#Has the summer heat melted people's brains

[strebcr]

I can't believe I have to fucking say this, but if you RP as and try to blorbofy actual real life slave owners/colonizers please do not follow me 😭😭😭😭

[indecisivemuch]

Scandalous

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship).

Warning: allusions to sex, but no explicit details.

Word count: 2k

You and Luke have been going out for well over a year now. Yet, he never failed to make you feel like it would be an eternal honeymoon phase: whispers of sweet words about a lifetime’s worth of promises, delicate and sacred touches, looks filling in for unspoken words.

Loving Luke was as easy as having a daily routine - so natural and almost like a grounding thing from the life of a Demigod.

Currently, Luke was training with Percy. You were not too far away either, sparring with Clarisse. Despite the area being occupied by many other Demigods engaging in similar activities, Luke could not help but frequently glance over at you.

Luke has always been mesmerized by the way you combat, which he metaphorically compared to a ballerina. So precise, yet deadly. Every move was with intention and purpose. 

The way sweat glided down the side of your face, your cheeks flushed from fighting, eyes darting with strategy, heavy pants in between dodging and attacking your opponent, the smirk hinted on your face - all of it made Luke’s mind grow flustered. Somehow, he found everything you do attractive.

If he was honest, his mind seemed to be doing nothing lately but think of you, especially when you’re not beside him. The memories he has harvested over your time together only transformed his brain into a cinema, which constantly played montages of you. Every morning, he’d wake up from a dream about you to the sight of you in his arms - that is before he had to sneak out of your cabin back to his. You constantly occupy every cell in his mind, like an uncontainable virus spreading. Yet, for some reason, he was not scared. He welcomed this feeling with his whole arms wide open.

You broke eye contact with Clarisse to look at Luke. Almost instantly, your eyes melted into ones filled with adoration and his own eyes mirrored the same emotions - if not tenfold. 

You were absolutely enamored with how Luke looked at you. Even before dating each other, people have mentioned the eyes he was giving you. But being oblivious, you did not see what they were talking about. However, it all became clear when you started dating. You started noticing how he would look at you like you were a rare artwork he would most likely never see again or a shooting star - a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence kind of thing that left him in awe all the time. He would do it so endearingly as if it would help to absorb every detail of you and imprint them into his memory. His looks have always made you feel loved - like you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if he has not told you this verbally and through actions already. Usually, you’d feel slightly insecure if somebody was staring so intensely at you, but he did it in a way that made you feel like your flaws were created to be loved for. 

However, a gasp escaped your lips as Luke was showered by a wave of the ocean. Everybody else also drew their attention to the head of Hermes’ cabin and the newly claimed Poseidon kid.

When Luke looked back at Percy, he was faced with a sheepish grin.

“I had to get your attention somehow. I tried calling your name like ten times already,” Percy shrugged his shoulder with feigned innocence, but the glint of mischief told Luke that the kid was anything but feeling guilty about soaking him from head to toe. 

“Percy,” Luke groaned as he could feel the fabric of his clothes cling to his body. Percy bashfully chuckled and offered another sheepish look to the counselor who was meant to train him. 

The cool water did offer a temporary fix to the boiling summer heat. But mixing that with sweat, combat, and Luke's long-sleeved shirt underneath was disastrous. The Hermes boy sighed as he slowly took off the bright orange camp shirt. After struggling slightly, he managed to pull the shirt off from over his head. However, the gray shirt he was wearing underneath got pulled up more than slightly from the extra friction between wet fabrics, revealing the majority of his back to Percy and others. 

He did not think much of it until gasps - including yours - could be heard as this happened. Chris even whistled as he and everybody else spotted what Luke did not notice.

“What?” Luke asked as he pulled down his gray shirt and started wringing his camp t-shirt, trying to rid it from being as wet as possible. 

“Damn, did you get mauled by a minotaur or something?” Percy asked. 

Almost immediately, Luke paled at Percy’s words as he realized what the kid was talking about.

Indeed, as Luke’s gray shirt underneath got pulled up, which revealed the majority of his back, this had also put on display the scratches down his back left from nights that he spent with you. Some were evidently old and healing, as seen by how Luke’s skin was patching itself up and matching closer to his skin tone. Others were somewhat freshly red, while a few were like wounds being reopened. To make matters worse, they could spot the occasional crescent shape bruises that were indentations of your nails. 

Considering your guys’ relationship was not a secret, there was no room to deny it if somebody pointed fingers at you. You blushed as people now averted their eyes to you as if this was the most scandalous thing all year. Clarisse and Chris, on the other hand, were both smirking. 

The whole camp knew you were the one who left those scratches there, and you sincerely wish you could dig a hole to hide yourself from all the attention right now.

Luke’s eyes darted to you, and you offered him an awkward smile as your face grew a darker shade of red.

“No, seriously, dude, you gotta get it checked out at the infirmary. How did that even happen?” Percy only continued, somehow actually clueless about the cause of those marks. You could see Annabeth sending Percy a somewhat side-eye from nearby at his words while Grover let out a deep sigh. 

You started approaching the two, hoping you could intervene and save the both of you from this situation.

“Uhm…well,” Luke started, unsure how to even answer the kid or divert the attention elsewhere as his cheeks flushed and ears tinted pink from trying to ignore memories of what you two had done the night before.

The Hermes boy has jokingly sweet-talked you before on how he might walk out shirtless after one of your rendezvous to show off the marks you left on him. Never would you two think that that idea would ever happen like this.

“Yeah, I reckon you should get that checked out,” you decided to say as you reached Luke, settling your hand on Luke’s lower back and greeting Percy. “Thank you for worrying about him.”

“Yeah, no problem. I mean, it must have been quite a minotaur to land that much of a number on him,” Percy somehow carried on and was utterly oblivious to Clarisse and Chris, who almost bursted out laughing at his latest comment. You, on the other hand, squinted your eyes at the kid. You turned to Luke and you could see it in his eyes that the boy was on the verge of laughing as well. You were sure he would have done so if it were not for your glare.

“Well, we best go heal those wounds now, right Luke?” you gave your boyfriend a look, hoping he would get the message to play along.

“Right,” he agreed almost instantly. 

“Alright, bye, Percy,” you hastily spoke, before dragging Luke by his hand away from everybody's eyes.

“Bye guys,” you could hear the kid’s voice as the both of you retreated. It felt like a walk of shame as the semi-crowd parted ways for you two to leave the scene. You immediately let out a deep breath as soon as nobody was near anymore.

“Gods, that was so embarrassing. The kid basically repeatedly called me a minotaur.”

“I mean…you can be my minotaur?” Luke cheekily jested, trying to tease you a bit more over the situation.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not making that a thing. No, absolutely not are you ever gonna make that a nickname,” Luke only laughed at your reaction before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you into a hug. As he did so, you wrapped both your arms around his waist, face colliding with his chest the way it would usually do when you guys cuddle. He gave you a few peppered kisses on your forehead, close to your hairline. 

“They’re never gonna let us live that down, will they?” You asked after letting out a muffled groan against his chest.

“Nope,” Luke admitted. Despite the Hermes boy usually easing away your worries, even he knew this would be the talk around camp for a while. Nevertheless, he unwrapped his arms around you and cupped your face with both hands. Using his callus-filled hands, yet gentle touch, he soothed your furrowed eyebrows by rubbing over them to urge you from scowling.

“But…you know what? I’m kind of glad this happened. Sure, it might be awkward and a tad bit embarrassing. But now, they finally get to see how lucky I am to have been given a chance by such a gorgeous and sweet Demigod. And…” he paused, giving you a quick kiss. “This way, any guy potentially still after you know to keep their hands off.” He cheekily winked at you after saying so. 

Gods, you remember how jealous Luke would get before you were together. It was lowkey hot to see him so riled up. Though, after the both of you got together, you have always reassured him that you had eyes on him and only him. 

“I guess that also means any girls still thinking they could steal you from me would know they have no chance?” you questioned, smiling ear to ear when he nodded eagerly at your words.

“Exactly. That’s a win-win in my book. I’m not embarrassed they saw what you left on me. They could talk for all I care. So stop worrying, or else you’ll start getting wrinkles,” he lightly flicked the area between your furrowed eyebrows. As you were about to complain, he quickly kissed you right where he previously flicked you, and that immediately melted away any bit of feigned irritation you had with him. He chuckled at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows untangling itself.

“Thank you,” you muttered, showing your gratitude towards Luke. 

If Luke had a superpower, it would probably be calming you down. He has always managed to tame your emotions whenever they were drowning you. He was like an anchor to you, always grounded you during chaotic times. Sometimes, you wonder how you got so lucky. 

You peered up at him sweetly, and the look alone made him lean down to capture your lips with his again. You chuckled at his action and kissed him back with just as much passion as he was leaving on your lips. Your hands started playing with the hair close to the nape of his neck. He let out a content sigh while still showing your lips just how much he loved them and you. However, he abruptly pulled away before dropping a question. 

“Are we really going to the infirmary?” Luke hesitantly asked, bringing up your words from earlier. He watched as you gave him an amused look.

“What did you think?” As soon as his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what you wanted. He gave you a sheepish grin before the two of you quietly giggled to each other before walking further away from the training grounds.

Let's just say you two did not follow through with your words of going to the infirmary, and neither were you tending to his “wounds”.

——————————

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[rhysazriel]

Sticky Situation [Band!Azriel]

SUMMARY: With the summers heat blazing a little too hot, Azriel struggles to keep his grip on control when it comes to you and an ice pop. (1.6k)

WARNINGS: swearing, smut; dirty talk, blowjobs, spitting, Az having a very vivid and sinful imagination.

