it already, but I wanted an excuse to make a theory and there's evidence, so I thought "why not?" It'll make people upset with me if I'm right, and I get to pretend to be Film Theory for a bit. It's a win-win!)

(You are legally required to read this post as MatPat's voice /silly /j)

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With the horrifying tweet that Brian made last Saturday, there's a lot of people (including you, probably) worried about who will die in the finale, the harsh battle between whether we say "bye" to a bright light, or "so long" to our sour cream schemer. My answer? Neither!! Object show community, inanimate fandom... whatever we call ourselves! I'm about to present to you why our beloved (and somewhat recently hated) host is going to be the death of the season.

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First of all, the trailer (and @inanimateinsanityfan 's recent tumblr post "invitation") has somewhat implied that the focus of the movie, the A-Plot at least, will be around Cobs attempting to get to MePhone4 somehow, whether it be luring him up to Meeple Headquarters or trying to get down to him. We've seen from previous episodes that Cobs wants him dead, but it's hard to tell if he's changed his motive, since we haven't seen him since Episode 13 "Mine Your Own Business". However, he has been consistently sending his newer MePhones to eliminate MePhone4, as 5C clearly states in Episode 6. The newer models have features like tracking (much like MePad) and knife hands (NOT like MePad), which MePhone4 doesn't have, which should in theory have made him easier to kill.

Speaking of the abilities, the MeLife function is only ever used by MePhone4, or at least we only ever get to see him do it. Why? Well, I have an idea but that's a theory for another time. The point is; MePhone4 seems to be the only Meeple product with the ability to bring people to life, and has all of the contestants on there as far as we know. This means that, unless there's a creative solution to perma-kill one of the contestants, MePhone4 needs to die first for any perma-death to occur in the first place.

And hell, removing the regeneration ability as a whole would be a great way to cap off the season, to establish that there's no more retrying and that everything is now set in stone. And even if we do get that damn FOURTH season (bonus points to whoever gets the reference), it'll at least spice things up with having, say, MePad as a host instead, leaving the spot open for someone else to claim and have an interesting story arc of their own.

This shot already pulls up a parallel between MePhone4 and MePhone3GS, and though 3GS isn't really confirmed dead, they're definitely not gonna be alive any time soon. The parallels could imply that MePhone4 is destined to a fate similar to 3GS; no longer in service, probably broken, and maybe even killed of by Cobs himself.

In addition to this, all of the other MePhones we've seen have all died; MePhone4 technically died with 4S and 5 in the Season 1 finale "Journey Through Memory Lane", 5S and 5C were introduced and immediately killed in Season 2 Episode 6 "Let 'Er RIP", and MePhones 6 and 6+ were also immediately killed upon introduction in Season 2 Episode 8 "Theft and Battery". The MePhones all have something in common, and that is unavoidable and quick death, much like real iphones honestly.

Does this mean that MePhone4 will have to die as a result of MePhone's faulty creation? No, but there is a pre-established pattern with each of the MePhones that goes as a cycle, perpetuating Cobs' cruel style of doing things; he creates something, claims it's his favorite for a year, then makes something a little better and throws the pre-established bond away to die, and rinse and repeat.

But hey! That's just a theory!

An Object Theory!!

Uh- what's the opposite of "greetings and salutations"-?

"Goodbye and see-you-laters!!"

#inanimate insanity #example infodump #ii 16 #ii mephone4 #fan theory

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

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The Perfect One

Shinsuke Kita x reader

~You visit Kita at his Farmers Market booth and realize that he has closed up early to run an important errand.

WC: 1.6k

The market hasn’t even been open for thirty minutes, but already the streets are packed full of cars; your eyes scan the packed street, searching for even the tightest parking spot.

