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hier--soir · 1 year ago

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

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bpdbeehive · 4 months ago

Text

I made a list of every single Greek god ever

Keep in mind some of these may be different from what you know because they have multiple different stories

Eros- god of love, passion, and fertility

Tartarus- god of darkest part in the underworld

Thalassa- goddess of the sea

Phanes- god of creation, new life, procreation, fertility, and light

Caligine- goddess of creation

Gaia- goddess of earth

Erebus- god of darkness and shadows

Nyx- goddess of night and darkness

Pontus- god of the seas

Hydros- god of water

Uranas- god of the heavens and sky

Achlys- goddess of the death-mist, misery, sadness, and deadly poisons

Aether- god of light and the upper sky

Ananke- goddess of inevitability, compulsion, and necessity

Chaos- god of the void

Cronus- god of time, fate, justice, and harvest

Caelus- god of the sky

Coeus- god of the North, intelligence, and resolve

Hemera- goddess of daylight

Hypnos- god of sleep

Nemesis- goddess of vengeance, retribution, and rightful fate

Thalassa- goddess of sea

Rhea- goddess of motherhood, fertility, childbirth, comfort, and good living

Oceanus- god of freshwater

Tethys- goddess of fresh water and nursing mothers

Hyperion- god of heavenly light and watchfulness

Theia- goddess of sight and vision

Lapetus- god of mortal life

Crius- god of constellations, stars, and the south

Phoebe- goddess of intellect, prophecy, and the moon

Themis- goddess of justice, law, order, and divine will

Iris- goddess of rainbows

Mnemosyne- goddess of memory

Zues- god of sky, weather, thunder, lightning, and law and order

Demeter- goddess of the harvest, agriculture, and fertility of the earth

Poseidon- god of sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses

Hades- god of the underworld and the dead

Hera- goddess of women, marriage, family, and childbirth

Apollo- god of sun and light, poetry, healing and disease, justice, archery, music and dance, prophecy and truth

Artemis- goddess of hunting, wild animals, and the wilderness

Aphrodite- goddess of beauty and passion

Ares- god of war and courage

Hephaestus- fire, volcanoes, blacksmithing, metalworking, craftsmanship, sculpture, forges, and metallurgy

Hermes- God of wealth, trade, thieves, and travelers

Athena- goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare

Dionysus- god of wine, festivity, and theater

Hestia- goddess of domestic life, home, and hearth

Hecate- goddess of magic and necromancy

Aeolus- god of the wind

Asclepius- god of medicine and healing

Eris- god of discord, jealousy, and strife

Pan- god of the wild, shepherds, flocks, rustic music, fertility, spring, and theatrical criticism

Eileithyia- goddess of childbirth, birth pains, and midwifery

Enyos- goddess of war, violence, and bloodshed

Evrynomi- water meadows, fertility, and pasturelands

Psyche- goddess of the soul

Hedone- goddess of pleasure, enjoyment, and delight

Dolos- god of trickery, cunning deception, craftiness, guile, and treachery

Senectus- god of old age

Oizys- goddess of misery, grief, anxiety, and depression

Moros- god of doom

Momus- god of satire and mockery

Tmolus- god of Mount Tmolus

Nereus- god of the sea

Phorcys- god of the sea and the hidden dangers that lurk beneath the waves

Ceto- goddess of sea monsters and other marine life

Eurybia- goddess of power over, and mastery of, the sea

Eurus- god of the east or southeast wind, fall, and storms

Aergia- goddess of laziness, idleness, sloth, and indolence

Eos- goddess of dawn

Astraea- goddess of justice, innocence, purity, precision

Boreas- god of the north wind, winter, storms, ice, snow, and cold

Chione- goddess of snow

Orithyia- goddess of cold mountain winds

Zephyrus- god of West wind

Notos- god of South wind

Euros- god of East wind

Hesperos- god of the evening and the evening star

Morpheus- god of dreams and nightmares

Pasithea- goddess of relaxation and rest

Icelus- god of nightmares

Phantasus- god of dreams that feature inanimate objects

Aigaion- god of violent sea storms

Achelous- god of fresh water

Alpheus- god of the Peloponnese

Clymene- goddess of fame and renown

Eurynome- goddess of water meadows, fertility, and pasturelands

Idyia- goddess of knowledge

Metis- goddess of wisdom and cunning strategies

Styx- goddess of oaths and the River Styx

Helios- god of the sun

Selene- goddess of the moon

Atlas- god of strength, endurance, astronomy, and navigation

Prometheus- god of fire, forethought, and crafty counsel

Astraeus- god of astrology and stars

Pallas- god of witchcraft

Zelus- god of dedication, emulation, eager rivalry, envy, jealousy, and zeal

Nike- goddess of victory

Via- goddess of force and power

Perses- god of destruction

Asteria- goddess of falling stars, nocturnal divination, and the connection between the heavens and the earth

Leto- goddess of motherhood, childbirth, modesty, and fertility

Eirene- goddess of peace

Dike- goddess of fair judgment and law

Persephone- goddess of grain and agriculture

Alatheia- goddess of truth

Asopos- god of the river Asopos

Ate- goddess of blind folly and ruin

Britomartis- goddess of hunting and fishing

Elieithyia- goddess of childbirth

Eirene- goddess of peace

Ersa- goddess of the dew

Eunomia- goddess of good governance

Harmonia- goddess of harmony

Hebe- goddess of youth

Hephaistos- god of smiths

Eunomia- goddess of law, governance, and good order

Kairos- god of opportunity

Aglaia- goddess of beauty, splendor, glory, magnificence, adornment, good health, and the glow of good health

Lakhesis- goddess of life and fate

Phasis- god of the river Phasis

Despoine- goddess of certain Arkadian Mysteries

Macaria- goddess of a "blessed" death

Melinoe- goddess of ghosts, nightmares, and propitiation

Zagreus- god of rebirth

Ploutos- god of wealth, riches, and abundance

Albion- god of the sea

Tilphousia- goddess of vengeance and justice

Phobos- god of fear, panic, flight, and rout

Pothos- god of sexual longing, desire, and yearning

Anteros- god of reciprocal love

Himeros- god of sexual desire and unrequited love

Hermaphroditus- god of effeminacy, androgeny, and hermaphroditism

Rhodos- goddess and personification of the island of Rhodes

Priapus- god of fertility

Erichthonius- goddess of earth

Tyche- goddess of fortune, luck, prosperity, chance, and fate

Horkos- god of oaths and the curse that befalls those who break them

Epione- goddess of soothing pain

Hygieia- goddess of hygiene and cleanliness

Panacea- goddess of universal remedy

Aceso- goddess of healing and wounds

Iaso- goddess of recuperation from sickness

Machaon- god of surgeons

Pandia- goddess of the full moon, dew, and youth

Telesphoros- god of recuperation

Enyalius- god of soldiers and warriors

Phosphorus- god of the planet Venus when it appears as the morning star

Triton- god of the sea

Carpus- god of fruit

Bia- goddess of force, power, might, bodily strength, and compulsion

Narcissus- god of vanity

Cephissus- god of the Cephissus river

Ismenus- god of the river of the same name

Eucleia- goddess of good repute, glory, and honor

Eupheme- goddess of good omen, praise, and acclamation

Euthenia- goddess of prosperity, abundance, and plenty

Philophrosyne- goddess of friendliness, welcome, and kindness

Euphrosyne- goddess of joy, good cheer, mirth, and merriment

Hephaestus- god of artisans, blacksmiths, carpenters, craftsmen, fire, metallurgy, metalworking, sculpture and volcanoes

Delphin- god of Dolphins

Aristaeus- god of beekeeping, cheesemaking, olive growing, and hunting

Electryone- goddess of the sun and morning

Circe- goddess of magic

Silenus- god of forests, wine-making, and drunkenness

Triptolemus- god of agriculture

Lyssa- goddess of rage, fury, and rabies

Soteria- goddess of safety, salvation, deliverance, and protection from harm

Leucothea- goddess of hope

Palaemon- god of harbors and sharks

Pasiphae- goddess of witchcraft and sorcery

Perses- god of destruction and peace

Phaunos- god of the forest

Maron- god of Maroneia

Astraeus- god of stars and planets

Limos- goddess of famine, starvation, and hunger

Benthesikyme- goddess of ocean waves

Amphitrite- goddess of the sea

Kymopoleia- goddess of violent sea storms and storm waves

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dreaming-of-lu · 1 year ago

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A/N: Cause I'm in a soft, gooey mood. I'm thinkin of the Links being married.

~~ Imagining Wild smiling so softly down at a letter, looking so love-strucked yet yearning at the same time. Of course, one of the boys called out to him in a teasing way, wanting to know what got him all head in the clouds like their fellow skyloftian knight. He huffs softly and replies with a voice filled with longing, "My spouse wrote me a letter, basically wishing me safety and sweet dreams of them to soothe me."

~~ First normally kept to himself about his s/o, wishing to keep them safe during his time in prison for 4 years. Pushing you away from Demise's grasp with one last kiss, as he headed off to fight hard and long til his last dying breath. Only to reawaken in a coffin, tumbling out and wondering where he was.

His first thought after was wonder of if you were alive and kicking. He rubbed his left ring finger in a panic, sighing in relief when the metal met his skin. The impression of your bright, sweet smile soothed him, made his heart beat fast until the sound of a screech reached his ears.

~~ The look on the chain's face when a body slammed into Legend was hysterical yet made him shy under their wide questioning gazes. He wanted to squirm out of your hold, only to halt when those eyes, filled with tears of relief and love made him melt on the spot. He softly sighed and rubbed their head while exchanging gentle words between them.

The ring on your hand made them choke in surprise; so those rings on his hands are for distractions, huh?

~~ Hyrule kept his ring on a necklace under his tunic, away from sight due to conflict. His head was always threaten to be on a pike, didn't help when he carried all three pieces of the triforce on the back of his hand. He was constantly hunted, he worried they would come to find you if they were to ever find out he was married to you. Yet alas, he would be found by Legend with him sitting there, idly messing with the ring around his neck, a far off look on his face and a gentle smile. Of course, the veteran was going to be curious of whom caught the dear traveler's heart.