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since I’ve given you guys anything new so here we go! This is a rewrite of an old fic for a previous fandom I used to write for. I've wanted to play about with a band AU for a little while and thought rewritting this to Azriel would be a good place to start.

Azriel’s head often finds itself wedged in the gutter when certain things have the potential to be taken in a different, more suggestive way. He doesn’t exactly go out of his way to find dirty innuendos in people’s conversations, his mind just willingly takes him there before an innocent thought can come first.

Oftentimes, Azriel will try to hide his amusement at the dirty thought; purse his lips and bow his head to hide his growing grin and mischievous eyes. But there are also times where Azriel doesn’t bother biting his tongue and giggles like a relentless schoolboy who doesn’t know a thing about sex.

But Azriel knows all the things about sex. It’s never been a secret that he’s well experienced in that department, though often stays quiet when the topic rises through casual conversation with friends. Azriel is private about a lot of things when it comes to keeping his personal life out of the public eye and he often takes the same approach when it comes to discussing past sexual partners with his friends after a few drinks.

Tonight isn’t much different. Everyone is back in the studio after a long day of Azriel’s angelic voice and Cassian shredding the guitar. You joined them almost four hours ago after work and since your arrival, the little studio has only grown hotter and hotter and you’re borderline sweltering.

You’ve all had a couple of drinks (not that they were allowed in the studios) and your cheeks have been burning from the effects of the alcohol for over an hour. You’re laying on the floor, knees bent and feet flat as you pat the beat to Azriel’s song on your stomach. Azriel sits on the sofa beside you, flared trousers and that yellow t-shirt. He’s gazing down at you, a lazy grin on his lips and brows slightly raised as he nods to the beat.

You’re about to reach the best part, the beat that sets your body in blazes of fire when the music is abruptly switched off and you’re sitting up with furrowed brows and tightly pursed lips. Nesta stands at the doorway, paper bag in her hand and a golden grin on her lips.

She empties the contents of the bag on the end of the sofa, six red and blue popsicles bouncing off each other. You squeal in delight, your heart fluttering in the excitement of finally having something to cool your heated state down.

You waste no time to tear the wrapper from a cherry flavoured lolly, your fingers gripping the end of the stick as you bring it to your lips. Azriel grimaces as he watches everyone do the same, squirming at how the icy treat already begins to melt in the stuffy air of the little studio booth.

Azriel eyes the spare one up but decides against it. The last thing he wants is a sticky hand and a brain freeze. He decides he’ll just sweat it out. But as he turns back to you, your eyes are fluttering closed and your lips are stretched deliciously around the lolly as you sink your mouth down on it until your lips close again around the base.

His throat feels dry and he can feel himself struggling in his loose pants. Azriel watches you slowly pull back off it, a soft hum sounding through your chest as a wet kissy noise punctures his ears and your eyes flutter open again—soaked, pink tongue darting over your swollen lips.

His mind is reeling, his cock stiffening and oozing. What the fuck? Azriel’s always adored you as a person. A bubbly personality and a radiant smile. You’ve always been a close friend of his, someone he often confided in and could trust and vent to. And he’s always found you attractive, but never once has he looked at you like this and he doesn’t know what to do.

Your eyes are hooded and somewhat heavy and he knows it’s from the effects of the alcohol but that dirty part of him is wondering if that’s what you’d look like fucked out on his cock. Oh, God… what’s gotten into him? Azriel can’t shake the thoughts from his head, though. The more he tries, the stronger they are, the clearer he can see his little fantasy play out in front of him.

You’re on your knees, just inches from where he sits. Your hair is a mess and your skin is dotted with a sheen layer of sweat and fuck does he want to taste you. Your lips are swollen from the icy treat and it drips down your thumb just a little. You’re caught in conversation with Nesta but you dip your head down and your undoubtedly skilled tongue laps up the juice.

Azriel just about loses it, standing abruptly and leaving the studio booth. He ignores everyone’s calls, only one thing on his mind: you. His cock is growing harder with every rushed step he takes and as he bursts into the bathroom, he tugs his pants down and slides the bolt across the lock.

His back is pressed against it, head thrown back and his hand is around his cock in lightning speed. Heavy breaths flutter through his chest as he squeezes his generous length. He feels dirty, sinful. He shouldn’t be getting off to the thought of you sucking his cock like you sucked the lolly, but he is and the wrongness of it all makes it even more exciting.

Azriel’s eyes flutter closed, shaky breaths slipping past his lonely lips. His lashes lay delicately across his cheekbones and his scarred, ringed fingers send chills up his spine. He reaches his thumb around to his tip, smearing his arousal across his head and jutting his hips defiantly into his fist.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, and behind his closed lids, he can see you on your knees for him, pretty lashes fluttering as you stare up at him with your dainty hand wrapped around his throbbing dick. He feels himself twitch in his hand at the sight. His imagination has always gotten away with him.

“So pretty for me, baby. Such a good girl,” he sighs breathlessly, chest heaving and beads of salty sweat begin to dot across his tattooed skin. 

He sees you smirk up at him, a sinister glimmer in those innocent eyes. He can feel your tongue smooth across his shaft before your lips curl around his head. He can feel you sink down on him, the velvety feeling of your soaked cheeks as they hollow around his length, feel his tip nudging softly against the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he drawls out, spare hand clenching into a fist and his head rolls back again. He wants to reach for your hair, to grab a handful and tug, force your face further down his thick cock but you’re not there. He pumps himself faster, adding a generous squeeze to his base as he twists expertly, imagining the way you’d rub what you couldn’t fit in that heavenly mouth of yours.

“Good girl, baby. Keep sucking for me, just like that,” Azriel’s dick is throbbing, head pinky-purple and his knees are jittering. His tip is leaking uncontrollably, his cock soaked from his own arousal and he wishes to fucking God it was your spit or the arousal from your pussy instead. His jaw falls slack at the thought.

Now he can’t get your pussy out of his head. Can’t stop picturing your swollen lips and pulsing clit. The image is so fucking vivid; the idea of him peeling your thighs apart and inhaling your sweet scent, spreading a finger through your soft folds and swirling his digit around your arousal, spreading the wetness all over your cunt.

Azriel’s pace picks up and he can feel a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. He keeps going, faster and faster. He can imagine teasing your little hole, wrapping his lips around your nub and sucking the sweet moans out of you, fucking a finger in your tight cunt and curling against that spot he knows would have your toes curling.

Azriel can see it all, your full breasts bouncing, nipples pearling and chest heaving. He can see you throwing your head back, your jaw-dropping slack and filthy fucking moans slipping from that sinful tongue. He can almost feel how tight your pussy is, how wet and warm it feels around him. He can hear the sounds drumming through his ears; your cunt squelching with every thrust as you suckle his fingers into your warm mouth.

He can imagine you begging him for more, desperate and eager. “Need your cock, baby. Harder, Azzy. Fuck!” His cock spasms in his tight grip, his face reddening as the veins in his forehead and neck begin to pop. Azriel’s a grunting mess as he chases his high, can see you back on your knees again, grinning up at him as you milk him for everything he has.

His vision is white, eyes closed but he can still see that devilish face with the halo over your head, wrapped around those red horns. “Ugh, fuck,” he cries out, falling back against the door and he cums, long and hard; thick ribbons of white arousal, his knees buckling as he gasps for breath through his high.

In his mind, he’s come all over your face and you’re licking it all up, jaw wide and tongue awaiting a taste impatiently. But when he opens his eyes, his hand and fingers are soaked in his salty arousal and he’s fucked, trying to ease his breathing as he blinks away the white spots of pleasure and focuses back on what’s real.

His cock softens in his hold, arm aching and as he releases his dick, his fingers stretch and strings of his pleasure are found laced between his fingers. Azriel sighs out a fucked laugh and does nothing to bite back the smile that makes its way on his face.

Guess he ended up with a sticky hand after all.

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[er-osion]

Cruel Summer

pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

summary: A fic based on the song Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Reader is a Crow and has unfortunately fallen for their boss in the summer heat spell.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none, fluff

you can see the full taylor swift song-fic masterlist here

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You always seem to forget how unbearably hot Ketterdam can get in the summer, especially during a heat wave. Your skin is sweltering and sticking uncomfortably to your clothes. The summer sun is bright and accosting, hanging high above your head in the clear blue sky. You greatly missed the typical overcast weather and fog. The Crow Club was just a few blocks away, all you had to do was hold on until you got there, and then you could collapse at the bar and scarf down an icy drink. The mere idea of a cool beverage put a weary smile on your face and added a pep to your step.

The Club was rather full for a weekday afternoon. However, it made sense that people would be wanting to beat the heat here. Entertainment, food, drinks, and a relatively cool space, you didn’t blame the ‘pigeons’ one bit. Even though you knew he hated the heat, Kaz was always happy to see the boom in business during heat waves like this. You shook your head defiantly. This has been happening lately. Kaz, your boss, had been popping up in your head as of late, and at the most unnecessary times. Suddenly you’d become concerned with his likes, dislikes, moods, health, and so on and it was bugging you as all get-out.

It’s not that you didn’t like Kaz, quite the opposite, you liked and respected him a lot. He is, dare you say, a friend. But you didn’t think about your other friends as often as you did your cane-wielding boss, and that is the issue. You know he’s not a good guy. Though, how could anyone be a good person in this city? He’s bad. He’s honestly nearly a bad friend too. But this knowledge of the obvious has done nothing to discourage your traitorous brain from drawing up images of the man at times when you should certainly be focused on something else.

You arrived at the Club and saw Jesper sitting at the bar clearly waiting for a drink from the bartender. A half smile crept onto your face and you snuck up behind him.

“Hey, Jes.” You said calmly from your sudden place right beside him.