Today you plan to surprise your boyfriend at his farmer’s market stand, give him some much-needed quality time, and take him out for a lunch date after he closes up shop, Which, according to your calculations, should be selling out in an hour or so…

Shinsuke Kita’s Rice stand is one of the most popular booths due to the high quality of his product and the fact that most vendors and patrons have fallen head over heels for the handsome rice farmer.

And how could they not?

Shinsuke’s honest charm and hardworking demeanor are enough to make anyone fall in love with him. But out of everyone, he chooses to be with you because he loves you just as much as you love him.

And this silly feeling called love is what compelled you to wake up early on a Saturday morning fueled with nothing but the promise of a large cup of coffee and some freshly baked scones with raspberry jelly once you find him.

Your car creeps through the street at a snail’s pace as you spot a light blue truck pulling out from a parking spot on the corner. As you approach, you notice that it looks like a tight fit, but you squeeze into it the best you can. Pulling forward, you hear the overly dramatic sound of your front bumper hitting the curb, but as you reverse slightly and put the car in the park, you shake it off, slipping out of the driver’s seat and onto the pavement.

Rays of sun hit your skin through the layer of cloudy overcast as you walk, making the short trip to the center of the market rather pleasant as you pass people carrying baskets overflowing with fresh produce, baked goods, handcrafted soaps, and other goods.

Stands to sparkle with racks of handmade jewelry and blown glass trinkets that vie for your attention as you walk; if you haven’t been here before, you would’ve lost yourself amongst the crowd, but luckily, you know your way around fairly well by now.

As you get closer to your boyfriend’s usual spot, a few produce vendors you recognize from the weeks before. Despite the many customers at their stalls, they still give you a friendly wave as you walk; off in the distance, you see the edge of the hand-painted sign outside of Shinsuke’s booth, the sign the two of your painted together months ago.

Memories of that wine-stained night bring a giddy smile to your chapstick lips as you quicken your pace, springing over a spilled cone of shaved ice that someone must’ve just dropped.

You creep slowly around the corner, ready to scare. Instead of his soft smile and strong form, behind the register rests a generic sign.

Be back in 30 minutes…

That’s strange; even with his cashbox secured, Kita would never just leave his booth unattended for such a long time. You can’t help but wonder where he has gone.

Is he not feeling well?

Is he in the bathroom?

Whatever the answer may be, you choose to go sit at his stall to watch it until he gets back. You would hate for someone to try and steal things from him.

The next stand over, a friendly older woman peeks out from behind a massive pile of unshucked corn on the cob and gives you the warmest smile you have received all week. She is a longtime friend of Kita’s grandmother and almost always slips you one of her homemade apple tarts. Her floppy sun hat protects her lovingly aged skin from the harsh rays of the overcast sky.

“Oh, hello, My Dear,” she calls in her soft voice. “What brings you to the market so early?”

“Good morning,” you smile, watching fondly as her little leopard-printed cane carries her closer to you. I came to surprise Shinsuke, but it seems he went off somewhere.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Dear; he’ll be right back.” she laughs. There is a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she looks at you. “But I told that sweet boy I would watch his stall.”

“An errand?” you ask. “Is he feeling alright? It is so unlike him to just leave the stall”.

She just smiles knowingly. “He is just fine dear, but if you would like to check on him, head to the stalls near the main street while I hold down the fort.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” you smile. “I’ll head over there now.” With a final wave, you turn the corner and leave the stall in her capable hands.

It’s only a quick walk to the main street, but the cluster of booths is different from the usual produce stalls you are familiar with. It only takes a little sniff of the fresh air to figure out that Main Street is where all the flower vendors set up shop to sell their wonderfully constructed bouquets of flowers. Sunflowers, lilts, Peonies, and Daisies galore in every color you can think of rest in large buckets of water reaching upwards toward the light.

You wander past each stall, enchanted by the sweet smells and vibrant petals, until you hear a familiar voice speaking to one of the vendors.

“Thank you for taking the time to help me out with this. All of these are breathtaking, but I want to find the right one.” Your boyfriend says, aching down and smelling a large pink Lilly.