~~ Four watched you idle around the living room, gesturing a flick of your wrist to who could lay where without the worry of stepping on somebody. He stares with his chin in his hand, smiling softly as you jabbered on about something to one of the Links. The colors laughed when you bickered and bantered with that Link before silencing at the sweet smile you quickly flashed over to him alongside a wink.

He covered his face with his hand, flushing red at the laugh that echoed in the home.

~~ Once again, he had his head in the clouds with a dreamy smile on his lips. Sky clutched the letter close to his chest and heaved a tranquil breath, his ears flapped wildly, almost imaginary hearts fluttered and popped around his head. Some of those groan, while the other laughed and shook their head at the lovesick expression on the skyloftian's face.

He raised the letter above his face, pressing a gentle kiss against the ink on the bottom of the page then one to the ring gracing his finger.

"I'll be home as soon as I can, my love."

~~ He was so giddy to be home. As one could be, he was always the composed and conscientiousness captain, but when given the opportunity to reunite with his love. Warriors is practically floating down the path to his shared home that the group is struggling to keep up with his rampant pace. He can't help himself! He needs to smooch his spouse! It's a crime to him to be away for this long from them.

The look on their face when he entered the house with a flourish yell of their name, made his heart soar.

~~ Time chuckled when you fussed over Twilight, tucking him in before glaring at the male when he tried to protest. His descendant looked at him with a silent plead for help, only to slump when the old man shook his head and made an 'x' symbol with his arms. He knew that butting in would not protect him from your glare too.

He rather walk straight into a pit of lava than face your glare head-on. Though he melts at the passing thought of you tucking your future child in, sternly telling them its bedtime and that rest is important. He makes his way over, pressing himself against your back, lacing his hand with yours and placed a kiss against your forehead.

~~ He was already suckered from the day you first played together when you were both children. From the shy glances to the shared giggles, to the sleepovers and to the shared secrets. Twilight knew he had to have you as his spouse when you jumped into his arms and kissed him without a thought after he saved Hyrule.

Even as he stared up at the night sky during his watch, he could still remember the sight of you walking down the aisle with a shy yet giddy smile on your lips. He rubbed the ring back and forth as the memories took over his mind, making the time go by fast til he was tapped out by the next watch. He falls asleep easily when his head hit his pillow, with a faint smile on his lips.

~~ He felt smug when the chain jaws dropped at the sight of him running towards his spouse yet ignores them as their squeals and giggles graced his ears. Fierce swung them around softly in the air before slowly lowering them in his embrace, holding them by their waist, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against theirs. He purrs at the hands that cupped his face, sweet yet butterfly like kisses gracing his skin that soothe the ache that grew in yearning for their touch.

He felt them move away the white strands away from his forehead, placing a kiss against the blue 'v' shaped mark there. He retaliates by placing one against the ring on their finger before opening his eyes to them. Feeling himself melting in their ever so loving and gentle gaze, "You still look radiant, my dear jewel."

#linked universe x reader #.bea's writing #lu x reader #link x reader #lu time x reader #lu first x reader #lu sky x reader #lu wild x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu legend x reader #lu warriors x reader #lu four x reader #lu twilight x reader #fierce deity x reader #loz link x reader #loz x reader

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chaosbarelycontained · 6 months ago

Text

The English Captain

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, 18+, sexual content, 2nd person, no use of y/n

Words: 5.3k

Synopsis: Life is hard in the Scottish Highlands in the 1740s. When your brother, Johnny, returns after a long absence with not one but three hated Englishmen with him your relief quickly turns to fury. You couldn’t have predicted how effortlessly they would fit into your lives, particularly the handsome Captain…

(puthair = sister, mo cridhe = my heart)

Hoisting the laundry basket onto your hip, you made your way out into the courtyard, rocking slightly to compensate for the extra weight. You may have been lady of the house but in the wild, unforgiving beauty of the Highlands, everyone pulled their weight. You weren’t one for sitting idle and, with your older brother vanished for nigh on two years now, you’d had to make sure that your land and people were well taken care of. Times were hard but you MacTavishes were made of sterner stuff.

There were already a row of sheets and blankets on the line, swaying gently in the fresh breeze. You dumped your burden on the floor at one end of the courtyard and bent to retrieve a chemise from the top of the basket but as you rose a figure caught your eye, standing at the gate in the back wall. You straightened, your brain not able to process what your eyes were telling you to be true. Sheets wafted in front of you, blocking your view, and you cursed, batting them out of the way with your hand. They tangled around your wrist and arm and you yanked hard, almost dislodging them from the line in your frustration. Finally you were freed and you whipped up your head to confirm what you thought must be your imagination, but no. Your eyes did not play tricks on you. There he stood, boyish grin causing the bright, cornflower blue of his eyes to twinkle.

“Johnny,” you whispered in disbelief before taking off across the courtyard and launching yourself into your brother’s arms.

His deep, joyful chuckles resonated in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up into the air, twirling you once before setting you back down onto the cobbled floor. You stepped back an inch or two, eyes raking over his tall frame - leaner now than when you last saw him. He sported an impressive growth of stubble which did little to hide the angry red scar that traced from his ear and along his jaw and it was the sight of it that reminded you of why he left.

Anger rose quick and hot within you and you pulled back your hand and gave him such a smack across his cheek that it echoed across the courtyard, bouncing off the grey stone walls of your family home. His head whipped to the side and he gripped his jaw, wiggling it back and forth a little, but he snorted out another laugh as he looked at you fondly. You stood before him, five and a half feet of unbridled fury, with your hands fisted on your hips in an effort not to hit him again.

“It’s good to see you too, puthair,” he chortled, reaching out to ruffle your hair but you smacked his hand away with huff.

“Two years, John MacTavish. Two years since you went off galavanting, looking for a fight, and narry a word since. And then you turn up again with all your smiles and laughter as if you’d never been away?” You leaned forward slightly, your finger jabbing in his chest to emphasise your anger. “Don’t think for one moment that you’re getting the laird’s chamber back from me, you can sleep in the damn stables for all I care - you smell like you belong there anyway!”

“Definitely a MacTavish,” came a voice from beyond the gate. An English voice.

“Oh, absolutely,” sounded a second, and there was a hum of agreement from yet another.

Your hand went to the small knife that hung from your belt as your eyes darted agitatedly to Johnny and then to the wall, as if trying to see through the stones. Your brother held up his hand placatingly, although he began to look a little sheepish.

“Before you start raising merry hell, puthair, just listen,” he began, in the tone you had long known to associate with some form of mischief.

You crossed your arms over your chest and raised your eyebrow scornfully, waiting for what would surely be one of your brother’s most colourful tales. Before he spoke he called over his shoulder, inviting the owners of the voices to step into the courtyard.

“Ach, you need back-up for this, aye?” You sniffed, resting your weight on one hip and tapping your foot impatiently.

“These men are the best I’ve ever met,” Johnny said confidently. “I would not be back here now if it weren’t for them. At the least I owe them my hospitality. Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Mistress Galbraith.”

You bobbed down automatically, the politics of being lady of the house winning the battle with your anger and frustration, but the sound of that name caused a pang of grief to well up inside you. It passed over your face like a dark cloud and of course your sharp-eyed brother noticed.

“Where is Angus?” He asked. “Is he away to the village? We did not pass him on the road.

“Angus is…gone,” you said, your chin raised in defiant strength against your grief. “He passed from a fever not two months after you left, Johnny.”

“Ach, no,” he responded sadly, wiping his hand down his face. “I am so sorry. He was a good man.”

“Aye, that he was,” you agreed, “and he didn’t shirk on his duty to our land and people. He treated them with a fair hand.”

Johnny had enough good grace to look embarrassed; he had never planned to be away so long, or for his now-deceased brother-in-law to pick up so much slack.

“We are sorry for your loss, Mistress Galbraith. I see that our arrival here is inopportune. My men and I will take our leave and find alternate lodgings elsewhere. We do not wish to cause any problems.” There was a rich timbre and genuine emotion to the words and you found yourself being drawn to the speaker.

He was tall, a couple of inches taller than your brother, and bore himself proudly. A beard graced his cheeks, with a fuller moustache, and he had kind eyes beneath his dark felted cap. You took in more of his countenance but hissed at the sight of the battered and torn coat that he wore, the redness of it showing distinctly through the grime of the road.

“You’re not just bringing Englishmen to my door, John MacTavish, you’re bringing red coats? Have you lost your mind? What if the militia pass by, hmm? Do you want us all to hang?”

“Puthair, I owe these men my life a hundred times over. I could do no less than offer them place to stay and the food off my table.”

“Your table? It’s yours now, is it? Fine,” you spat, turning on your heel and stalking off across the courtyard.

Halfway to the house you halted, having heard no indication of anyone following.

“Well?” You snapped over your shoulder. “Do you want feeding or not?” With a jerk of your head towards the house you resumed your journey, a hidden smirk on your face at the sounds of four men scrabbling to follow along behind you.

Hums and mumbles of appreciation spilled from hungry lips at the food you’d set before them in the kitchen. It wasn’t great fare at such a lack of notice - cold meats, cheese, and hunks of bread - but the men acted as if it were the first proper meal they’d had in weeks. As you looked more closely at them you began to suspect that was not too far from the truth.

Through mouthfuls of bread and ale, Johnny began to introduce the men proper. There was Sergeant Garrick, Lieutenant Riley, and then their red-coated Captain, John Price. He humbly scoffed away Johnny’s attempts at explaining their escapades, saying that your brother had a talent for over-embellishing a tale. Whilst you knew the latter to be a common occurrence, there was something in Johnny’s eyes that spoke the truth. These Englishmen had risked their lives to rescue your brother from Fort William and you were grateful enough not to question their reasons for turning coat on their own army.

“Alright then, gentlemen, you may as well stay,” you sighed, as if it were the world’s greatest burden. “We have rooms enough but you’ll work for your keep, mind.” You waved your bread knife at them but your amicable threat was dulled by the blush that rose in your cheeks at the sight of the Captain’s grateful smile.

One night turned into two, and then more, and the three Englishmen became a common sight around the house and its grounds. They were with Johnny more often than not, helping out wherever it was needed, and you began to appreciate the hum of conversation and low chuckles of laughter. Your home had been too quiet for too long.