Jesper jumped, “Holy shit, you have got to stop doing that.” Your gunslinging best friend put his hand over his heart, taking deep breaths dramatically as he settled back into his seat.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” You shrugged, feigning innocence. “How’s it going today?”

“I think I might just melt.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” You nodded your head in solemn agreement and ordered a drink. You took a moment to look around the club. You were searching for someone in particular but decided to pretend you were just surveying the floor. “Have you seen Brekker at all?” You questioned without even thinking and as the words left your mouth you wanted to smack yourself.

Jesper’s lips slipped into a teasing smirk as he lay his head in his hands. “I saw him earlier. He was watching the club for a bit and then went up to his office. Why? Is there some job you need to discuss with him? Or are you just looking for some unpleasant company?” Jesper’s tone was goading as he watched your face closely for a reaction.

Your brows furrowed in annoyance and you rolled your eyes. “I was only wondering because I’m not used to not hearing his nags. Usually he’d have griped about something one of us did or didn’t do right and I’m just now realizing how strange it is to not have heard that already.”

Jesper hummed, and you couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. “Well if you’re looking to sour your already lovely mood, I’m sure you can find him in his office.”

You scoffed and motioned to the bartender for another drink, but not for you this time. “I think I’ve had my fill of Jesper Fahey for the day. I’ll go make sure the boss man hasn’t melted into a puddle with his layered wardrobe.” You got up from your stool and elected to ignore the teasing comment the gunslinger threw your way as you shuffled through the crowd and toward Kaz’s office.

You knocked on the wooden door and waited a few seconds before cracking the door slowly and entering. You were going to say something as you entered the room but the words died on your tongue when you caught sight of your boss.

Kaz was sitting at his large desk, a gift you and the other Crows had all pitched in to get him two years prior. His eyes were focused intently on the stack of papers in front of him, and you noticed how his styled hair threatened to fall apart and into his face. His jacket was hanging on the back of his leather chair. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and the sleeves of the black shirt had been rolled up past his forearms. The sunlight was streaming in through the two windows in the room, illuminating all the dust floaties that typically annoy you but at the moment seemed magical. All in all, your brain short circuited.

You stood there for several seconds, unmoving, simply staring watching Kaz in all his glory.

“Did you need something?” Kaz’s gruff voice broke you out of your stupor.

“Just came to give you this, really.” You explained carefully, walking toward him slowly and setting his drink down on the edge of the wooden desk. Kaz eyed the drink suspiciously with a raised eyebrow. “It wouldn’t exactly be good for my paycheck if you died of heat stroke.” You supplemented.

“How heroic of you.” Kaz scoffed, unimpressed and put his attention back on the papers in front of him. You rolled your eyes and looked around the room.

You grabbed one of the chairs in front of your boss’s desk and dragged it quietly to the window. He hadn’t told you to get lost, and for some reason, there wasn’t anywhere you’d rather be than Kaz’s stuffy office, right now. You sat down and pulled a book from your bag. You took one last cautious glance at Brekker before settling down into your chair and picking up your book from where you’d left off.

You spent the next several hours like this. You wouldn’t have even noticed any time had passed were it not for the movement of your light source –the sun. Somehow, this moment felt so clandestine. There was something so unnervingly domestic in the hours you’d just spent together. So unnerving that it felt as if the whole thing was some deep secret the two of you must take to your graves in order to keep your peace. You gently closed your book, as it had become a strain on your eyes to read in the dim lighting. You looked up at Kaz and saw he was getting out of his chair. Brekker unrolled his sleeves and you found yourself missing the delicious sight of his veiny forearms. Control yourself, you begged internally. Kaz slid on his jacket and purposefully put all his papers away. Then he turned to you and gave you an expectant look that had your heart hammering in your chest.

“Time to go, then?” You asked rhetorically, getting up as well and re-shouldering your bag.

In truth, Kaz had originally planned on working in his office at the club for a few more hours. In fact, he had also been planning on doing another round of surveying the floor a couple of hours ago, but had not done so. At the time, he didn’t want to leave your company and now, didn’t want you hurting your eyes trying to keep him company. Kaz picked up the empty glass on his desk to drop off at the bar on your way out. It had been his favorite summer drink. When did you figure that out? Did you even know? Either way, Dirtyhands had enjoyed the beverage far more than he should have.

You and Kaz walked together down the cobblestone road from the Club to the Slat. A comfortable silence hung between the two of you. Night had fallen so the street lights provided the only cheap illumination of the uneven pathway ahead. The temperature was still hotter than you’d ever prefer, but there was a constant cool breeze that kept you from staggering under the hot heavy air. Kaz’s cane clicked rhythmically against the ground as the two of you meandered toward the Slat.

You risked a glance at the boy beside you and felt your breath catch. It wasn’t fair. How could someone look so pretty just existing? Everyone would surely laugh you out of Kerch if they heard you thought the infamous Dirtyhands was pretty. But it’s true, in the weirdest of ways, Kaz Brekker is very pretty.

“Is there something on my face?” Kaz probed suddenly.

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise at the unanticipated interruption of the fragile silence.

“I said; Is there something on my face? You’re staring.”

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment at getting caught ogling. “Yes, I was trying to figure out what it was. It’s right here.” You lied with confidence, pointing to a random spot along your chin to show where you’d found the invisible spot on his face.

Kaz’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion and offense, but brushed his chin anyway.

“There you go.” You reassured him with a lilt.

“That book you were reading earlier…” Kaz paused, for the first time in a long time seemingly unsure about his next words, “is it good?” His voice grew quieter at the end and your lips pulled into an excited grin.

You instantly began an enthusiastic ramble about your latest book. Describing in detail the plot and your favorite and least favorite characters with rapid hand motions. Kaz originally only watched you through short glances, but quickly he took to rapt attention. You had enthralled him. The Bastard of the Barrel gazed with uncharacteristic interest as you went off about the book, mentally taking notes about all the things you spoke about with increased passion. He decided right then and there that his first errand tomorrow would be to the bookstore. He was overcome with the unusual desire to engage you in an equally eager discussion about this book he’d previously never heard of.

Kaz drank in your form and felt his heart thundering in his chest. He was growing warmer, and he subconsciously knew the weather was not to blame. Against the dark backdrop of the night and draped in the honey-color lamp light Kaz Brekker was sure you were an angel. Rolling your eyes at the stupid decisions a character you were describing had made, Kaz felt his heart roll with you.

Kaz kept you engaged by asking further questions about the book, specific enough to tell you he’d been listening attentively. Your heart soared at this demonstration and your grin widened impossibly. Words could not describe the joy this boy was giving you in this moment.

And all of the sudden, like a rock slide, your minds hit both of you with possibly the scariest and worst realization.

I love you.

The words were heavy on your tongues, too heavy to convey. Those three life changing words were not uttered, but the mutual realization was rocking. And as if your minds were truly connected, the both of you immediately blamed the dreaded summer for this unexpected awareness of your own feelings. It was this cruel summer to blame, obviously. The characteristic heat and the light of summer that was so unusual for Ketterdam that it made it easier to romanticize things. It tricked you. Lightening the quintessential gloomy mood of the Barrel and erupting feelings not fit for the reality of this city.

But at the same time, maybe it wasn’t so bad. You were putting the pieces together and finally understood the real reason behind your recently pleasant mood. Falling in love with Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, may not be the smartest decision, but it was a decision that evoked the most wonderful feelings. Your skin was itching and butterflies danced in your stomach but you had no desire to get rid of them. You embraced them, because they were proof of your love for the young man beside you.

Kaz now understood why so many great novels were centered around love. Dirtyhands was slowly coming to the conclusion that his recent special interest in you was not without reason. And yes, it was terrifying. Yes, it was perturbing. But if this feeling is love –and he was unfortunately sure that’s what this is– then he can’t imagine trying to get rid of it. Kaz Brekker can no longer picture a life where he does not love you, and this picture is becoming less and less frightening by the minute.

You’re washed with elation when you notice the barest ghost of a smile gracing Kaz’s carved features. How can a man not be happy in your presence?

Summer can be awful. It can be uncomfortable. It can be agonizing. But it can also be a gift. Or rather, in the Barrel, it can come bearing gifts. Like the gift of loving someone who’s been by your side for many summers prior, and hopefully will be for many summers more.

[theholypeanut]

HIORI YO X GRUMPY AND SUNSHINE

Peanut's Wheel of Fortune Event

Plot: Hiori, The Ice Prince, and you, the school Sunshine: you couldn't be more different - and yet, it works, your friendship. Or should we call it what it is: two dum dums in love.

CW: 2k words, Hiori tsundereeee (fight me), clueless!reader not getting any signs,two idiots in love, friends to lovers, stupid x even more stupid, teasing, flirting, reader loves gacha, fluff, gn!reader, Hiori has game at the end, pulling uno reverse on reader

Event Masterlist

On the first day of high school, you sat next to Hiori. When you saw him for the first time, your immediate thought was how extremely gorgeous his face was: he looked like a precious porcelain doll. He was so beautiful, that, to be honest, for the first month you wondered if he was just a tomboy who refused to wear a girl's uniform. He never talked to anyone, just sat on his Nintendo Switch or looked through the window his headphones on. You barely exchanged a word during the first semester.