“Is there a particular combination you are looking for?” the vendor says, a light pink blush on their cheeks, no doubt having fallen victim to his natural charm.

“Not a combination in general; I just want a Bouquet that looks like them.” he hums, placing his hand under his chin in thought.

The vendor turns their head to the side. “How so?”

“The peonies with the iris are so fun and vibrant, just like Y/n, but then the Tulips with eucalyptus, baby’s breath, and Callalilles look so elegant and beautiful it makes me wonder if they could see themselves in those as well.”

“Young man, if everyone put as much thought into a bouquet of flowers as you did, the would be a much better place,” they say honestly. “I am sure whatever one you choose, your partner will love, especially with you being such a romantic.”

“I don’t know if I would consider myself a romantic; I just want y/n to have a nice bouquet of flowers today,” he says simply. Even though he has his back to you, you see the way the back of his neck flushes at the vendor’s words.

Is he really putting all this thought into a bouquet for you?

A part of you feels guilty for eavesdropping on him, but really, your heart is fluttering out of control at such a romantic gesture. You turn your back and dart quickly behind a tent that shields you from his view.

Just as you think you are in the clear, you hear a pleasant voice call out from behind out. “It looks like you caught me.” Your breath hitches; Kita has always been too good at picking up those little details, especially when it comes to you.

“I-i’m sorry,’ you stammer, turning around to face him, “I just wanted to surprise you, and I ended up ruining yours.”

His coffee-colored gaze softens as he takes in every inch of your flustered features as if they were a work of art. “You didn’t ruin anything, quite the opposite, actually.”

You blink as you take in his words; how exactly is you ruining his floral surprise a good thing?

“How so?”

He chuckles to himself, “Because now we can pick out the flowers together.” He says it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your knees feel weak as he continues, “I want to know what you like so that I can surprise you in the future. You deserve a life full of happy surprises.”

Boom, there goes your heart, and blood rushes to your cheeks so quickly that your hands fly to cover your face from the world.

“Flustered, are we?” he laughs softly, removing your hands from your face and tilting up your chin with the utmost care.

Playfully you stick your tongue out at him with an endearing boldness, “Sometimes I think you’re too good at this. Is there someone else you practice on?”

He rolls his eyes as a characteristic snort escapes his lips. “Only you, My Love. Do I need to prove it to you?”

“Absolutely,” you tease, letting your gaze fall from his sparkling eyes and onto his soft lips. They curve upward knowingly before they meet yours in a tender kiss. He holds you gently as if you are one of the many flowers in the surrounding booths.

You’re breathless, but you want more; Kita’s touch, combined with the sweet floral fragrance, is dizzying and makes you forget about the hundreds of people passing by on the other side of the tented wall.

He pulls away with a tenderness that makes you feel like you are falling in love over and over again. The sweetest look in his eyes as he guides you back towards the flower stalls and the rows and rows of bouquets, so that the two of you can pick out the perfect one together.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kita hq #shinsuke kita x reader #shinsuke kita #kita x reader #kita haikyuu #kita shinsuke #kita scenarios #kita fluff #haikyuu fluff

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filmofhybe · 11 months ago

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corn on a cob

🌽 pairing : park jeongseong x oc 💌 GENRE : fluff 700 wc

warning : food , kissing , sharing food

; AUTHORS NOTE : day 13 of “24 days of Christmas with filmfohybe” is almost Christmas🥹 I got a corn on a cob at my town’s Christmas market and thought about jay. And I’m going to london tmr!! I’m so excited. Now let’s get to it.

MASTERLIST TO MY OTHER WORK

The air was crisp, filled with the enchanting aroma of roasted chestnuts and the lively sounds of a Christmas market. Jay and I strolled hand in hand, surrounded by twinkling lights and the joyful hum of festive music. The atmosphere was magical, and I couldn't help but feel a warm excitement bubbling within me.