Having had the burden of clearing the supper table taken from you by the often-brooding Lieutenant Riley, you found yourself alone in your small parlour, relishing the quiet of the evening. You selected a book from the small collection that had once belonged to your grandfather, the leather-binding soft with age, and settled yourself onto one of the comfortable, overstuffed couches. You read with a rare self-indulgence, taking sips of whisky from the glass you had poured, and sighed deeply in satisfaction. Your little haven of calm was not to be such for long, however, and you rose to your feet, book in hand, when the door opened and a figure stepped inside.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Madam,” the Captain said, quietly apologetic. “I thought the room empty.”

“You are not intruding, Captain,” you replied. “I was merely reading.”

“Milton, I see?” He asked.

“Aye, not bad…for an Englishman,” you replied with a teasing tone to your voice and Price responded with a gentle, self-deprecating smile.

“It must not be easy for you, having us here.”

“I find I have grown surprisingly accustomed to the company,” you said. “This house has been quiet for too long.” You did not mean to taint your words with sadness but the astute Captain noticed regardless.

“Still,” he said, “three foreigners do not make for the ideal houseguests. I will take my leave and allow you your peace.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed then, about to turn and leave.

“You…you may stay, if you wish,” you rushed out, making him pause. “It seems you know this book and it would be nice to have someone to discourse with. There is whisky in the cabinet too, Captain, if you would care for a dram?”

Price looked at you for a moment, as if he were searching for something, and then nodded brusquely, pouring himself a glass of Ferintosh. He took a seat at the other end of the couch that you occupied, angled to face you, and sipped from his glass with an appreciative hum.

“Considering recent events, I do not think I am able to wear the mantle of Captain,” he said with a wry smile.

“I may not care for the English,” you begin, your answering smile taking the sting from your words, “but I know that titles must be earned. No-one can take that from you.”

“Officially they can,” he said, taking another sip.

“A man should always be measured by his deeds, Captain. You brought my brother back and to me that is worth more than even the King could bestow. Now, tell me your thoughts on Paradise Lost.”

You talked long into the night, finding yourself entranced by the opinions and ideas of the English Captain. What began as an unexpected interruption continued into evenings of enjoyable companionship that you found yourself yearning for at the end of a long day running the house. At times you were joined by one or more of the other men but John Price became your constant.

Things had fallen into such a peaceful routine that the MacTavish household grew complacent and it was the panicked arrival of Rabbie, the stable boy, as you ate luncheon with your brother and his friends that sent you all into a frenzy.

“Mistress, the militia, they are…they are coming!” He wheezed, having run at full speed from the other side of the valley.

The four of you leapt from your seats and looked at each other in distress. If the militia found the Englishmen here they would be hanged and more likely you and Johnny alongside them.

“How long?” You snapped, your anxiousness making your tone sharp.

“A quarter hour, perhaps less,” Rabbie panted, bending over with his hands on his knees.

“Take a breath, lad, you did well,” Johnny reassured, patting him on the back.

You rested your fists on your hips and cast about for inspiration, chewing your bottom lip.

“We could ride…” Garrick began but you cut him off with a glance.

“There’s not enough time to saddle the horses. You’d be seen,” you said, and your brother nodded his agreement.

“Johnny,” you said, voice cracking like a whip. “Take the Lieutenant out to the water meadow. Put smocks on and from a distance you’ll pass as farmers. They’ll likely ride on by. I’ll hide the other two here and pray the thieving bastards only raid the kitchen.”

Your brother nodded, managing a laugh at your profanity despite the situation, and led the Lieutenant out of the back gate. You looked at the two remaining men, who seemed rather ready to fight, and tilted your head towards the back stairs. Without another word you guided them up towards the second floor. Reaching a specific point in the hallway you pressed on a section of panelling which moved aside to reveal a narrow stone alcove.

“Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to secrete yourself in here?” You asked, barely waiting for him to enter before you closed the panel behind him.

Despite the size of the house there were not many spaces large enough to accommodate even one burly soldier, let alone two. You paced the corridor, wracking your brain for a place to hide the Captain that you had grown so fond of. The clatter of hooves became louder as the men of the militia drew closer and your pacing became even more frantic, panic brewing at the thought of him being discovered above all others. A hand on your wrist stopped you in your tracks and you stared up into Price’s concerned blue gaze. He held his belt knife in his hand as he pulled you closer to him.

“I will not let them harm you,” he grated, his jaw set and determined.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart began to pound with something other than fear. Your skin burned at the gentle hold around your wrist and you placed a hand against his strong chest.

“Let us hope it will not come to that,” you whispered. “I have an idea.”

Pushing him backwards into your chambers, you latched the door behind you and toed off your boots.

“What-?” Price began but you shook your head.

“Hurry now, get out of your outer clothes and climb under the covers,” you urged, turning your back to him.

A pounding on the large oak doors echoed through the house and you hurriedly divested yourself of your skirts and stays, leaving you in only your chemise. Thankfully, you heard the rustle of sheets and blankets and could only pray that the Captain had done as you asked. Loud voices and heavy footfall sounded in the corridor outside your room and then the handle of your door rattled ominously.

“Hide your face and say not a word,” you hissed over your shoulder as you waited another moment, taking the opportunity to muss up your hair a little.

Once the rattling handle changed into the pounding of a fist you hurried over to the door and, with a deep breath, turned the latch and opened it a crack.

“What do you think you are doing here, you oaf, disturbing a lady at rest?” You raged, your breathy voice and flaming cheeks giving your ruse an added realism.

The militia man before you peered over your shoulder at the moving figure in your bed and then glanced down at your state of undress. His face flamed but he maintained his confidence, even in the face of your cold glare.

“We’ve heard tales of Englishmen in these parts, Mistress Galbraith. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Does it look like I know anything about any Englishmen, Willie Morris?” You said, opening the door just that little bit wider and gesturing inside so that he could see the distinctly male clothing on the floor.

“Who’s tha- I mean- I didn’t know you had taken another husband Ma’am,” Willie said, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the man occupying your bed.

“What I do or don’t do is none of your concern. Now get out of here and make sure that the kitchen isn’t completely emptied by you and your scavenging companions,” you snarled, shutting the door in his face and fastening the latch.

You stood before the bedroom door with balled fists, vibrating with anxiety until the clatter of horses hooves sounded once more from the courtyard. As they died away a large hand landed gently on your shoulder and you turned and buried your face into the Captain’s warm chest. His arms wrapped around you, calming your nerves and he murmured words in praise of your bravery.

“I thought they would find you, John,” you whispered hoarsely. “I thought we were done for.”

“I’ve never met a soldier with such ingenuity as you,” he rumbled, his hand ghosting over the back of your head, clasping you to him as if you were his to protect.

You stayed that way, comforted in his embrace, until the sound of your brother’s voice startled you from your stupor. You opened your eyes to find yourself staring down at a pair of bare feet and legs covered only by the long tails of his linen shirt. It was then that you remembered your state of undress and you gasped, turning away from him with your face aflame.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, moving to shrug back into your stays, resisting the urge to turn and stare, “but I would rather my honour be sullied than see your neck in a noose.”

You finished tying your skirts and slipped back into your boots before heading towards the door. As you reached for the handle so did John and your hands met awkwardly, causing you both to freeze. You looked up into the face you had grown so accustomed to in the candlelight of the parlour and drew in a shaky breath. His other hand reached out and grasped an errant strand of hair, holding it carefully, as if it were the most precious thing, and tucked it behind your ear. His fingers brushed over your cheek and along your jaw and his awed expression was one that you knew you would treasure for many a long year.

John parted his lips as if to speak but the door burst open and your brother appeared with Garrick and the Lieutenant; their relief at the sight of you was almost palpable.

“Where did you manage to hide?” Garrick asked, scanning the room.

“Under the bed frame,” you offered a little too quickly. “I convinced them I was changing the linens.”

Supper that evening was a little more raucous than usual. Even the stoic Lieutenant was into his cups and grinning along with the antics of the others, the tensions of the day obviously requiring some form of release. There were two who remained apart from the revelry, however. Seated at opposite sides of the dining table you tried to avoid paying any close attention to the Captain. Each time you caught his eye you were reminded of the warmth of his arms around you, of how tenderly he caressed your face…

You waved off any offers of help when clearing the table and tried to ignore John’s look of dismay when you announced you would be retiring straight to your chamber. Changing into your nightdress, you brushed out your hair and climbed beneath blankets and sheets that were still rumpled from your earlier escapade. You closed your eyes and tried to force sleep upon yourself but no amount of tossing and turning could find you comfortable enough. Thoughts ran rampant through your mind that you desperately tried to shut out; a gentle hand on your face, the rumbled vow of protection, the slight parting of lips that held words left unsaid.

Leaving the warmth of your bed you reached for the door handle but stopped, muttering curses to yourself as you paced nervously before your door. What would he have said if you hadn’t been interrupted? Your curiosity could wait no longer and you yanked on the door handle, pulling open the heavy wooden door and stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.

A movement at the other end drew your attention and you stilled, your heart pounding in your chest at the sight of the Captain, frozen just as you were, wearing only his shirt. He looked to be in as much disarray as you felt, his usually neat hair rumpled as if he had raked his hands through it a dozen times.

There was a moment of stillness and the world condensed into the space between you. Your chest heaved and your pulse fluttered wildly in your throat as the heat of his gaze fanned the flames of your own desire. He looked almost crazed as he stalked down the hallway towards you, his bare feet silent on the wooden boards, and you trembled with nervous anticipation.

He halted before you, a mere hair’s breadth away, his hands tensed at his sides as if he were desperately holding himself back.

“John,” you whispered, reaching for him and resting your hand over a heart that hammered as hard as your own.

It was enough to break the tenuous hold he had on himself. He cupped your cheek as his mouth crashed against yours with a desperate groan, the momentum carrying you backwards until you hit the doorframe with a soft huff of air. His other hand cradled the back of your head, making sure you were not harmed even in the throes of your passion. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him as you gave in to your fervour.