But after a certain incident just before the summer holidays, your approach changed. It was a hot day, you could almost feel your uniform melting into your skin, and you just wanted to die. You already had a reputation at school for being the "sunshine" of the class, always cheerful and loud, cracking jokes and sometimes talking back to the teacher in a way that made the whole class burst out laughing. Even though you sat next to Hiori most of the time, he was probably the person you talked to the least - not by choice, he just seemed to ignore you on purpose. At first the girls in the class tried to get close to him, obviously smitten by his beautiful face and promising football career, but when he barely noticed them and rudely ignored their attempts, they let it go and it fuelled his reputation as the „Ice Prince”. But you didn't mind. To be fair, apart from being a quiet person, Hiori was never really mean to anyone. He was not a bad person. You chose not to bother him, not to push him out of his comfort zone, and he ignored you. 

But this time, as you lay down on your desk during your break, as you always do, you couldn't help but take a long look at your classmate. He was playing a game on a console, with headphones on. His eyelashes were ridiculously long, and his features were so delicate that he looked like a flower, like a...

"You're not very subtle, are you?" You heard his voice as you noticed Hiori taking off his headphones. He looked at you with a visible frown. You made eye contact, feeling like a summer heat was already scrambling your brain, getting rid of any possible embarrassment. „Have anyone told you you look like a periwinkle?” He blinked. „Like… what?”

„A flower. You look like this pretty blue flowers you can sometimes see in botanical gardens.”

He sat there, stunned, his expression hard to read. Without an answer from him, still with your face on the desk, you didn't look away. 

„Honestly I didn’t know people as pretty as you are even real” you said without thinking, seeing that his face getting visibly red. He looked away, which made your heart beat a little faster. Was he...?

"Did the sun fry your brain?" He mumbled, trying his best to stay out of your sight. But you knew what you saw. Hiori Yo, an Ice Prince, was blushing. And that was the moment, you made an unconscious decision, to start actively bother him for the rest of your high school career: if it meant seeing that expression again.

And that was also a beginning of a beautiful friendship. 

In your second year of high school, you ended up in the same class again, seemingly thrown together by fate. Everyone at school speculated that you two had been dating for months, The Sunshine and The Ice Prince: isn’t it the cutest combination? Hiori never bothered to explain that you were not dating, and at best you were "very close friends". This was because of two things: firstly, you were his close friend, but every now and then he doubted that he was yours. You were always so bright and smiling, so nice to everyone, with so many friends wherever you went. Sometimes he wondered if something happened to you, or if you were in trouble, would he be the first person you'd call? He wanted that to be the case, but he couldn't be sure, which made him... jealous. And that was the second reason: Hiori Yo, the Ice Prince, would never, ever admit that he never denied having a relationship with you, because he simply wished it to be true. Was he stupid? Naive? Maybe. But to be honest with himself, he couldn't imagine not falling in love with you. 

What was even more annoying, though, was that you couldn't have been more dense. Hiori was never the type to show his affection in a straightforward way, but he had his moments: he helped you when you were struggling with heavy things, he helped you with quests in a game (you started to get into it just to have more topics to talk about), he bought wired headphones just so he could listen to music with you: nothing. You just smile and comment on what a softie he is, which makes him blush, and you can't take a damn hint. You were hopeless. Sometimes he felt you liked him back, just by the teasing words you said or the casual touch of his hair (the day you tucked his hair behind his ear without warning is still fresh in his mind and makes his heart skip a beat before he falls asleep). The worst part was when he was embarrassed, all Hiori could come up with was some mean or sarcastic comment. But you read so many romance mangas, how could you not understand that? The day Hiori saw a random guy from the basketball team confessing to you was the day he decided he had to do something. You politely rejected that clown, but that didn't let the blue-haired prince relax for long. The idea of confessing scared him, but the thought of you seeing someone else made his heart sink. However, he knew far more about you than any other boy ever could: and he planned to use that to his advantage. If he was too embarrassed to confess, perhaps he could charm you into falling for him and confessing first? The plan wasn't that simple, but it was worth a try.

When you got back to class, having answered all the embarrassing questions about your confession, you sat next to Hiori with a sigh of relief. On days like that, you were grateful for how cold Hiori was. He wouldn't even look at you, let alone ask for all the details about the poor basketball boy. But to your surprise, in the middle of the lesson, you felt a small piece of paper slip close to your hand.  "Are you free after school today?" It was written in familiar handwriting. You smiled.  "I'm always available for you" you drew a tiny heart at the end. Since last year, of course, you enjoyed teasing Hiori with flirtatious lines whenever you got the chance. At this point you couldn't even stop yourself if you tried, it was like breathing.  "There's a new gacha machine in the arcade. Want to go?" He wrote back, not even blushing at your message. A bit disappointing, but Hiori rarely invited you first, if you ever hung out it was at your initiative, so you were still excited. Not to mention that you really enjoyed gachas. "It's a date" you wrote back without thinking any further.  You couldn’t hide your excitement for the rest of the day.

When you came out of the school gate, you looked at your friend. 

"It's something new that you don't have football training today" he just looked away when he heard your words.  "Practice was cancelled" he mumbled in a tone that clearly showed the conversation was over. You walked in silence for a longer second before he started: "So... the basketball guy, huh?" He changed the subject, which only made you sigh. 

"Please, don't even start. I'm not even sure what that guy's name is. I don't think we've spoken more than once. It's embarrassing."

Hiori looked at you carefully. 

"Yes, but have you ever thought that maybe that's enough?"

You looked at him in surprise.

"Enough for what?" You raised your eyebrow.

"To fall in love with you" he said without looking away. No matter how you looked at it, Hiori was a different person today. Saying something like that in such a serious tone and not looking away in embarrassment did not seem like him. He never really wanted to talk about romance or love. Just games and football. He left you speechless until you saw the entrance to the familiar arcade. 

It was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday evening, and at certain points you had to squeeze in between sweaty boys of all ages. You felt someone grab your hand. Before you could scream 'pervert', you realised it was only the blue-haired boy. 

"Don't get lost" he said in a neutral tone and pulled you out of the crowd. The gacha area was still mostly occupied, but the target audience had changed drastically: now you were surrounded by teenage girls. Hiori pointed to one of the machines further back. As you followed in that direction, you gasped in surprise. 

"No way!" You said as you approached the machine. It was one of your favourite series of all time, one of those niche things that were not popular enough to deserve a proper merch. Still holding your hand, Hiori, finally a little embarrassed, handed you a coin. For a second, you seriously considered that maybe you had forgotten your own birthday, because everything felt too perfect. 

"Are you going to get one too?" You asked, spinning the wheel to get your beloved little trinket. 

"What?" He asked, distracted. 

"We should get matching ones" you said with a smile, taking the ball out. „I’ve always wanted to have matching keychains”

He smiled softly and took another coin out of his pocket. "You better not cry later that mine's cuter" he teased. 

It felt so wholesome and cosy, just perfect. The bickering, the teasing, the little gestures he made to you always made you feel warm inside. And here you are, laughing and comparing the keychains you got, so close you could smell the detergent on his uniform. You were much more aware of his presence because you couldn't help but feel shy, Hiori still holding your hand all the time. You tried to remember the last time you did it, but your mind just went blank: it was the first time you had held hands since you became friends. And even more surprisingly, on his own initiative. But you couldn't complain. Considering his constant training, you expected his hands to be more calloused, but they were soft and large, and you just realised that you really wished this moment wouldn't end. „Do you want to get out of here?” His voice brought you back down to earth. You raised an eyebrow.

"Where do you want to go?" You asked, moving towards the exit. To your surprise, he grinned. 

"Where would you like to go? It's your date as much as mine" he said calmly.  "Good question, would you like to get something to eat? There's this…" you stopped, processing his words. You turned to face him, only to notice that he was looking away awkwardly. "You…" you started, not knowing where to go with the sentence. You felt your face grow hot.

"If you don't want this to be a date, maybe you should let go of my hand, you know" he said, still avoiding your eyes. You two must look so ridiculous: two people, holding hands, avoiding each other's eyes, all blushing. After you didn't answer, the blue-haired boy started to gently pull his hand away from yours, which only made you grip it tighter. 

"Stop it" you said, unable to control how red your face was. You cleared your throat. "Let's get some ramen, shall we?" 

Hiori finally looked at you, with the softest eyes. Too bad you were still too embarrassed to look back and notice. 

"Sounds perfect to me."

[xmy-love-to-youx]

Summer Time!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warning: Smut, possessive Simon, 18+ content, swearing

Everyone loves summer or at least most people do. The hot glowing orb in the sky brings about that happy summer feeling, the beaches are filled with people. Families, friends and the laughter of children...

Even so... My mind melts away...

I'm currently in the men's room, in the last stall, door shut closed. Standing in my tippy toes, my hands spread across the wall and skirt hiked up to my hips. Panties lazily clinging to my legs and my breasts exposed and littered with marks.

Simon's large rough hands grips my hips as an animalistic growl escapes his lips, his larger frame towers over mine, his breath tickles my neck.

"I fucking told you not to look at me while you licked your ice cream-" he thrusts his hard length in me and my back arches against his chest, a moan falls from my lips.

Simon is impressively girthy and lengthy, when he inserts himself into me, he stretches me in a way I never knew was possible, the burn is deliciously good, he fills me completely like a piece to the puzzle.

"-But no, you had to be a whore, wearing his slutty outfit and putting on that innocent look. You love the way other men look at you?" he growls in my ear, his possessiveness turns me on even more.

I could feel myself leak even more, his cock slides into me with ease and my brain begins to shut off.

Simon thrusts his length into me at a rough and fast pace, pounding into me. His hands roams to my chest and he pinches my nipples, a grunt rumbles from his chest to throat until a deep moan escapes. His fingers digs into my skin, leaving marks and his pace increases.

My moans increasingly grew louder until he covered my mouth. I could feel the way his eyes stares at me, the loving yet lustful look he has.