As we wandered through the market, Jay's eyes lit up when he spotted a stall selling corn on the cob. He nudged me playfully, "You know, I've been craving one of those sweet and smoky corns. What do you say baby? Can I get it?” , “of course let’s go get them!” I grinned in agreement, and we joined the line, anticipation building as we inched closer to the delicious buttery aroma. Finally, we got our hands on one steaming cobs, adorned with a generous slathering of butter and a sprinkle of seasoning. The first bite was a burst of flavors—sweetness, smokiness, and the rich taste of butter that made my taste buds dance.

Jay and I took turns nibbling on the corn, sharing laughter and playful banter. “Right stop taking big ass bites this is literally my favorite!” “EXCUSE ME? I want it as well..” As I bit into the corn, a small smudge of butter found its way to the corner of my mouth. Jay's eyes twinkled mischievously as he reached over, his thumb gently wiping away the errant butter. I couldn't help but blush at the intimate gesture under the soft glow of Christmas lights. “Jay don’t do that..” my face is now probably redder than Rudolph the red nose reindeer.

A subtle, sweet taste lingered on my lips, a combination of the strawberry lip balm I had applied earlier and the buttery goodness of the corn. Jay leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a tender kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, surrounded by the festive ambiance of the Christmas market. Smiling into the lovely kiss.

"Mmm, maybe strawberry lip balm and butter should be a lip balm scent or even flavor," Jay suggested with a playful smirk, his eyes still locked onto mine. I chuckled, enjoying the light-hearted exchange as we continued to share the corn on the cob. “Uh I don’t think anyone would like that…” “I will though. Taste exactly like the two things I love..”

We explored the market further, weaving through stalls adorned with handmade ornaments, festive decorations, and the sweet scent of hot chocolate wafting through the air. The vibrant colors of the holiday season surrounded us, creating a picturesque backdrop for our shared moments. The market's carousel beckoned us, and we decided to take a whirl on its ornate horses. The melodies of classic Christmas tunes filled the air as we circled under a canopy of twinkling lights. Jay held me close beside me. Holding my waist as he watches me with a darling smile and the world seemed to slow down as we enjoyed the simple joy of the moment.

As the night deepened, the market came alive with an even more magical glow. The towering Christmas tree at the center of the square sparkled with countless lights, and couples danced to the tunes of a live band. Jay and I found a cozy spot on a bench, wrapped in each other's warmth, watching the festivities unfold. Him secretly taking candid pictures of me as I ate my cotton candy.

The air was filled with love and laughter, and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect Christmas experience. With a contented sigh, I leaned against Jay, grateful for the simple pleasures shared on this festive night—the sweet and smoky corn on the cob, the stolen kisses under Christmas lights, and the warmth of love that made the holiday season truly magical.

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love-toxin · 8 months ago

Note

since ur writing more for your ocs recently could I request some love for Umi?? I adore them, so any crumbs you have I will take 👉👈

>:)!!!!!

(cws: none)

She's so bright, and so lovely, and she would never notice you.

Crisp edges of her skirt. Clean, manicured nails. A fresh, youthful face. The scent of linens and candyfloss. Cool hands on your skin as she brushes by you on the train.

Everything about her is perfect, from her soft strands of blue hair that frame her ivory face to the gentle flick of her eyes as she glances away from her phone. You haven't heard her say much; just heard her giggling once to a friend she brought along. You haven't seen that other girl since, but it's possible she just doesn't take the train that often. You do though, and that's why you notice her every day that she steps on and back off the platform.

She's wearing a new outfit today. A soft, pink pleated skirt and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Her bangs are clipped back with a little corn of cob barrette, and it's the cutest thing you've seen all day. Her eyes are bright with contentment. She must be in a good mood. This is your chance.