Your bodies moulded together as if they had always done so and you threaded your fingers through his hair, moaning sweetly into his mouth as your kiss grew even more urgent. John’s hands slid down your body, tracing the outline of your curves through the thin linen of your chemise before coming to rest on your waist. A tightening of his fingers was the only indication he gave before he lifted you with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him press against you as his lips left yours to trail hot kisses across your jaw and down the column of your throat, his beard scraping deliciously over your tender skin.

He broke away from you and rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathless and trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips reverently to your skin. “I shouldn’t have…I just could not…”

You tightened your legs around him, afraid that he might pull away and set you down and your actions caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and set his jaw as he tried to regain some vestige of self-control.

“No,” you said placing your hand on his cheek to force him to look at you, “John, please, don’t stop.”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze with a mixture of amazement and pure, unadulterated passion.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, pulling his lips to yours once again.

Shifting his grip on you slightly he lifted you away from the door frame and carried you through into your chamber, fumbling blindly behind him until the latch was closed. By the depths of the desperation that you knew you both felt, you half-assumed he would toss you onto your bed but he did not. He crawled into the centre of the large oaken frame with you still in his arms and lay you down gently. It was only then that he broke away from you, his hands running down your sides almost reverently, skimming the edges of your breasts and across your hips as he sat back on his haunches.

John ran a hand over his face and he let out a huffed sigh of disbelief at the sight of you laid before him, your hair spread in a halo around your head. You lifted your hand and grasped the bottom of his shirt, pulling him down to you but the anticipated kiss did not come. His lips ghosted across your cheek, along your jaw, his beard leaving a tingling trail on your skin. You gathered more of the fabric into your hands and lifted, pulling the linen over his head with only a little assistance.

You let your hands wander down his defined chest, tracing the outline of his muscles and ran your fingers through the dark hair that decorated them before finding his face once more. His eyes never left yours, boring into you with such a passion as you had not felt in years and you almost squirmed beneath him as desire and impatience collided.

You felt his hand on your knee, firm yet gentle, gliding up over your soft skin and lifting your chemise with it. It was no effort at all for you to shuffle your hips and release the fabric from beneath you, allowing him to draw it over your head and bare yourself to him.

He whispered a curse, his eyes flying back to yours, the blue of his irises darkened to a storm-filled sky.

“Are you sure, my sweet heart?” He murmured thickly, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

“If you do not put your hands on me, John Price, I fear I will combust,” you replied breathily, raising your eyebrow in challenge.

Your words had the desired effect and his face brightened into a delicious smile.

“Well then, I mustn’t leave my woman wanting.” He smirked, leaning down and nuzzling into your neck.

“Say that again,” you breathed, arching into his touch.

“My woman,” he growled, nipping along your collarbone and when he slotted his lips against yours you met each tantalising stroke of his tongue with your own.

Your hands touched and explored every part of each other, ardently stoking the flames of your desire until they threatened to consume you both. Cupping your breasts in his large hands, calloused from years of toil with his regiment, John teased your nipples into firm peaks with his thumbs, sending a flash of heat straight to your core. You moaned into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip as you scraped your fingers down his spine before venturing even lower to squeeze the taut muscles of his arse.

Impatient and eager now to feel him inside you, you pulled away and scanned over his face. John looked as wild-eyed and breathless as you felt, his lips moist and kiss-swollen beneath his moustache. Gripping his hefty bicep you scooted backwards up the bed, pulling him half on top of you as you lay back and carded your fingers through his thick brown hair. He trailed his fingers over your soft belly and your hips, marvelling at the tingling goosebumps they left in their wake. The simple sensation of his warm skin against yours had you shivering with pleasure and, by the growing hardness that pressed enticingly against your thigh, you knew John felt the same.

You used the hand on his face to guide him back to you and he nudged his nose against yours with a smile of such heat and affection that it caused something to bloom to life in your chest. John’s hand trailed lower, closer to your core but he held your gaze almost in challenge, wanting to watch every nuance of expression on your face. He was not disappointed for, when his fingers slipped between your slick folds, your eyes widened and then grew heavy-lidded as he worked over your most sensitive spots, drawing out whimpers of pleasure from your lips.

Lowering his mouth to yours once more he rocked his hips against you in search of friction to soothe the ache in his cock. A gentle yet determined hand against his shoulder urged him to lay back and he went willingly, with your soft lips planting kisses over his jaw and down his neck. To his wonderment you moved your leg over his body and lifted yourself to sit astride his thick thighs. By his expression you thought he would have stared at you all night but his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned in pleasure as you took his cock in your hand, stroking his shaft in a tantalising rhythm.

Lifting yourself up onto your knees, you lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. John’s eyes flew open and he hissed out a curse as you began to lower yourself onto him. The delicious stretch as he filled you had you moaning salaciously and your head lolled back when you reached his base, stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Your name spilled from him in a cry of pleasure when you started to move atop him, circling your hips around as you raised them up and down. His hands gripped your waist, in truth to steady you both.

You gazed down at him, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes as you writhed above him. One of his hands left your waist, sliding down to tease the sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs, rubbing tight circles around it as you ground down harder against him. He bucked his hips, meeting you stroke for stroke, and planted his feet on the bed for extra purchase.

“Yes, John, yes” you gasped, gripping his thighs, your fingers leaving indentations in the hard muscles.

Your brows drew together as you began to lose yourself to the sensations running through you and your movements became almost frantic. He reached up to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger, matching the rhythm of his hand between your legs and it was that which sent you over the edge of your pleasure.

Biting his cheek to stave off his own pleasure for a few short moments, John slowed his thrusts and eased you through your climax before pulling away just in time to spill his release over his abdomen with your name on his lips like a prayer.

You collapsed to the side of him with a breathless giggle, reaching behind you to pass him a crumpled shirt to wipe himself with. Nuzzling into the crook of his arm, you could feel John’s heart beating as rapidly as yours. He squeezed you tighter for a moment before loosening his hold to pull out the blankets from beneath you and covered you both. He wrapped you in his arms once more and pressed a kiss against your damp forehead.

“Have no fear, I shall sneak out afore morning,” John murmured softly. “But I would beg a few more sweet moments with you until then.”

“As lady of this house, Captain, I do declare that there will be no sneaking.” You poked his ribs playfully, earning yourself a deep chuckle. “I take no shame from this, mo cridhe, and any who say otherwise will not be welcome here.”

“No sneaking then, sweet heart,” he said, with a kiss so soft and gentle that your heart ached. “I could dream of no greater honour than to stand by your side, if you so wished.”

“I wish it,” you whispered, sinking blissfully into the arms of your English Captain.

#call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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evolucious · 4 months ago

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Midnight Brew : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive.

But then, almost inperceptibly, he smiled.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : our apartments are opposite each other and your kitchen window faces my kitchen window, so we always see each other making coffee at 3am. (aka, you and zayne sneak glances at each other before you decide to do something about it)

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep

word count : 1,050

a/n : heyo, i've dusted off my tumblr skills to dive headfirst into another hyperfixation. this is just a one shot i couldn't get out of my brain so i slapped my keyboard and here we are. I'll probaby post more but feel free to dm or request any prompts/pairing!

It was another sleepless night, and the quiet hum of the city was the only sound breaking the stillness. With slow deliberate movements, you wrap yourself in your robe, the soft fabric offering protection against the predawn chill. You found yourself once again in the kitchen, guided more by muscle memory than conscious thought. The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through the window, casting a gentle light over your counter as you began the familiar ritual of making coffee.

As the coffee brewed, you leaned against the counter and looked out the window. The city never truly slept, but it had moments of stillness, especially at 3 am. You had always found solace in these quiet hours, the world outside muted and calm. The soft hum of distant traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind created a soothing backdrop to your nightly ritual.

The building opposite yours had always been a source of idle curiosity. You often glanced at the darkened windows, imagining the lives inside. One window was illuminated, the soft light spilling out and creating a beacon in the night. There, just as he had been for the past few nights, stood your neighbor, a man with dark, tousled hair and a pensive expression, moving with a quiet grace as he prepared his own cup of coffee. You watched him for a moment, intrigued by the way he seemed so absorbed in his thoughts. There was something almost mesmerizing about the scene, and you found yourself drawn to it night after night. It had become a silent companionship, a shared moment of solitude.

The first time you had noticed him, it had been purely accidental. A restless night had driven you to the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee, and as you gazed out the window, your eyes had landed on the man in the opposite building. He had been so engrossed in his own routine that he hadn’t noticed you, and you had quickly looked away, feeling a bit like an intruder. But over the next few nights, your curiosity got the better of you, and you began to look for him.

You found yourself wondering about his life. Why was he awake at such an ungodly hour? Did he suffer from insomnia like you, or was there something else that kept him up? Maybe he worked odd hours, or perhaps he was an artist or a writer, finding inspiration in the silence of the night. Your imagination ran wild with possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last. He became a character in your own personal narrative, a small comfort in the vast loneliness of the night.

Each night, as your late-night coffee ritual continued, you would glance out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man across the way. He was always there, his presence a comforting constant in the silent hours. You began to notice little details about him—the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought, the soft smile that played on his lips as he read something amusing.

One night, as you prepared your coffee, you felt the familiar pull to look out the window. To your surprise, the man was already there, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive.

But then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

It was a small smile, but it warmed you more than the coffee in your hands. You returned the gesture, feeling a strange connection form between you in that silent exchange. From that night on, the smiles became a regular part of your routine, a wordless greeting that made the lonely hours feel less empty.

Despite the comfort these nightly interactions brought, your mind was constantly buzzing with thoughts and questions. Who was this man? What was his story? And most importantly, why did it matter so much to you? You found yourself thinking about him during the day, wondering if he thought about you too. It was strange to feel such a strong connection to someone you had never spoken to, yet the bond felt real and significant.

But tonight, as you prepared your coffee, you decided to take a chance. You rummaged through a drawer until you found a piece of paper and a marker. Your heart pounded in your chest as you scribbled a quick message:

"Couldn't sleep either? - Y/N"

Taking a deep breath, you held the note up to the window, praying that the streetlights would provide enough illumination for him to read it. For a moment, there was no response, and you felt a pang of doubt. Had you been too forward? But then, he stepped closer, squinting to read your message. A slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded before disappearing from view. When he returned, he held up his own note:

"Work keeps me up. Wanna share a cup? - Zayne"

Your heart skipped a beat. Zayne. Finally, you had a name to go with the face. You quickly wrote back:

"Meet downstairs?"