"You want other men to hear how much of a slut you are?" he placed two fingers inside my mouth "You want that? An audience? Tsk Tsk. Bad girl"

Simon took his fingers out of my mouth and I whined in response, he placed his fingers on my clit and started massaging it, the sensation was so good and overwhelming, my legs shook from the pleasure, ready to buckle.

"Shh baby, I know, I know" Simon coos sweetly and wraps his hand around my leg and forces me to arch my back even more so that my head rests against his chest, we looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds then our lips collided into a heated make out session.

It wasn't long until we both reached our climax, it was the best feeling ever, the coil that formed in my belly released, Simon shooting his hot seed deep inside me. The feeling of being in his arms, it was euphoric, I felt as he slowly removes his soft cock from me.

My legs finally caved in but before I could collapse, Simon holds me in his burly arms and gently placed me onto the closed toilet.

"I see my baby had a lot of fun, yeah?" he chuckles softly as his hands easily spread my legs, I couldn't resist even if I tried.

Simon's face lit up like a pirate finding gold, he bit his lip and slowly looked up to me then back down to my ruined pussy.

"Looks like I made a mess..." a smirk forms on his lips.

"Prepare yourself, my love"

AN: Sorry that I've been inactive for a while, life got hectic and I had to take a small break. I'm excited to announce that I have exciting/new stories to share with you, thank you for your support 🖤

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

[bianotbia]

— 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 [𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬]

˗ˏˋ unholy thoughts start to cloud your mind and father michaelis takes the matter into his own hands ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : this was another fic I already had on my drafts, now that my summer vacation started I finally can go back to my creative self and write more so stay tuned :) hope you enjoy my unholy thoughts

⤷ contains : nun! reader x priest! sebastian, nsfw, religious themes, someone gets slapped [wc: 2.4k]

⤷ now playing : monochrome kiss by SID

A wind of monochrome blows

Through our colorless encounter

I shall entrust my pain in its entirety to you

Painfully delineating my old scars,

The merciless autumn has arrived,

And it entices me with its cold fingers

The faint morning sun reflects through the stained glasses of the countless church windows, like colorful spots dancing on the cold stone floor. As usual I woke up, ate breakfast with the sisters of the convent and together we did our morning prayers. After this shared moment, they all start their daily duties but I like to stay a little bit longer and enjoy the vast silence and peace of the house of God. My eyes were closed and my lips soundlessly moved as I recited my prayers alone, however the air seemed to change and I could now feel an eerie presence watching over me, still when I looked around no one could be seen. Out of a wooden door comes the priest of our church – Father Sebastian Michaelis – his piercing eyes fall on my figure and I feel the heat taking over my face, anyway I shake off any intrusive thoughts and promptly head to my morning activities. With imponent arches towering above me I walk down the corridor on my way to a class of little kids waiting for me, yet the feeling of ominous eyes still lingers on the nape of my neck with every step I take.

I am like a burdensome piece of ice

That has just melted into a puddle

You scoop me up gently

and fondle me playfully with your lip

After dinner everyone went back to their rooms, candles were extinguished one by one and the white stone walls now reflected the bright moonlight. A few candles still dance upon my table and cast shadows on the walls as I write about my daily thoughts and feelings in my diary. Lately a dark desire clouds over my mind and stains my soul each second it passes, day by day this unknown sensation seems to take over my heart. Countless prayers, thousands of words written every night, endless hours of work, it was worthless paying attention to any other thing for even after doing everything to stop this feeling my mind still wanders back to him… Father Michaelis. Unaware of the sin that crawls under my skin, I recall the many moments that in the middle of the Sunday worship his words would slowly fade away and a tingling feeling would spread over my core. I shivered and writtled while kneeling on the ground, praying for the sisters to not notice my trembling figure as unholy thoughts flooded over and dirty images got imprinted inside my brain. Every night my mind wanders off to those moments and haunts me in my deepest longings, once again my fingers travel under my nightgown and caress away the desire under my skin. Shrouded by the shadows of the night I can only hope that the all-seeing holy eyes don't watch over me this time.

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

Hiding within the night,

We have covered up our pale skin under the moonlight

On this gloomy autumn morning, I was once again dealing with my hauntings on my lonesome prayers. The other sisters were already out doing their daily chores, however I still could hear some young novices gossiping on a secluded corner of the church, there wasn't many people around, actually we were the only ones there so some snippets of what they were so heatedly talking about made it over my ears "... he's so hot for a priest…" a choir of quiet giggles echoed in the air "... isn't saying those things kind of a sin?" the giggles got louder and so did my hammering heart "... I'm certain God would understand me since he made Father Michaelis so fine like that. Don't you imagine what's under his pants?". That's enough. Anger boiled inside me, my short breathing got louder and louder as a dark presence took over my body and unconsciously directed me to the group of novices. "Aren't you ashamed of saying such things inside the house of God?" I blustered and the three whispering girls turned over to me with surprised faces, the one seeming to be the oldest lifted her chin "Why? Are you jealous that I can say those things while you are trapped in that Virgin Mary thinking?". Anger traveled through every inch of my flesh, my mind went blank and I could only hear a loud snap echoing through all the church halls, followed by a stinging sensation on the palm of my hand. The girl was crying and clutching her reddened face, the other two ran off, probably to snitch to some higher nun what just happened, as for me, I walked away feeling as light as the white feathers of the Holy Spirit.

Many nights have passed since then,

And my love for you only grew stronger

In the sea of obsessive dependency,

I have forgotten even to breathe

I heard a knock on the door of my room and went to open it, another young novice was standing there with scared eyes "The-they sent me here to say that Father Michaelis wants to meet you at the confessional" I looked at her shivering figure and questioned myself if she was scared that I was just gonna slap her for delivering the message "If that's all than you can go, tell whatever nun that sent you that I'm already on my way" the girl shook her head and ran down the corridor, with a guiltless mind I went the opposite way thinking about what could I possibly tell him to clear this situation. As I arrived at the stall and closed the door behind me a deep voice broke away the silence "Hello sister, please tell me what afflicts your soul. May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy". Shivers went down my spine as my once steady hands made the sign of the cross "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been" a sigh escapes my mouth "... three years since my last confession. These are my sins." I gave a pause after saying that and considered lying about what happened to spare myself and the girl of a lecture later, yet something told me to say the whole truth "I felt anger… so much anger… lately I feel like all kinds of sins are taking over me. It seems harder and harder to concentrate and feel at peace" words unconsciously dripped through my tongue "What did the girl say to make you so angry?" with nervous hands I crumpled my habit "That she had impure thoughts about you sir". That dreadful silence seemed to last countless hours "Did you want to punish her for thinking that way?" words got stuck on my throat "... I-I was jealous of her'' a satisfied hum traveled through the division of the stall. "I don't know… it felt like something was crawling under my flesh… anger, greed, envy perhaps" an expectant silence floated in the air "Aren't you forgetting another sin, child?" I could hear the grin on his lips as he waited for my reply "... Lust?" I hope he can't hear the deafening sound of my heart bursting through my ribcage "And how often do you feel it?" "Everyday". Even though the stall was secluded and closed it still felt like a thousand eyes were pointed at me, piercing through my raw flesh, specially those I felt behind my neck lately "Well, I think that's all I need to know for now" his voice seemed different but still I continued "I am sorry for these and all of my sins" he hums again "Why don't we go to my office? So we can talk about this more thoroughly".

While I'm captivated by your gaze,

You've left behind only some dull warmth

I despise your habit of quitting at your convenience

As well as your arrogant kiss

The path to his office was dead silent and every sister that passed through us either looked away or whispered something to their friends. As we arrived he politely motioned for me to enter and sit on the chair in front of his table, as I sat over a faint click on the door could be heard, I turned to him and met his ever unreadable eyes and mysterious grin "We don't want those nosy eyes bothering our talk, do we?". He sighed deeply and sat in front of me "This situation is not much like you sister" my eyes fell to the ground while he gazed out of the window continuing "I remember when you were just a novice. Such a pure heart… yet so aware of the evils of the world". Silence reigned over his office and I said with a quiet voice "You still didn't give me a penance sir" his grin grew wider letting out a chuckle "Don't worry about that child" he stood up and calmly walked behind me "I don't believe you're entirely wrong. All these things might be considered sins in the eyes of God, but I preach that for one to spread virtue must first know sin to warn other pure hearts of the evils of the world'' his slender fingers traveled along my shoulders and up to the nape of my neck. "Don't you want to protect your precious students from what's out there? For this you must feel sin on your own skin" he whispered over my ear and the tingling sensation on my core starts to spread through my body once again "Go to your room and pray ten Hail Marys. By midnight I will visit you so we can finish your penance" my breathing gets hitched and I crumple even more my already messy habit "Why don't you do it now?" he chuckles "Patience is one of the virtues you need to start working on, now go child". I lift from my seat and walk over to the door "It's locked…" he hums and unlocks it while gently trailing his finger along my chin whispering "Well forgive me sister, sometimes I too can give in to dangerous desires" with those words echoing inside I return eagerly to my room.

Don't leave me alone

Please understand me and stain me with bright blood

No matter what I say,

My words will only slip right through your room

I'm already disarrayed and falling asleep,

So won't you teach me something else?

Only the moon is looking at my sighs lost in your smiling inquiries

Hours passed and the moon was already high in the sky, I paced around the room thinking about what could possibly happen in the next few minutes. A knock was heard on the door, standing before me under dim light was Father Michaelis and his gaze that as always seemed to reflect every uncertain thought I had. I greeted and welcomed him inside which he calmly did "Did you pray the ten Hail Marys I asked you to?" I shook my head and he sent me a kind smile "Then let's begin your penance. Please take off your habit" my eyes widened and I felt my face heating up. "Why the surprise? I told you before that I believe you need to experience sin to finally be enlightened by virtue. I as your holy representative will help you on this task, or did you already take the matter into your own hands before I came here?" involuntarily my thighs clenched over and he cooed "What a dirty girl. Seems that the matter is worse than I thought, perhaps your penance will be a bit rougher then". He helped me undo the buttons of my habit, feeling the fabric slide down my body I then lay on the mattress while he also takes off his clothes and hovers over me with his bare body "The only thing I ask is for you to recite the Prayer of the Penitent and when you finish it… everything will be over" I shook my head and started it.