"Hi," You call out softly, barely audible over the bustle and chatter of the train. Her ears don't even perk up, nor do her eyes break away from the scroll she's doing absentmindedly–another attempt at a greeting paired with the lightest tap on her shoulder gets her attention, though, the blue-haired beauty turning her gaze up to cast a sideways glance at you. Oh god. This was a mistake. She's too pretty for you to even comprehend up close.

"Oh, hi!" Her face breaks out into a big smile. Straight, pearly teeth gleam back at you through a pinky, sparkly mouth, her lip gloss so elegantly applied you can't detect a single smudge. Even when her hair brushes her cheek and she smoothly tucks a strand of it back behind her ear, not a single finger smudges any of the light makeup she's wearing today. You wouldn't say it to her face, but she certainly doesn't need any–she has that kind of natural beauty that only comes around once in a lifetime.

"I-I just, um…y-you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I wanted to say that." Your stumbling and stuttering matches a hot face, cheeks burning with shame at simply looking into the eyes of such a beautiful person with so little confidence. She could reject you in the worst way and you would absolutely think you deserve it.

"Aww!" She squeaks, high-pitched and giggly like it's the best thing she's heard all day. "How sweet are you? I'm actually a-" One of those soft-looking fingers raises to tap on one of the buttons pinned to the strap of her bag, small and glittery with the words they/them printed on it in purple lettering. "-You know. But thank you! You're just adorable."

Your heart flutters and freezes in an instant, an apology spilling out of your mouth as you try to backpedal, but they just shake their head and giggle louder while brushing it all off. It's a common mistake, they say, and their kindness just drags you in closer like a lovesick dog on a leash.

"What's your name, sweetie?" You hand it over as easily as you'd drop to your knees if you could. They repeat each letter under their breath as they make a reminder on their hand, before gingerly taking your wrist between those cool fingers and scribbling something into your palm with a shake of the glitter pen they pulled from their purse. Rather than letters, you spot numbers–and upon pulling it back to look, you realize it's for their cell. You've got their phone number? You?

"Here's my stop," They turn their gaze alongside yours to peer up at the next station, the car slowing to a pause as the doors prepare to open, before meeting eyes with you one last time. They're so blue it's simply mesmerizing, like sapphires shining beneath a clear ocean on a sunny day like today. "I'm Umi, by the way. Call me later, 'kay sweetie?"

Umi winks, and with a step off the train they vanish into the crowd clustering around the platform. The blue-haired beauty disappears just as a rainbow does in the dark, and though you can envision the path the rest of your day will take, you won't feel truly alive until it's over and you can see them once again.

#umi ooe #yandere ocs #umi x reader #yandereverse #ellie writes #anons

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oldestenemy · 5 months ago

Text

“Shut up, Fitzhume.”

The wizard is so startled by the words out of Ione’s mouth that they almost laugh—despite everything. They look at her, wide eyed, mouth slightly agape. Fitzhume does not look much different. Ione turns her attention back to them, waving a hand towards the spiral door.

“Wizard, go see Bartleby, rest as needed, we will be in touch.”

A blink.

A nod.

The Eye of History clutched in one hand, the wizard steps back out into Ravenwood. It feels like it’s been longer than a couple days. It feels so much longer. But they’d been here earlier in the week. They’d faced Gretta, they’d brought Duncan back with them, they—

—breathe.

The scholars will locate Old Cob, and Mellori with him. And Raven, they suppose. They are trying to think about everything as little as possible. They feel barely awake, barely alive, a shadow shifting under the canopy of leaves stretching out into the street.

The Eye seems to pull itself from their grip as they look up at Bartleby, slotting itself with a dull thunk back into his empty socket. They think about Ozzy for a moment, glad that this sound is more earthen, less like bone—because well, it’s not bone.

“Thank you, Wizard. But I must beg your pardon now, I need time to myself as the past returns to me. I need time to remember everything.” They smile up at Bartleby weakly, gaze roaming his still autumn hued leaves. Perhaps it would take time, the green returning. They wouldn’t complain, it was still easier to pass through him with the different colors, ill an omen as everyone believed them to be.