Zayne raised his mug with a nod and a smile, and you felt a flutter of excitement as you grabbed your mug and slipped on some shoes. You made your way down to the entrance of your building, your mind racing with possibilities. When you stepped outside, he was already there, leaning casually against the wall with his mug in hand. The cool night air washed over you, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and hope. He looked up as you approached, his smile warm and inviting.

"Hi," you said, feeling a bit shy now that you were face-to-face.

"Hi," he replied, his voice as smooth and soothing as you had imagined. "I suppose our midnight coffee rituals have finally converged."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension melt away. "It seems so. I hope you don't mind me intruding on your solitude."

"Not at all," he assured you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "In fact, I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk. It's not every day you find someone who shares your unusual habits."

{pls dont repost i beg}

#love and deepspace #lads zayne #lads #lads imagine #lads fluff #lads fanfic #love and deep space #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace fluff #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x mc #l&ds zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x you #doctor zayne #dr zayne #evoluciousfics

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alphabetatoes · 8 months ago

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a.n.: can't stop won't stop thinking abt seeing nanami in his salaryman suit for the first time (also ty for 1000 followers !!!!)

c.w.: mdni, 18+

The first time Kento told you he’d gotten a job in the corporate world, you were a bit thrown by the news. It would be a complete change from his life working for the high school, although far less dangerous. And with that new job came a new look. Bangs that once draped over his face were trimmed into a 7/3 cut. The all black wardrobe in your shared closet gaining specks of color with button downs and ties introduced.

“Can you come to the living room real quick? I want to make sure my suit looks okay for the first day.” Kento calls you over from the kitchen.

He must’ve gotten it tailored. The way the suit hugs every inch of his body makes Kento look like a work of art. It’s hard not to stare when you have the son of Aphrodite standing in your living room. You’re left awestruck, practically drooling over his new appearance. “We need to talk.”

Kento raises a brow at your statement, confused as to the catalyst for it. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the couch. “Is it the hair? They told me it was the common cut for the workplace-” Kento rakes his hand over the fresh cut hair on his head, fingers combing through blond locks as he lifts it up.

“I want to talk to you,” You let your words linger, gazing over his new attire. “in the bedroom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You grab his hand, making a beeline for the bedroom. You push him down on the bed and climb on top to straddle him. “Fuck, Ken.” Undoing his tie, you move it to drape around your neck. “You’ve always been attractive but this new look is… divine.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Kento’s ears tint red as he watches your hands make idle work of his shirt. The way his chest hair peeks out as you unbutton drives you wild. Once you’ve gotten the shirt unbuttoned, your hands explore the plane of his chest. “I think I’m obsessed.”

Shifting up to his neck, you let your fingers run through the soft hair of his undercut. Leaning down, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. As your hips grind against him, the fabric of Kento’s pants creates a pleasurable friction on your core.

You move off him for a moment, granting Kento access to shuffle off your leggings. Once they’ve been removed, you take the time to unbuckle his pants and free his aching cock.

Gentle hands guide you down on his cock, resting on your thighs once he’s bottomed out. “You always take me so well, sweetheart.” Kento pulls you back down to him with the tie, biting down on your bottom lip as he kisses into you. Riding him slowly, you melt into the kiss. Sweet and raw. The smell of sweat and sex tinge the air.

As you take him, you mutter sweet nothings in his ear. Kento elevates his hips, allowing his tip to nudge just where you need him to. And you can feel that familiar knot forming in your stomach as his hands guide your movements. A bubble about to burst. “Ken, ‘m close.” Warm walls clamp down on him and he knows he won't last much longer than you.

You hit that apex quickly. Shockwaves of pleasure roll over your body as you moan into his mouth. You collapse into him as he reaches his high, stuffing you full of his seed with a quiet grunt. "Did so good for me honey." His saccharine praises cause a pink blush to tint your tired cheeks.

Kento kisses the crown of your head, strong arms pulling you into him. He looks down at the disheveled state of his clothing, pants clearly marked with the slick of your release. “Y’know I’m probably gonna need to get the suit dry cleaned.” He smiles down at you, holding you tighter as you nuzzle into his chest.

“Is that an invitation to do this all again?” You mumble, tired eyes smiling up at him.

It's Kento's first day as a salaryman, and you decide to send him a little treat to soothe his nerves. You snap a photo of yourself baking in the kitchen, one of his ties once again draped around your neck. You send it to him and caption it ‘Serious Business.’. Kento’s phone pings and he slips off to the restroom to check it during his break.

He examines the image, how flour stains your cheeks and the tie is wrapped loosely around your neck. He curses to himself for being trapped at work rather than home with you. Half hard in the bathroom and palming himself to that sweet look of yours, praying his boner will disappear in time for his next meeting.

He can’t get home soon enough.

#jjk #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento smut

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icycoldninja · 2 months ago

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Dating Mahito headcannons

A/N: I don't care if half the world hates him, I think he's funny.

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-Biggest pain in the ass you will ever meet.

-Uses Idle Transfiguration to confuse you by transforming into different people and knocking on your door, acting as if you had a prior arrangement, when you obviously did not, leading to a great awkward encounter that ends in him laughing his ass off as he transforms back.

-Regularly gives himself boobs just so he has an excuse to "borrow" your clothes.

-Will also transfigure you just to screw with your head, though he won't do too much or it might kill you.

-Despite being a very sadistic and awful person, Mahito does have a soft, caring side, though he didn't have it before. He got that from your love and attention, though getting him to display this sweet side is very difficult.

-Sneaks up and tackles you whenever he gets the chance, then proceeds to torture you with tickles.

-Loves bubble baths, childish as it is, and always calls for you to bring him a towel or something else he forgot.

-Don't let him French kiss you unless you want mini hands sliding down your throat.

-Doesn't take care of his hair, yet it's still so shiny and soft. It does get tangled though, so he probably won't mind you brushing it out every day.

-Is out committing crimes and other malicious deeds for most of the night so you'll never know the comfort of falling asleep in his arms.

-That's fine, though, he flips upside down in his sleep for some reason, so you're really falling asleep with his big-ass feet up against your face.

-Only holds you if you ask him to, and oftentimes you have to plead your case.

-Never cooks, never cleans, he only consumes the food you eat or buy and lives rent-free in your house.

-What he does all day is a complete mystery, though it's probably best that you don't know.

-Sometimes you question why you even agreed to date him since he does nothing for you and only uses your stuff--then he treats you to the best weekend you've ever had, with makeovers, movie marathons, massages and...something else. You know. Something fun. Something he puts his technique to use for. That's right. PILLOW FIGHTS!

-Nah, but seriously, that other thing is a viable activity. 😉

-Drags you all over the place to do weird shit, from commiting homicide in an abandoned alleyway to running wild in a supermarket.

-He also wakes you up at 4 AM because he found a dead cat on the side of the road and wanted to show you.

-He's an absolute magnet for trouble, but he's also a lot of fun and at times, a huge cutie. You're so lucky!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu mahito #mahito #mahito x reader #mahito jjk #mahito jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Headcannons #Dating headcannons #jjk mahito #Jjk mahito x reader #icycoldninja writes #Mahito #jujitsu kaisen

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awkwardsonicphotos · 2 years ago

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So awhile ago I talked about how Sonic’s quills spike when surprised etc., but now I want to talk about the spines themselves. Hedgehog spines are actually super cool. They can be quite flexible due to how humid they are. Less humid quills are more brittle but still strong while more humid quills can have some give and bend. Quills can also freely bend and move in many directions thanks to the tipped bulbs in the hedgehog’s skin.

I took a video of Thistle to show how movable quills really are on a hedgehog.

So pictures of Sonic’s quills like this

And even Shadow’s one idle animation is pretty accurate to real hedgehog spines.

Spines are also built to stay in a hedgehogs body unlike porcupines which can detach. A hedgehog spine is so strong you can pick up a hedgehog by single spine and it won’t detach. A single spine can also withstand and bend against up to 200 times the force that would crush it. One scientist noted that he’d never seen a hedgehog with a broken or dulled quill. (Hedgehog quills can be cut from lawn mowers or hedge trimmers so always be careful and aware if you live near wild hedgehogs.)

While spines are used against predators they are also used for shock absorption. When a hedgehog is completely curled up their spines will absorb incredible amounts for force from falls from trees or high areas.

One study showed, “quills protected from a fall at 15m/s. Despite the velocity at impact, the animal survives unscathed due to the shock absorbing capabilities of its spines, which buckle under the load.” Because of this people have been studying hedgehog spines to better make helmets to protect people from concussions and head injuries.

Sonic’s drop dash could protect Sonic from large falls. (Too bad he mostly lands on his face lol)

One scientific paper I recently read did a study on the durability of hedgehog quills against repeated high velocity impact blows. It concluded that while low humidity quills were better at absorbing shock, repeated impact blows weakened the durability and broke the brittle quills. While more humid quills absorbed less shock but remained more durable and survived the repeated impacts with less damage. They said more tests would have to be done because most people only studied the strength of one quill and not all the quills working together like theirs did. But that their test may not be entirely accurate since they could not fully replicate the hedgehog’s skin/muscles working with the spines against the blows. As the bulb tip on a hedgehog's quills protect their skin from the quills being stabbed back into them after falls or hits.

But the results concluded that, “in certain conditions, Hedgehog spines can absorb as much, if not more, than industry standard impact-absorbing foam.”

Just makes me wonder how strong Sonic’s quills are as he uses his to break robots at high speeds. But him using his quills to protect himself while also using them to attack is pretty smart.

#hedgehog facts #long post #sonic the hedgehog #sorry I just find this stuff to be really cool #hedgehogs are fascinating creatures

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yuesya · 2 months ago

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“Hey! Over here!”

There’s a heavy storm going on; black thunderclouds rolling across the skies and blotting out the heavens above. The rain is so heavy that it’s impossible to make out individual droplets –it feels like there are bucketfuls of water hammering them down into the muddy ground, making each step forward more of a struggle than it already is.