Once the clock's arms point straight into the ceiling,

You will no longer be with me,

For I will no longer be needed

"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart" his warm hands gently traced the sides of my body while moist lips sucked the skin on my neck "In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good" the hot breathing on my flesh sent goosebumps all over it. "I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things" slender finger traveled down to my core and caressed my soaked folds "I firmly intend, with your help to do penance" as he slowly inserted himself inside me I could feel his length filling up empty spaces I never believed to have. "To sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin" with a rhythmic pace and synchronized breathings he opened up my raw heart to the holy sight "Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us" we clingged on each other, shivers went through our bodies as sin dripped over and mixed up with our overflowing fluids "In His name, my God, have mercy". He did the Prayer of Absolution and finished it over with a deep moan "Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good" even breathless I still manage to continue it "His mercy endures forever" and with a faint sigh he ends our blessing "The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace". Cloaked by the shadows our intertwined bodies finally sink deep into the stained mattress, with a worn down feeling I can feel my eyes closing and my lightened mind slowly drifting away. His lukewarm hands trail unknown patterns on my back as his fading voice travels through my slumber "Such a pure soul stained by sin… Can't wait to feel your luscious raw taste entirely inside me. This penance isn't over my darling".

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

My wish echoes hollowly,

While the night still brings in the dawn

With your tender, passionate, yet shamelessly sly kiss,

Please stain me, in this moonlit final night of demise

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2023. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[atinylittlepain]

Hayloft - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x dancer!reader

series masterlist

Joel thought they were joking, really. But when his patrol partners lead him through the back of the Tipsy Bison and slip down a dim flight of stairs, he realizes rather quickly that The Hayloft is no joke.

warnings | 18+ smut (duh), angst, joel being a ding dong

a/n | thanks must be given to @pedgeitopascal for letting me take on this idea <3

songs of this chapter:

I can't quit you babe - Led Zeppelin

Queen of boredness - Kinny

Do I move you? - Nina Simone

..............................

Joel pulls on a faint memory at the periphery of his mind. A summer day in Austin, he and Tommy sitting on the curb outside their childhood home with their knees up to their ears, sweating in the stifling warmth of the afternoon. Barely-dropped voices murmuring back and forth as Joel flipped through the magazine held between them. He had been trying to act cool, like his first year of middle school had manned him up compared to his younger brother. But he remembers that thick heat creeping up his throat, and a flush that couldn’t just be chalked up to the Texas sun as their eyes roamed over bare bodies, spread legs, and faces contorted in what they supposed was pleasure. They had found the old Playboy tucked under their parents’ mattress, bored out of their melting minds and stewing in the AC. It was the first time he could remember feeling like that, somewhere between curious and uncomfortable, excited and ashamed. 

He thinks about it now as he experiences that same feeling, forty years and change later, sitting in the basement of the Tipsy Bison.

“Where the fuck did they get those shoes?”

“There’s a mall, 15 miles south.” “They didn’t sell shoes like that at malls, man.” Joel is inclined to agree with the man making the observation on that point, wearily eyeing the dizzying struts of heels on the stage in front of him. He only lets his eyes wander upward briefly, spanning bare legs, catching a glance of scrappy lace, before turning his face back down to the swirling whiskey in his glass.

Honestly, when one of the men on his patrol team mentioned this place, Joel thought it was a joke, muttering a gruff “yeah, sure” when they invited him along for a night at The Hayloft. But he realized he was sorely mistaken when the group of men guided him into the Tipsy Bison, promptly walking through the door to the back where they kept all their kegs and slipping down a flight of dimly lit steps.

He recognized a few people immediately in the glowing red light, other men he had been on patrol with, playing pool and smoking in the back of the room. But most of them were seated, eyes glued to the raised platform in the center of what was clearly a bar, beneath a bar. It took a second for his brain to catch up to a sight so completely unexpected. 

Swaying hips, curving spines, flicking hair, wandering hands, and dipping legs. Women, looking like something straight out of a porn film. 

Now listen, Joel Miller was raised by a mother who taught him to be a gentleman, and as such, he had never once been in an establishment like this place, not before, and certainly not after the world fell apart. But, he is a man, afterall, and he can’t exactly help the way his eyes keep darting to one particular figure shimmying around on the stage. So, as he sits amongst his patrol partners, taking zinging sips of liquor, he feels that familiar heat creeping up his throat, making him stiffen up in more ways than one.

The music changes all of a sudden, a man’s rasped shout and a dragging guitar riff laid over a slumped drumbeat. He recognizes it, though he can’t quite place it in the haze. There’s four women up on the stage, and while three of them step down, slinking amongst the seated men, the other one, the one Joel has been watching, crooks her arm around the pole he had thought was only for decoration. 

He no longer tries to hide his stare, watching the arc of her hips as she dips and snaps her hair out of her face, the thin fabric of what could only be described as panties pulling taut across the curve of her ass. She moves like liquid, curling around the pole and lifting up into the air, neck stretched long as she arches back in a perfect spin. 

“She’s good, right?” Joel glances at Harris, his patrol partner who just spoke, grunting something noncommittal at the man’s broad grin, not wanting to miss a second of her performance. And a performance it most certainly is. She’s perfect, glowing in the faint red lights of the bar, every outstretched leg, every twist and bend, radiant and divine. Suspended in air, one arm elongated, before tracing a line of desire with her palm dragging down her bare torso, hips swerving obscenely up into the flicker of her fingertips. And then, with the next staggering string of guitar chords, she drops, catching herself at just the last moment. A delicate heel is lowered, followed by the other as the room resounds in applause, Joel only now realizing that he needs to pick his jaw up off the table. 

The track changes, a stilted rhythm that she starts to bob her head side to side to as she steps down off the stage. Even her walk is like a dance, hips swaying, hands grazing the sides of her bare thighs as she moves, and Joel realizes too late that she’s coming directly toward their table.

“Harris, who’s your friend?” 

“Cherry, this is Joel Miller. He’s new in town. Joel, this is Cherry.” She tilts her head at him, a simpering smile crinkling her eyes as she leans forward, breasts all but spilling out of the cups of her bra. Joel stutters into motion when it clicks in his brain that she’s holding out her hand for him to shake, his palm sliding against hers in a firm squeeze.

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller. What’d you think of the show?” He has to clear his throat a few times before he speaks, an icy heat prickling the back of his neck all the while.

“I, um– you’re something else.” Jesus fucking christ, that’s the best you could do? She, however, seems to like his answer, smile broadening into a grin.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me–” Her eyes glance down and back up to Joel, twice, and he only figures out that it’s because he’s still holding her hand when she gives his palm another squeeze. He’s quick to let go of her hand, though he wishes he hadn’t. But his dismay dissolves with the sight of her walking away, and the way her ass shakes with each sublime step. He cranes his neck, only catching a glimpse of her slipping through a door in the back of the bar. 

“Easy, Miller. You can look, but you can’t touch.”

“Where’s that door go?” Harris laughs, shaking his head.

“Look, man, don’t worry about that. Everyone falls in love with Cherry when they first see her. But it’ll pass. She’s off-limits.”

“Why?” Harris shrugs.

“She just is. They all are. Keeps things civil, y’know?” Joel has no interest in being civil, not right now. He hasn’t wanted something this bad in a long time, and even though Harris tries to call him back, he doesn’t so much as tilt his head in acknowledgement as he wades through the simmering haze of the bar toward the door he saw her go through. 

He only briefly wonders at just how big this basement is when he shoulders through the door and into a dimly lit hallway.

“Nat, is that you? Did your set finish already?” Her voice is coming from behind a cracked door further down the hallway, which Joel follows with little thought to it. 

“What the fuck?” It’s a blurry string of events. He catches the quickest glimpse of her when he sidesteps through the door, seeing her standing in front of a mirror, her bra loose and unfastened, hanging on her shoulders. But it becomes apparent pretty fast that this was possibly the stupidest (and creepiest) way he could have tried to get her attention when she catches sight of him in the periphery of the mirror, whipping around and startling a few feet back before hurling something small at him that still hurts like hell when it makes contact with his forehead.

“Jesus– shit!” He instinctively curls over himself, one hand on his thigh and the other pressing into the spot just above his eyebrow that seems to be bleeding from what he now sees was a hairbrush.

“What the hell is your problem, man? You thought you could get an extra look? You think you’re special, huh? Is that it?” His head is reeling, and it’s all he can do to straighten back up, still applying pressure to his well-deserved wound. In the time it’s taken him to collect himself, she’s slipped a robe on, tied close and tight around her waist.

“N-no, no. That isn’t– I just– wanted to talk, um, to you.” He feels like he’s got cotton in his mouth, gumming up his words and drying out his throat until it all comes out garbled and wrong. She lets out a bitter laugh, brushing past him and opening the door wider, fixing him with a hard look.

“Yeah, nice try, buddy. But I’ve heard that one before, and lemme tell you, that’s not how this works. Now get out.” She doesn’t have to tell him twice, Joel shuffling through the door, though he stops for a moment to say something.