…Now what?

The wizard loathes down time.

They despise being told to rest.

They hadn’t even stopped to see Baba Yaga.

Someone else is going to tell her Mellori is gone.

Someone else is going to tell her it’s the wizard’s fault.

They didn’t stop her. They were too slow. They didn’t—

—their footsteps pause just before the door to the Myth tower.

Had Baba Yaga known? She must have known. Could she have told them? Was the knowledge tucked away? Were the words out of reach just like their name?

Did any of that even matter now?

They ascend the spiraling steps into the tower proper, warm afternoon sun streams through the yellow and blue glass making up the windows. It throws triangular patterns into the floor, shimmering and shifting as though the light itself is trying to form magic. The wizard pulls a book from one of Cyrus Drake’s shelves, settling down on the floor in a sun spot, eyes glazed over, no words really getting through. They aren’t entirely sure why they chose here to wait, aside from the fact that they were not ready to talk to anyone else but Cyrus, knowing he wouldn’t return to the tower for some hours still. And yet…

The gentle sensation of touch, just over their shoulder, a faint breath drawing ozone and rain. The telltale flash of incoming teleportation—

~*~

Worlds away, in a shining city of barrows and coiling pathways rebuilt from crumbling stone, a necromancer is looking for a mouse. A mouse he has met all of once, only briefly, and is now—perhaps foolishly—trying to pick out from the dozens of armored rodent inhabitants of Bastion.

He is on the brink of frustration, a moments rest taken before a waterfall. A handful of orbs shimmer within the spray, dancing lights filled with deserts, forests, twisting mines, a palace dark and imposing. This world is a vast expanse, open and endless unlike anywhere else he’s ever been. Even the towering ruins of Dragonspyre shrink in his mind at the scale of this place. He feels small here, insignificant as a grain of sand.

It’s awful.

“You sent them away?” He is still new, he tries to keep the open incredulity from his voice but doesn’t quite manage it. “Alone?”

Ione Virga regards him with an intensity that almost makes him want to shrink away. It reminds him he is here on the word and mercy of other people. Maybe that’s her goal. “The wizard was sent to return the Eye of History, beyond that their orders are to rest. Whether they do so alone, or with company does not matter.”

Despite the way she is looking at him, the words don’t…feel hostile? Statement of fact. Little else.

On a ledge beside a waterfall, Duncan Grimwater sits and contemplates his next move. Wonders if coming here was pointless after all. Wonders what he was even trying to achieve.

He knows—

—that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit to it.

Even to himself.

“Hail, Spellbinder.”

He turns his head to see one of the mice striding towards him. Not just one of the mice. The one he’s here for, the one the wizard had spoken to so freely, who they had wanted a chance to say goodbye to, who had made them laugh.

Dyvim Whitehart stands near as tall as Duncan, sword sheathed at his side, a curious smile on his face. “We met in Sardonyx,” Statement, not question. “I see the armor forged as a result is still serving you well.”

Duncan is almost surprised. So used to those around him interacting with an edge of distaste. None of that exists here. “It is.” he agrees, swallowing the urge to silence his next words. He came here for a reason. He is repaying a debt. Even if he’s the only one who feels it needs doing. “I need your help with something.”

~*~

—the wizard is expecting one of the necromancers. Penny or Malorn most likely. Or maybe Suzie if the sharp tang of Storm magic present in the effect is anything to judge by—

—what they do not expect is for Dyvim Whitehart to materialize in a whirlwind of Death magic, looking as though the action itself has thrown him a touch off balance. They scrabble forward to help steady him, sitting back on their heels when all calms.

“Dyvim?” their voice comes quiet, muted and muffled by confusion.

“Someone told me you might be in need of a friend.”

A startled laugh forces itself sharp and ragged from their throat.

Dyvim has heard the sound before.