Luckily, it seems that Arni had managed to find a small cave ahead, perfect for waiting out the torrential tempest. Brynja pauses to make sure that none of the children are falling behind, waving her other clansmen onward ahead of herself–

Lightning flashes, illuminating the terrible darkness. For one moment, Brynja can see in perfect detail the weariness on her clansmen’s faces, the tremble in their frames even as they grit their teeth and force themselves to move forward–

And, to the hills behind them, there is a white-haired stranger standing in the rain.

What?

Brynja is one of her tribe’s best archers; her eagle eyes don’t lie. For a single instant beneath the lightning’s glow, Brynja sees a white-haired stranger standing stock-still in the middle of a dangerous storm, and–

And Brynja is moving before she knows it.

“Asco, take over for me for a minute!”

“Brynja, you fucking–”

Asco’s words are drowned in the rumbling thunder that echoes around them, a terrifying roar that Brynja can physically feel down to her bones.

But Brynja is not called fleet-footed for nothing. She reaches her goal swiftly enough.

“Hey! You alright, stranger?” Brynja calls out as she approaches, “This storm is strong and dangerous to wait out with no cover. Would you like to seek shelter with us?”

Even through the gloom of darkness, the stranger’s silhouette is clearly visible –particularly so now that Brynja has closed the distance between them. It startles Brynja to realize that this is quite a young girl, lost and stranded by herself in the middle of a storm like this. Had she been separated from her own clan?

The thought strikes a pang of sympathy within her; Brynja herself was a lost child who’d been fortunate enough to be accepted into her clan when one of their scouts had come across her. Her memories of those times are faded, but there are faint snippets and pieces that she remembers from living like a wild child in the woods.

“Are you lost?” Brynja gentles her voice. “My clan can help.”

For a moment, the white-haired child does not respond. Then, the young girl moves, turning around–

“I’m not lost.”

–and oh, she’s quite pretty, isn’t she? There’s something that’s almost scary about those blue eyes of hers, too; Brynja is a seasoned hunter, and yet even just an idle gaze is enough to send shivers down her spine.

But this does not change the fact that she’s a child.

“If you’re not lost, then why are you standing by yourself in this storm like this?” Brynja coaxes patiently.

“… his voice.”

The wind whips wildly around them; Brynja had lost most of those words just now. “What?”

“I was listening for his voice,” the girl repeats herself quietly.

… She was listening for someone’s voice? In the middle of a storm?

Brynja feels a sudden burst of pity for the child, “There’s no one else out here, child.”

The strange girl shakes her head, “No. He’s still here.”

Brynja thinks that she’s starting to put the facts together: The girl had gotten separated from her clan in this storm, and was listening for a familiar voice in order to find her family. But as far as Brynja is aware, she and her clan are the only other humans around this part of the woods, so the girl must be quite lost.

But, it should be alright. “Even if you’re looking for someone, there’s no point getting yourself sick in the rain like this. Your clan must be headed for that new settlement around these parts too, right?”

“… New settlement?”

“Yup,” Brynja nods. “That’s where my clan is headed, too –apparently the god of these lands is powerful enough to keep their people safe from roaming beasts, so we’re also here to seek sanctuary, gods willing. If your people are headed for the same destination, then you’ll definitely be able to reunite with them there.”

The girl looks at Brynja for a moment, then turns away. “That’s unnecessary.”

Brynja huffs, “Now’s not the time for pointless pride; this storm is dangerous–”

Lightning flashes again. Brynja finds herself freezing, words cutting off on their own in her throat, because…

Why? Why is the girl smiling?

A soft little smile, no more than a slight curve of pale lips on a pale face.

“No storm is dangerous to me.”

… What does that mean? Brynja opens her mouth to ask–

“Brynja! Gods, Brynja, why did you suddenly just take off like that?”

Brynja whirls around, “Asco? Why are you–”

“Do you really need to ask that?” her fellow hunter gives her a withering look, then rolls his eyes and grabs her by the wrist. “C’mon, you’re the last one, let’s get out of this goddamned rain already.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Brynja struggles against her friend’s grip, “We need to help the kid–”

“What kid?”

“Are you blind? There’s a little girl… right… here…?”

Brynja trails off slowly. Because in the spot where that strange white-haired girl had been standing, there’s no one at all.

There’s nothing but empty rain, falling incessantly from the heavens.

Asco frowns, and reaches his other hand up to press against her forehead. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“I’m not hallucinating and seeing things!” Brynja knows what she saw. And she’d literally just been talking to the girl! … Even though the girl had somehow just… managed to disappear in the blink of an eye. What was up with that?

“If you say so,” Asco responds dubiously.

Brynja scowls, and kicks him in the shin.

“Motherfu–”

#writing #zenith of stars au #mondstadt au #more super early mondstadt stuff #three guesses for who balor was trying to listen for #and the first two don't count

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witheredtoashes · 1 year ago

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birds and their wings

Okay, okay, everyone.

Here's my piece, aka predictions, for the Phil and his wings lore.

He's not getting them back. Or at least, he'll be the last one.

Why?

Because he wants them.

As far as I know, phil is the only one to be actively asking the federation, admins, and Cucurucho for the restoration of his wings. Not only that, I think while it's a very common headcanon or belief that Jaiden, baghera, and quackity have wings and are avians, and this is accepted by the creators themselves, they've never wanted wings. They've never asked for them. Correct me if I'm wrong, since I don't watch them often, but the other avians on qsmp are birdlike and like to be considered birds, but.. it's not ingrained. And I say these things in comparison to Phil.

Day one, barely into the stream when he was on the train, Phil talked about his wings and them being clipped. IMMEDIATELY addressed why he couldn't fly, because flying is utterly ingrained into his movements, his thinking, and everything he does. If he's not flying, there has to be a reason.

Fast forward, Phil's getting more into lore. All of his lore is about the eggs and the federation, or his wings. Being a bird. It's starting to show in everything he does, and it's purposeful.

He's perching more, when he's idle. He's always perched high in his hardcore world or even in qsmp, wanting to get the best viewpoint to see what's around him, what dangers there are, and get a look of the land. But, he's perching in places where he doesn't need to do all that.

In forever's office. On the wall, which he knows is safe and knows the surroundings of. Whenever he's idle, he will parkour and climb to the highest spot he can reach every single time, out of boredom. But it's an instinct, and it's one he's PURPOSELY tying into being a bird.

Another reason- he's more birdlike than all the other avians. It shows in his movements, his words, even his morals. He thinks like a bird. It shows in every part of his character, not just design.

Phil treasures nature and natural things over everything. He likes large open spaces. He perched and builds on the wall, and then he COVERS it in grass and transforms it into a place bustling with life and nature. Natural, wild, a place where animals can thrive and live, like a forest. Somewhere where a bird would flourish.

Not only this, it's in his hardcore world. Which we KNOW is canon. Everything he builds is connected to nature and wildlife, or at least large open spaces he can soar around. Endlantis? The sea and life taking over the barren end, and it's BRIMMING with plants and animals and growth. The ocean monument? Come on, self explanatory. Nethervoid? It's a void, barren of life, but he has pockets of life and animals within it. It's wide open, letting him soar through and admire it and fly without fear. The spawn islands? Literally pockets of floating life. The wall around his spawn? A artificial stone structure, cold and unforgiving, being taken over again by nature, weathered away, and covered in vines, trees, and moss. Life is everywhere.

Now, qsmp.

Jaiden shows Phil his wings, right? She says she just "busts them out", like she's had them, fully functional the entire time.

One of Phil's first questions is "can you fly yet?" Because that's the first thing he'd do if his wings were whole. Hearing Jaiden is too shy, he groans like he's disappointed before saying it's alright. He asks if she's always had wings. He says he's glad she's got her wings and that SHE CAN FLY AGAIN. After complaining of his own fucked up wings, and how he can no longer fly.

Phil adds more lore to his wings, and connects back to them again. He says that with the damage and the amount of feathers clipped, he has to wear the heavy backpack to balance himself, because he's so used to their weight. Now that it's off, he can't walk or move properly without that weight being fixed. It's such a natural part of him that he adjusted to, he can't live without them.

When Jaiden spoke of caging the birds she's found, Phil paused, and he got that hesitant joking along but please don't be serious voice he often uses, saying "You let them out of the cages though, right?"

He's concerned of the detriments of being caged, and how birds need to be free and fly. Exactly what he can't do. He calls the island a cage.

Now, all this MIGHT be because of the cage for a cage punishment, right? But I don't think it is. I think this instinct was already there, and that lore built onto it and got him to show it more.

He's mindful not of being trapped in a cage again, but the harm of being trapped and confined and not able to fly. We all saw how he went a little insane in that birdcage, right? Dreaming of hardcore, thinking he was in there for weeks, and how it left him shattered and unable to trust himself and his reality without outside assurance. Aka, the pheonix. He didn't call cucurucho out for fucking with him, he questioned whether.. it really was real, and maybe thats why he couldnt lasso it. He relaxed when cucurucho said it saw the bird in the picture, and still hung onto that moment and HOUR LATER, saying it was still fucking with him.

And in the birdcage. He saw all his fellow birds, imprisoned, and the next time we see him? They're all free. They're flying around in the little space they can, while he's grounded.

Outside of that, he croons over every bird and keeps it safe. But when it comes to running out of cages, he lets the birds fly freely again in the SAME stream he found them, instead of making new cages. He looks after them. He knows the importance of freedom, and that's why he's an anarchist, that's why he hated the elections and the federation, that's why he plans and avoids shit not only to keep his little fledglings, his eggs, safe, but to also save himself from being forced to make a decision via blackmail or threats. That's why he didn't enter the election in the first place. He's spiteful and treasures his freedom over everything.

What I'm saying is, his instincts, choices, and nature is tied to being a bird, and being part bird is tied to every part of him. Moreso than the other avians.

So what does this mean for him getting back his wings?

Well, he wont.

It's power over him, now that the eggs are gone. Not a threat, because those make him spiteful and prone to lashing out- uncontrollable.