“I’m– I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I swear, this ain’t how I am, normally. Fuck– I’m just– I’m sorry.” He doesn’t wait around for a response from her, hurrying back down the hall and out into the bar, not even looking for Harris as he makes a beeline for the stairs, taking them two at a time and getting the fuck out of the Hayloft and the Tipsy Bison.

The fresh night air is something of a relief, though Joel is still mortified, thick and heavy guilt settling in his bones as he stumbles home. He realizes now that he had been a fucking fool, thinking that she had, what? Been flirting with him? He scoffs to himself, knowing that it had just been a part of her act, her performance. And Joel bought it, hook, line, and sinker. 

When he gets home, he takes a shower, scrubbing harshly at his skin, trying to clean away the sickening shame settled just beneath the surface. He knew better, he was raised better, and he’s horrified with himself that even at his age, he wound up thinking with his dick rather than his mind. Looking in the mirror, he sees the sizable cut, just over his left eyebrow, what will serve as a reminder to him to not get distracted by pretty, shiny things. 

He doesn’t sleep well, tossing and turning in his sheets. The only real conclusion he reaches is that he’ll never set foot in the Tipsy Bison, or the Hayloft, again.

…

Joel is not having a good morning. Normally he’d feel at least a twinge of contentment in working at the stables, but today, the only thing he can focus on is his pounding headache and the embarrassing memory of last night. 

He had only barely escaped Ellie’s questioning earlier this morning when she came downstairs and into the kitchen, telling him that he “seemed pissier than usual” before asking him where he got “that dinky little cut.” 

Luckily, working the stables usually means he doesn’t have to talk to anyone except for the horses, the quiet tasks helping somewhat to ease his mind. His relief is short-lived, however, when he hears a newly familiar voice nearing the stables. Sure enough, when he peers out of the stables, he sees her, leading one of the new colts around the pen. While she looks a lot different than how she did last night, blue jeans and a ratty work coat hiding her figure, Joel would recognize that smile anywhere. Before he can return to hauling sacks of feed around, her eyes catch his, and she clearly does a double take, squinting at him in the morning sun. 

“Hey.” A single word, a jerk of her chin, and then she’s walking over to him, and Joel suddenly has no clue what to do with his hands, shoving them deep in the front pockets of his jeans.

“I wanted to talk to you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, head tilted as she stands before him. Joel has enough sense this morning not to come off like a total fool.

“Again, I’m real sorry about last night. I wasn’t thinking, at all. It won’t happen again, I promise.” She sighs, toeing her boot into the dirt before glancing back up at him.

“Thank you for your apology. It’s fine, really. You weren’t the first, and lord knows you won’t be the last. I guess it kinda comes with the territory.” The laugh she lets out is clipped, clearly trying to hide the sore tinge to her words.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever been called ma’am before.” It’s unexpected, the wry crook of her smile as she says it, and Joel has to huff out a laugh, rocking a bit on his heels. But his laugh fizzles out when she brushes her fingers over his forehead, leaning up and tracing his cut.

“That hairbrush did a little number on you, huh? Sorry about that.” Her touch is gone as quick as it had been there, but the warmth creeping across his face remains.

“S’alright. Reckon I deserved it anyways.” That earns him another smile and a light laugh.

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Her words come out airy, the quirk of her grin telling him that she means it as much as she’s joking about it, and it emboldens him just enough to say something else.

“Can I ask you something?” She purses her lips, squinting up at him.

“You can ask, and maybe I’ll answer.” 

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?”

“You’re new, right? It may be a small town, but everyone works. I’ve been here for years and there’s probably still folks I don’t know just because we’re on different work schedules.” 

“And is that– what you do at the bar– is that work?” She hums at his question, all smiles when she answers.

“Did that look like work to you?” His mind darts back to last night, her performance, and he has to swallow hard around the memory. She huffs out a laugh when he remains silent.

“No, that’s not work. Just a little fun, an escape, y’know? Forget about everything going on up above ground for a while.” He nods, certainly being able to understand the desire to forget the world, even for a few hours. They stand in silence, a hiccup of time, just looking at each other, which she breaks with a sigh.

“Well, I better get back to work. But, are we good?” 

“Think that’s for you to decide, ma’am.” The laugh that coaxes out of her is different, fuller, as she tosses her head back, eyes crinkling up when she does look at him again.

“Hmm, yeah, I’d say we’re good. See you around, Joel.” With that, she turns on her heel, heading back out to the horsepen. But Joel still has another question for her.

“Wait– that’s not your real name, is it? Cherry?” She grins over her shoulder at him, shrugging a little.

“Why don’t you come see another show sometime? Maybe I’ll answer your question then.” 

…

He recognizes the music immediately. Nina Simone, something his mother liked to spin on the old record player in the living room, snapping and popping with the drawl of the needle. But his mother is the last thing he’d like to think about right now. 

He went alone this time, ducking down the stairs and sitting on a stool at the bar, using a glass of whiskey in his hand as an anchor as his eyes scanned the murky room. He feels his heart sink when he doesn’t see her up on the stage, nor in the crowd, but his disappointment fades when someone taps him on the shoulder, making him turn around in his seat. 

“Hey, you came.” She’s in those same damn, mile-high shoes, that same little black set. But Joel has resolved himself this time to be a gentleman, and as such he keeps his eyes upward, as best he can. 

“I was looking for you– wasn’t sure if I came on the wrong night.” Her smile is tinged red by the lights of the bar, eyes glimmering in the haze.

“Well, you actually just missed my set.” He feels his shoulders slump at that, only a little embarrassed by his clear display of discontent and the way that she catches it with a laugh.

“But, if you’d like, I could show you what you missed.” He doesn’t think he heard her right, his head ducking a bit, eyes squinting at her easy grin. She brings a hand to his bicep, fingers trailing down until they’re tangling with his and she starts walking backwards. It’s all Joel can do to shuffle along to her gentle tug, his brain short-circuiting all over again. 

She pulls him through the backdoor, and then through the same door he had so witlessly stepped through the last time. He actually gets a good look at the room this time, what appears to be a makeshift dressing room, a few mirrors propped against one wall, clothes slung on a coat rack, and a ratty couch pushed into the corner. She drags him inside, Joel all but stumbling over his feet as she gives him a light shove down onto the couch, taking a few steps back and resting her hands on her hips. The music is only a faint throb through the walls now, quiet enough that he can hear his heartbeat kicking and quickening, blood rushing.

Her hips already have a little sway in them, the ghost of a smile as she keeps her eyes on him, and Joel muses to himself that whatever this is, it’s all going to be on her terms, always. 

“Since I don’t have the pole, I’ll have to improvise a little bit, that ok with you?” Worried that his voice would betray him, he just nods, the sound of her laugh relaxing his shoulders from where they had been pinned up by his ears. 

“Besides, I don't think those men out there really care about the moves, so long as my ass and tits are out. But I’m an artist, y’know? I care.” As if to emphasize her point, she steps one foot out, arcing her hips in a circle, and arching her back, her ass on perfect display as she grins over her shoulder at him. All Joel can think is that this must be a dream, that there’s no way this is actually happening. But seeing her dance up close, there’s no denying how real she is. He can see the sheen of sweat across her sternum, the little pull of her brows as she moves, the curved crease where her ass meets her thigh, and it all only makes him want her more. 

“Hmm, I have to admit, I prefer dancing with a prop. Do you mind?” Though he’s not entirely sure what he’s not minding, Joel shakes his head no. He reckons that he wouldn’t even mind if she asked to stab him in the thigh, not at this point. She’s got that smile again, like she knows a secret she’s never going to tell him, as she saunters toward him, one knee and then the other coming to rest against the outsides of his thighs. The last sane part of his mind tells him that he still needs to be a gentleman, so he keeps his hands balled in fists on the couch cushions. He can see the intricacy of the thin lace detailing over her bra, her chest is so close to his face as she rests her forearms over his shoulders. He clears his throat, trying to focus on her face instead of her hips dipping and hovering over him.

“Did you, uh– did you do this for work before?” 

“Mmhmm, made good money too. Was putting myself through college with it and everything.” She giggles at the raise of his eyebrows, tilting her head at him as she continues to sway in his lap. 

“What? Does that surprise you?” 

“Maybe a little, though to be honest, I’m starting to get used to you surprising me.” 

“You can touch me, y’know.” He freezes at that, any ease he had slipping away under the prickling heat of her gaze.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.” He can tell that she finds his response amusing, her smile slanting and eyes squinting at him.

“And why not?” 

“I’d rather not get another hairbrush thrown at me.” He tries not to, he really does, but he can’t help the way his eyes dart down to the swell of her breasts lightly bouncing with her laugh. It’s a quick little thing, the kiss she presses to the cut above his eyebrow, but it’s enough to melt his resolve down into a dripping puddle.

“I promise I won’t throw anything else at you. But why do I get the feeling that’s not the only reason you’re hesitating?” He lets out a sigh, and she stills on top of him.

“Oh god– did I completely read this wrong? I’m so–”

“N-no! That ain’t it. It’s just– I barely know you and I– you gotta know that I don’t usually do stuff like this.” “Stuff like what?” 

“Like whatever you’ve got planned in that pretty head of yours.” She huffs out a laugh at that.

“Why don’t I tell you my real name? Then you’ll know me a little better than barely.”  She leans in, lips grazing his ear, her name coming out on a whisper that Joel thinks will spin in his mind for the rest of his life. At the same time, her hands slip down his arms, uncurling his fists and guiding his palms to splay over her hips. Joel takes it from there, hands dragging down over the tops of her thighs before roaming up the span of her back.

“There, was that so hard?” Her smug look makes him grumble, hands dipping down to cup her ass and give an experimental squeeze that makes her gasp.

“Got another question for you, darlin.” She crooks a brow at him, waiting.