“It seems ill advised—sending one soldier to fight a war alone—a young one at that.”

The wizard laughs, a sharp and angry sound. Working its way past their lips before it can be stopped. “I’ve never known anything else.” Even before everything felt like a loss, like a pointless raging against inevitability. “Almost a decade of fighting and fighting and fighting.”

They watch Dyvim’s expression sour as he tries to place that range of years. They’d discussed their discrepancies in timing and maturity before, they are near the same sort of “age”, they can see he’s trying to figure out if he’s misunderstood, if all those years were still “adulthood”.

“You have allies who cannot reach this world, who direct you, who aid you—”

“—aid is a strong word.” the wizard replies, “I’m good at working alone. I’m used to it. You—” they stop for a moment, unsure how to admit that he is the first person to truly stick by them, to help them in a real tangible way. Eventually, voice dropping near a whisper. As though admitting it will make the truth of the words hurt. “You’re the first person who hasn’t left the moment I’ve saved them.”

It is not exactly easy to tell Dyvim what had transpired since they’d left him last. But it is easier than it has ever been to tell anyone else. They settle back to the floor, the sunlight almost warmer with Dyvim beside them. And all of it spills out.

“The waiting again is the worst—after Xiabalba, after—” Breathe, they live on, different but surviving. The wizard swallows. The pain recedes. “—there was a long stretch of nothing, there is always something in the way, now with Mellori it’s the same, I have to wait, I have to rest, I don’t—I lost her and I should have known better, I should never have let her come to Mirage with me—but I was too distracted by the Schism and I just—” Their words fall apart, disjointed and trailing off into nothing. “Old Cob tricked me again. Because I was desperate and reckless and stupid. It was the Moon Cliffs again. It was a danger I should have seen coming.”

They should have seen the signs.

Should have recognized Mellori for what and who she was born of.

Shaking. Only just. An unnatural chill to the dampness of their eyes. Swallow it. Keep it tamped down. Nothing good will come of that outpouring here.

“Spellbinder.”

It is nice.

Not being the Wizard.

It’s not their name.

But it is a name born of only one place.

A minute difference.

A hand on their shoulder.

More closeness than most are permitted.

A friend in arms.

Just enough.

Not fully their own—but not an empty shell—closer to who they are instead of what they are.

“You’re fighting another war alone.”

“Two under my belt since ours—if you count a revolution as a war, and a turf war as another.” Disconnect from it, set it apart and it won’t feel as bad. “There has been some help.” Ivan. Ozzy. Mellori—dammit. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” There is a glint of understanding in his eyes, a slight challenge in the words themselves. As though he is asking not what they are trying to apologize for—but rather asking they find the strength not to.

They know better, they know he doesn’t blame them. It doesn’t stop the words. “I never apologized—I was too slow then—and I was too slow now—and I can’t ever save anyone when it matters—”

“—stop.” Dyvim’s voice is just sharp enough to cut them off, it softens out as he continues “You brought life back to the husk of a world that Khrysalis became under the Shadow Queen. It sounds as though you have saved all of us from ruin again. You will find your friend, even if it takes time. And I’ll not hear you decrying the hero I’ve grown so fond of.”

Hero.

Always.

Never corrected, the weight still carried. Heroes don’t ask to watch as their enemies die. Heroes do not seek vengeance. Do not strike back at people who are meant to be on the same side. Do not sling spells before asking simple questions. Do not raise horrors beyond knowing from ancient pits. Or drag their friends into danger. Heroes do not lose themselves to Shadow magic and rip foes apart bare handed.

They haven’t felt like a hero in years.

The wizard doesn’t say it.

They lean into Dyvim. Head resting against his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

It can be enough.

It has to be.

read the rest here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizard101 fanfiction #wizzy fandom #w101 #wizard101 fanfic #welcome back it's been three months #sorry for the delay i've been <*static sounds*>#stevie is still stuck in the spiral

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