It's a promise of what he could have, given he behaves. If he listens to the federation.

The minute he has his wings, he's free, there's no more power. He's too buffed as a player to have them taken away again, he's too interconnected with everyone, and everyone will rush to his aid if he says he needs help. They'll never be able to harm his wings, and now, he's too anxious and cautious to fall into a trap. He doesn't trust the federation in the first place, immediately assuming their goal is to kidnap people, and he DEFINITELY doesn't trust messages from the eggs/about the eggs because of the birdhouse. We see this with fit, because when fit tells Phil he got a message from his eggs, Phil IMMEDIATELY asks him if he's sure it was real. Light and cautious, he won't step on the trap again, and he won't let anyone else either.

So, they keep his wings away from him. Taunt him with them, with the idea of getting them, in order to keep them in line. Why do I know this?

Well, they've already started.

Again, Jaiden has her wings. Early on, she goes to Phil's house with them, and he sees them and REALIZES the federation is restoring wings, or at least allowing people to use them. Getting his wings back becomes a possibility, while they use Jaiden to parade that fact around.

Quickly after this, Phil starts to ask the federation to restore his wings. Immediately when he sees them come to his house (coincidentally, some time after Jaiden comes and with Jaiden there.) he asks for his wings. They laugh at him.

Phil gets a quest from cucurucho, the being he constantly curses out and hates on, and he TAKES THE QUEST. Because he sees he can get a reward- something that isn't set in stone or written down. Something he can bargain.

So he does the quest, and then when cucurucho comes to reward him, he starts to bargain.

"YOU WILL RECEIVE A REWARD."

"is it my wings back? JK you wouldn't do that"

"def worth it for the god apple. still no wings though, y'know. Still no healed wings.."

"BY THE WAY, DID YOU CATCH THAT SUNBIRD?"

"Yes, yes I did, thank you."

"GOOD JOB."

"Maybe repair my wings? Maybe repair my wings a little?" AND HE TURNS HIS BACK TOWARDS CUCURUCHO AND SH OWS HIM HIS CLIPPED WINGS,, "I can take off my backpack- oh, no, he's gone."

He turns his back to someone he knows has a gun, considers his enemy, and doesn't trust in the slightest. HE TURNS HIS BACK. In order to extend his wings and show them to cucurucho, show it the clipped ends, the most important part of him, as if to gain sympathy or further plead his case as "this is something that is broken, please fix it." To set things to right.

Cucurucho laughs, and leaves. No wings.

This leads me to believe that the federation will continue to ask tasks of Phil, because he is strong and smart and will get them done, and he will use it as a leverage tool of "hey, I'm helping you, why don't you help me?" And continuously ask them to restore his wings.

But they know that. And they'll say no. He'll do more and more.

Eventually, hell realize they're not going to give them to him. He's smart. Hell catch on. So what do the federation do to give him hope?

They give others their wings. They show him that there's a chance, because OTHERS are getting their wings, so why not him? He must not have done enough, it has to be a possibility. He can still work, and he can get them. He just has to do more.

Hell continue to work, because he sees it as a possibility. Subtly, they'll play him to be their strongest pawn.

And when he doesn't get his wings, even after all his work, I think he'll start to resent those with their wings. Jealousy turning into a little bit of hate, a little bit of bitterness at something so important to him being treated so lightly, not as priceless as he would see them. Not as treasured or appreciated. Hell be taunted with their freedom and how little value they give to it.

Everything recently has been trying to divide the islanders. Taking away their uniting goal, protecting the eggs. The create nerf scuffles. People working with cucurucho, their enemy, and foolish ratting everyone out. There's tension, and secrets are being kept, unlike before. But who's been allied with everyone, and who everyone trusts, despite it all?

Philza, with his honesty, plain to see goals, and lack of a motive or physical thing he cherishes over his friendships. There's nothing to use against him.

Until now. His wings. A way to create tension in Phil's life, a way to make him bitter, a way to control him.

By offering him his freedom, they'll be pressing him into a cage even smaller than before.

A cage made of glass, impossible for him to see.

#philza minecraft #qsmp #qsmp phil #qsmp philza #q!philza #q philza #qsmp liveblog #qsmp analysis #a cage for a cage #qsmp jaiden #Oh god I'm so excited for this lore to pan out #But I'm so scared at the same time #qsmp cucurucho #You're a bitch #Anyway continue to torture my streamer #Wither speaks

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emma23 · 1 month ago

Text

headcanon y/n and Oscar Isaac characters during Halloween:

————————————————————————

Happy Halloween guys 🎃

Hope u enjoy it 💕🤗

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Steven Grant:

Halloween brings out Steven's passion for mythology, and he suggests a night tour of the museum to explore its more mysterious artifacts. As he eagerly guides you through the Egyptian exhibits, he starts sharing stories.

“Did you know the ancient Egyptians believed the dead lived in a world parallel to ours?” Steven’s eyes light up as he whispers. “They thought, on certain nights, like All Hallows' Eve, the boundary thins.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “You mean like... they could just walk back into our world?”

Steven laughs nervously. “Yeah, but don’t worry! They’re friendly spirits, mostly.” He leans closer, eyes wide with excitement. “Although, if we see anything out of place… just, uh, pretend you don’t notice it.”

Marc Spector:

Marc isn’t one for costumes or spooky stories, but he’s all in for protecting you during a Halloween adventure. He ends up taking you to an abandoned warehouse turned haunted house. You’re both wandering through dark corridors when he notices you jump at a sudden sound.

“You alright?” Marc’s voice cuts through the dark, firm but soft.

You laugh, catching your breath. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting that.”

Marc smirks, moving in closer. “You’re safe with me. Besides,” he adds, “those fake ghosts have nothing on the things I’ve seen.”

“Care to share any horror stories?” you tease.

His smile fades, turning into a mock-glare. “Nah. Some things are better left in the dark, trust me.”

Jake Lockley:

Jake insists on taking you for a wild ride through the city at midnight, where the two of you watch costumed crowds roam the streets. You pull out your phone to capture the scene, but he nudges it down.

“Forget the photos,” he says, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Some things, you gotta see for yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, like you?”

Jake chuckles, eyes flicking to you. “Exactly.” He slows down, the car idling under a streetlight. “Want to do something that’ll really give us a thrill?”

Your eyes widen. “What do you have in mind?”

He smirks, tapping the steering wheel. “Trust me. I’ve got a few tricks.”

Anselm Vogelweide:

Anselm has his own idea of Halloween—a bit unconventional. He takes you to a dingy jazz club, far from any typical Halloween crowd. As you both settle in, he orders two drinks and raises his glass.

“To... not being anywhere near a bunch of fake monsters,” he murmurs dryly.

You clink glasses, laughing. “So, not a fan of Halloween?”

He shrugs, a faint grin pulling at his lips. “Why pretend to be something you’re not? Reality’s scarier than any costume.”

Blue Jones:

Halloween with Blue is an extravagant affair. He insists on going to an exclusive masquerade ball, and you find yourself in an elegant costume that he’s carefully chosen.

“You’re quite the mystery tonight,” you tease, as you both dance in the candlelit hall.

He smirks, his eyes glinting behind his mask. “Tonight, all eyes are on you, sweetheart.”

As you dance, he leans in close. “Tell me, do you really think anyone else here can match up to me?”

You laugh, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “You really don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” he replies smoothly, his arm tightening around your waist. “But it’s more fun to make sure.”

Poe Dameron:

Poe is all about the thrill of Halloween, and he suggests a late-night ghost tour at a supposedly haunted location. As you walk through the eerie surroundings, he stays close by, casting playful glances your way.

“Alright,” he grins, “if you see anything spooky, just scream, and I’ll heroically save you.”

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure I could handle a ghost myself, Poe.”

He laughs. “Oh, so you’re the tough one tonight?”

“Guess so,” you reply, smirking. “Maybe I’ll be the one saving you.”

Poe’s laughter echoes in the quiet as he wraps an arm around you. “Alright, hero, lead the way. But I reserve the right to hide behind you if things get intense.”

Santiago Garcia:

Pope keeps it low-key, but he suggests exploring an old, rumored-to-be-haunted trail. Walking side by side under the moonlight, he keeps you talking, subtly checking the surroundings.

“So, what’s your take on ghosts?” he asks, giving you a sideways glance.

You shrug. “I think they’re probably out there… somewhere.”

He nods, pretending to be deep in thought. “You know, if we see one, you’ve got to be the brave one.”

You laugh. “What, the tough ex-soldier needs protection?”

“Hey, I never said I was scared,” he teases, nudging you. “Just wouldn’t want them getting in the way of our night.”

Nathan Bateman:

Nathan’s Halloween style is an intellectual one. He invites you over to his house for a horror movie marathon, accompanied by his very strong opinions on everything you watch.

During a jump scare, you flinch, and he raises an eyebrow. “Scared?”

You play it off. “No, just… surprised.”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Look, most of this stuff is laughable if you think about it. The real horror? The way humans mess with things they don’t understand.”

You smirk. “Like you?”

“Exactly,” he replies, a devilish glint in his eye. “Welcome to the scariest place of all—my mind.”

Jonathan Levy:

Jonathan is surprisingly sweet about Halloween. He plans a cozy night in with you, pumpkin carving and Halloween treats included. As he carefully carves a pumpkin, you try to match his focus but end up making a mess.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Here, let me help. You’re... definitely not doing this right.”

You hand over your pumpkin. “Fine, but don’t judge my carving skills.”

He grins, working quickly. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But next time, maybe we’ll pick something less… complicated.”

You both laugh as he finishes the pumpkin, the warm glow of the candle inside casting shadows across the room.

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materlux · 3 months ago

Text

Nemophilist

Nemophilist: (n.) A haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude.

The script brings Kafka and Blade to a post-post-apocalyptic world, inhabited by primitive humans who believe in ghosts and monsters. But in the forest a monster really does live, but it’s not evil, just slightly stupid. The monster is you, by the way.

CW: Idk?

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

This planet had experienced a catastrophic incident many amber eras ago, this has left its remaining life forms cut off from the rest of the cosmos. The people of this planet are, what the Genius Society would label, primitive. They do not understand the giant metal structures left behind by their forefathers, they have no knowledge of the aeons, or of the place they once occupied in the vast universe. To put it simply, it’s like someone pressed the ‘reset’ button on their civilization.

This explains why the script was so simple and short, no one on this planet knew who they were, they believed they were celestial bodies from beyond the stars. Kafka enjoyed the treatment, compared to how they normally had to avoid all open areas, it was refreshing to be welcomed. Although Blade would much prefer the usual, if only because then he’d be left alone.

Their mission is simple: Retrieve an ancient maschine core, something this planet's forefathers used to trade for high prices, and get back. The hard part would be to locate the core, it has been deactivated for centuries and the ruins of old have become overgrown.

The locals are of little help, only talking of wild superstitions and monsters in the forest. The village they are at now borders with a dense forest of tall trees, the locals fear it, saying it’s home to ghosts and a monster. Kafka smiles and nods along as they explain, but her smile is one of barely hidden amusement, not sympathy.

But a local makes a comment that catches both their attention, the monster lives in the body of a giant metal box, surrounded by other metal boxes. It’s a crude way to describe it, but this planet’s people used to live in giant artificial floating cities, the machine core they were searching for must be hidden in one such building.

Kafka comes up with a plan and uses the people's beliefs of a monster to her advantage, she promises that she and her companion, Blade, will slay the monster for them. She makes a show of telling the people of their great endeavours and heroic acts, Blade thinks she lays it on too thick, singing her own praise more than anything, but it works.

The locals see them off as they enter the forest, creaking branches sway tall overhead, the ground is covered in plant growth. Luckily there is a passage carved through the bush, dirt and stone crunch under their boots.

“This is like a walk in the park, it makes you wonder what the locals are so scared of.” Kafka makes idle musings as they walk, Blade pays her little mind, keeping his eyes on the surrounding undergrowth.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had this simple of a mission.” Kafka continues to fill the silence, not expecting a reply. “Maybe we’ll even have time to stop by some of the other planets in this solar system.”

Something fast moves between the ferns, Blade halts his movements and watches for a culprit, more ferns sway violently as it moves closer. Kafka watches with lax eyes, observing the way Blade tenses and summons his weapon; whatever small forest critter is moving its way towards them is surely going to regret it. But it’s not a small forest critter that stands at the edge of the path, it’s a small, vaguely humanoid, looking spirit thing; with wide blank eyes and stubby limbs. More gather at the edge, tilting their heads in thought.

“These are the ghosts the locals fear?” Kafka can barely contain her amused grin. “They’re quite cute, no?” She looks at Blade, who is poking at them experimentally with the tip of his blade.

“Cute is not the word I’d use,” Blade mutters as the small ghostly figures grab at his sword, unfazed by the threat. Kafka huffs a quiet laugh as she begins back down the path, Blade follows her, the small ghostly figures hot on their heels a few hanging off his sword.

The path narrows the further in they go and the trees seem to grow in size, more of the ghostly figures gather around them, creating a long trail behind them. Until the ghosts break away from the path to effortlessly climb a tree, Kafka pays them no mind and neither does Blade, at first.

But something large moves in the canopy above, Blade stares unblinkingly up at it, but there is nothing to see and the movement stops, the wind rushes through the leaves.

“C’mon Bladie,” Kafka calls from up ahead, “it was probably just the wind, or a bird, or something.” He glares at the leaves for just a moment longer, before he follows after Kafka.

Maybe if he had stood there for two moments longer, he would have seen you, but luckily for you that lady distracted him. The small ghosts gather around you, they clamber their way up your sides, and hang off your arms and antlers. An abomination of the abundance some would call you, although you were no child of a God, simply an oddity created in the chemical fallout of the apocalypse; not entirely plant, not entirely animal, not entirely human, but wholly alive and curious.

His striking red eyes had pinpointed you immediately, even though you were certain you were hidden behind the branches, could he perhaps sense you. You slink off further into the canopy, the small ghosts ride along on your back, you move from branch to branch, from tree to tree with ease.

In a clearing of flowers you lounge, limbs, human and not, stretched out in the soft grass. The small ghosts watch you from the shadows, unlike you, they are not immune to the sun’s rays. A patch of striking red flowers catches your gaze, they remind of the man, Bladie the lady called him, he’s been stuck on your mind for the past hours. It’s not often anyone wanders into the forest, and something about these two told you they weren’t like the locals.

Maybe this would be your chance to find some company, as mean as it sounds, maybe you could even leave, you love the ghosts really, but they don’t make for great company. Compared to the newcomers who spoke and weren’t frightened of the monster in the forest, they were far better company.

But you had to make a good first impression, especially on the man, Bladie, he was the one most on edge, even threatening the small ghosts. Your eyes land on the red flowers again and an idea pops into your head, the locals give each other flowers as a sign of good intention, right?

Grabbing a handful of flowers, you move up a nearby tree with ease, the ghosts happily follow after you as you weave along the canopy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kafka sits perched on a rock as Blade walks the edge of the small clearing, large branches overhead creates some shade. After looping around one last time he too settles down, he keeps his sword out and eyes alert, flicking around the canopy.

“I doubt whatever you heard has followed us,” Kafka reasons, but Blade pays her little mind. A hoard of small ghosts tumble out of a large tree, gathering at its base and watching the canopy expectantly. Something larger and humanoid surprisingly elegantly makes its way down the trunk, Blade stands at attention like a guard dog, sword drawn and pointed. Kafka on the other hand leans back on her hands, curiosity in her eyes as she watches you move into the grass.

You watch the man as he watches you, he’s threatening you, if you were smarter or maybe more skittish you’d have turned tail and run. But you weren’t, you had a plan and a handful of flowers, so calmly you walk across the clearing.

You stand a sword’s length away from him, he is far taller than you and more noticeably built, for a moment you do consider turning tail. But you muster up the courage and extend your arm, red flowers shake in your hold. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other, it’s actually the lady that makes the first move.

“Bladie, lower your sword, they just want to give you some flowers,” she coos, making her way through the grass. She stands by your sides and gently lowers his sword for him, he relents and sends it away, you watch perplexed as it disappears into thin air.

“Red flowers, why red?” The lady asks you, if she expects a verbal reply, she’s sure to be surprised. Blade is, when you step up close to him and hold the flowers up to his face, right beside his eye.

“Oh I see, those do match his eyes quite well,” she agrees, it makes you feel a little giddy. You don’t often get praised, it’s not often you have any social interaction at all, the locals are terrified of you.

The lady, who introduced herself as Kafka, has now spent the better half of 30 minutes teaching you how to say her name. You kinda get there, but you only really make half the sounds before giving up. The two let you tag along as they explore the forest, reiteration; Kafka lets you tag along, Blade tolerates your presence at best.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the sun begins to set over the horizon, you wander off into the forest, making your way back to your home. A nest-like structure hidden away in some metallic ruins, you, who was here when they fell out of the sky, remember what the locals forgot. The only problem is, you don’t have a universal translator, and you cannot for the life of you remember more than a word or two in the universal language.

“Where are you going?” Kafka asks as you stand before a tree, you tilt your head over your shoulder. You try to make sense of what she said, as well as come up with a proper reply.

“Home?” You croak, your vocal cords having gone unused for years are straining to form just one word. Kafka smiles and nods, you relax, you think that means you picked the right word.

“Can we go with you?” She looks amused, you think, by your little predicament. You decide to just copy her head movement, a nod.

It’s not a long walk from the clearing, you make your way up the creaking metal structure, and make yourself comfy among the old fabrics you’ve scavenged. Kafka and Blade stay on a lower level, you hang slightly off the ledge to peer down at them, they start a fire to keep warm.

In the morning you’re awoken by the sound of rummaging, you follow the sound to find Kafka and Blade, mostly Blade, Kafka wouldn’t want to dirty her nice clothes, looking through the wreck. You tilt your head at them as Blade moves a piece of metal with ease, he huffs when he finds nothing but more debris.

“Good morning,” Kafka greets you, “I put Bladie to work.” She smiles.

“Bladie,” you mimic her speech, the man in question freezes and then throws a glare over his shoulder, Kafka only laughs.

“They’re like a parrot,” Kafka muses.

“Parrot?” You tilt your head in confusion, but Kafka just smiles like you just proved her point exactly.

As the day goes by and they continue searching for something, Kafka watches amused as you observe Blade, you mutter ‘Bladie’ at him a few times only to be met with his glare. You are very confused, when you mutter ‘Kafka’ at Kafka she just smiles, why does he seem so upset?

At some point Kafka makes use of your curious nature and obvious understanding of this place, she shows you what they are looking for, a look of recognition passes over your face before you disappear into the wreck.

A couple hours later, while Kafka enjoys the tranquil atmosphere and Blade continues to be ever vigilant, you stumble less elegantly out of the crash site. Something cradled in your arms, you settle before Kafka and offer it to her. Before her feet now lay the exact machine core they were looking for, and it’s still in good condition.

“I told you this script would be easy,” she smiles at Blade, who only huffs. “Well thank you.” Her hand gently rests on your head.

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Helping them was easy and you got praise out of it, it made you feel good to help them, but now there is a new problem; they are leaving. You don't want them to leave, or rather you don’t want them to leave you. You offer them more flowers and other things, you hope to convey your message, but Kafka only coos at you and Blade pays you no mind.

By the edge of the forest you make a sudden decision, Kafka stretches out in the sun, but before Blade can leave the shade. You latch onto his arm, he very nearly cuts your head off.

“Stay,” you croak quietly. He tries to free his arm, but you don’t let up your grip. Kafka looks over the scene in amusement, but she interjects before Blade can actually hurt you.

“We can’t stay.” She places a gentle hand on your head. “Why do you want us to stay?” She assesses the stressed out look on your face as you try to make sense of her words.

“Alone.” Is the best response you can give with your limited vocabulary, Kafka coos at you again.

“Sure, you can come along.” Blade makes a noise, but keeps his opinion to himself.

The small ghosts gather by the edge of the forest, it’s they’re way of saying goodbye, you figure. In all these years you never thought you’d see the universe again, but before your eyes stars stretch for miles, you are now a member of the Stellaron hunters, or more like a glorified pet.

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