“Why me, huh? Could have any one of those guys out there. And I didn’t exactly make a good first impression.” Her smile screws up, eyes narrowing like she’s really considering what he said.

“Because you look like someone who’d like to forget for a while, same as me. And I like it when you call me ma’am.”

Things go downhill fast from there. It’s been a long time since Joel has kissed a woman, but he’s quick on the uptake, his lips molding with hers, tongues twisting up between little sighs and the clicks of spit. His hands firm up on her hips, pulling her down to grind against his aching hardness, reveling in the whimper that breaks in her throat when he does. 

He just needed a little certainty from her, and now that he has it, he moves with confidence beneath her, dragging his lips down her chest, mouthing at the fabric of her bra, pulling away only briefly when she shrugs the garment off before dipping back down to take one of her peaked nipples into his mouth. She says his name like a plea, breathless and pitchy and he’d like to replay the sound on an infinite loop in his mind. 

“No teasing– not this time. One of the girls could– fuck– could come in any minute.” His heart flips in his chest when she says this time, the promise of this happening again making him lightheaded as she fumbles with his belt buckle. He rests his forehead on her sternum, batting her hands away to finish the job of unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them down with his boxers, just enough for his cock to bounce out, pre-cum smearing over the bottom of his shirt. She works with deft hands, reaching between them to thumb over his leaking slit, rubbing the slickness down his shaft  as he hisses at her delicate touch while at the same time, she’s pulling her panties to the side and moving to hover over his throbbing tip.

His eyes roll back when she slides down on him in one languid move, his fingers gripping harshly into the plush of her ass. It’s almost too much, the fluttering heat of her wrapping him up as she sighs on top of him, lips dragging across his in a broken kiss. And then she starts to move, and Joel thinks this might just be how he dies. It starts with a few tentative swirls, just like the ones he saw her do up on that stage the first time, but that quickly morphs into sweet little bounces that he guides with his hands cupping her ass.

Neither of them speak, only letting out little gasps of pleasure, her uh uh uhs driving him crazy with each bounce. He firms his feet up on the ground, starting to meet her hips with his own thrusts, her back arching at the sensation and a silent cry stretching across her lips. More than anything, he wants to feel her come and he sets his mind on it singularly, bringing one of his hands around to draw sloppy circles over her clit, groaning at the way she spasms around him in response. He brings his other hand up to hold her by the back of the neck, pulling her closer until he can smear his lips across her ear in a hot whisper, low murmurings of how bad he wants it, how good she feels, how he’s dying to see her come for him.

And she does, with a harsh yelp of his name, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades through the fabric of his t-shirt. She slumps in his grip, and it takes all of Joel’s willpower to pull her off of him, finishing himself off with a few frantic strokes of his hand before his spend is smudging across her tensing belly. 

They hold onto each other hard, trying to find stillness after their heady spin of pleasure. Beneath their breathless pants, the dull thrum of music still seeps into the walls from the bar, a reminder of what actually just happened, and how fucked he truly is now that he’s gotten a taste of her. 

........................

taglist (lmk if you want added or dropped): @littlelou22 @mydailyhyperfixations @harriedandharassed @amanitacowboy @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beskarandblasters @ariiiloves @swiftispunk @cutesyscreenname @brittmb115 @funnygirlthatgab

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Popsicle

Summary: B moving over their chair in the shade so A can sit beside them.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader

Warnings: nothing much, brief mention of Marc's childhood, one swear (it's Marc)

Word Count: 1.5k

The day’s hot. The type of sweltering heat filled with a friction that’s going to boil over into staticky lightning this evening. It hangs heavy in the air with the humidity, pressing insistently against Marc’s skin. 

You’re spending the day at a friend’s, fleeing away from the city and into the countryside, gathered on a rickety old porch with cold finger foods and beer and lemonade. 

There’s some rambling going on in the background that Marc isn’t paying much attention to, distant like the hum of a beehive or of cicadas. 

He thinks it might be political or something. He can’t understand, however, how they’re managing to talk about this while the temperatures keep climbing and climbing, weather forecasts issuing one warning after another. 

He wonders where you are. Where you’ve gone off to do and why it’s taking you so long to come back. 

He wonders if you saw the severe thunderstorm warning for this evening and what you plan to do about it and mostly, Marc wonders what’s going to happen to himself when the heat breaks free and the dark sky shatters into two with the harsh strike of lightning rattling the house like a leaf in the wind. 

Someone asks him a question and sets off the nervous fidget of his foot. There’s a shift of movement around him as people rearrange to fit the flow of the conversations better like a current. Your empty seat beside him is taken up and he grits his jaw. 

Trying his best to make it seem like he had been listening all this time, that his silence wasn’t one of ambivalence, and pushing through the way his brain is seemingly melting with the harsh beat of the sun against him and his face, he mutters something that he’s not really sure he agrees with. 

Already, with the help of the heatwave, people are starting to get tipsier than they normally would, and his answer is accepted without a second’s thought. Marc feels relieved, feels the clamp that had started to crawl around his ribs loosen and let go, the fear of having embarrassed you inadvertently, by association, in front of your friends fading into the air like the squiggly mirages coming off the roads. 

The screen door opens again and you come out, sunglasses on your head, a tray of popsicles and ice creams in your hands. 

The sun hits you in a way that makes Marc think you look like an angel, or some sunny fairy-like creature. 

He takes a long sip from his lemonade, hoping to get a bit of a clear head around you. 

As always, when your eyes meet his, you smile. It presses up into your cheeks and moves further into your eyes, like a butterfly migration. It makes Marc feel like a million and one bucks, and some childish part of him wants to press this in everyone’s face and boast. 

Suck it, losers. 

Your friends are ignorant, however, of what they’ve lost, of what Marc has managed to gain and is not letting go of without good reason and there are no good reasons to let go of you. They only murmur some absent-minded thanks as they open up the wrappers, starting to eat the cold treats.

Some of the popsicles are blue, and he delights in thinking of how their mouths are going to turn blue soon enough, and their half-drunken ramblings about politics they have no control over is going to turn that much more ridiculous. 

When the tray is passed to him, Marc makes a point of choosing a clear, coconut-flavoured popsicle instead.

So as to not make an utter fool out of himself. 

The taste is a little artificial, bordering on the edge of too sweet. But it’s cool and refreshing, and if Marc lets it rest on his tongue, it calms down the heat of his mouth enough to bring back some clarity into his mind. 

He wants one of your popsicles though. That would honestly be the best. 

With the hot summer months, you’ve traded in your baking habit for a more timely one. You make your own popsicles now. Blending fruits and herbs together, pouring them into a pink and green mould. 

You’ve managed to work Jake off of his ridiculous sugar habit, from the sickly sweet ice creams and treats he liked to gorge himself on and make Marc’s teeth ache whenever he woke up with the body the next day. 

Marc is about to go back into his daze when he suddenly sees you searching for something. The rapid back and forth of your eyes, darting this way and that, and he starts following your lead, trying to see what’s wrong and how he can fix it. 

He sees the lone chair sitting in the direct line of the sun, sees it not only for that, but for how far away it is from him. There’s a certain urgency that only he can read from your body, and you’ve lost sight of his own eyes and gaze and love for you. 

In a sudden sprout of violence, he feels like punching the idiot of your friend’s husband who came and took your seat, who’s now shouting across the table, spit flying this way and that. 

Instead, he pulls his own chair to the side, and murmurs your name quietly. 

Even in the rattling chatter around the two of you, you hear it, and in a moment that smile has returned to your face, like Marc meant everything and more to you. 

You pick up the sun-warmed chair and come to place it beside his. 

Marc likes it even better this way. You’re closer and that means he can smell your perfume mixed in with sunshine and humidity and your coconut shampoo. It means he can pull your chair even closer to his and make you giggle. 

“Hi,” you say, your eyes wrinkled around the edges and the colour of your irises that Marc has come to know as home, sparkling. You’re eating an ice cream sandwich, a round, overly-large monstrosity of an oreo that reminds him of summers in Chicago, fleeing away from home and into the woods with a sandwich similar to yours melting in his palm. 

He finds that thinking about that now, the cool shade of the tree, much like the one the both of you are under now, the rustle of leaves and the ice cream doesn’t hurt anymore. There’s only sunshine and you and chocolate.

There’s a bit of it caught on the corner of your mouth and Marc brushes it away with his thumb, licking it off. He wishes he could kiss you the way he wants, but he supposes that would have to do, “Hi.” 

“You missed me, didn’t you?” you giggle and laugh, cup his face and follow the line of his cheekbone with your thumb. Your touch places a Cubs-decorated bandaid on something inside of him he didn’t know needed to be healed. 

The people around the two of you have melted into nothingness, as far as Marc is concerned. Your words poke at something inside him, something he’s been trying to share with you more but still falls short sometimes. Just a little grumpily he responds, “Yeah, I suppose I fuckin’ did.” 

“Well, I’m back now.” You make it sound like you’ve come back from a months’ long trip, a trip he didn’t know was going to end. The teasing has dropped from your voice, and your eyes are soft like rose petals. 

Marc curls his arm around your shoulders, pulls you as close as he can to him, as much as the chairs will allow and never mind the heat weighing heavy on the both of you. He kisses the side of your head, “And I’m never letting you go.” 

As you coo and hum at him, he leans down and takes a big bite out of your ice cream sandwich. Nobody around you seems to be noticing what’s happening between you two, as if there was an impenetrable bubble around him whenever you’re close to his side. 

You protest at this, but Marc quiets you with a quasi-kiss to satiate you until you manage to get back in your rooms. It tastes like coconut and chocolate and love. 

He thinks then, that maybe, he’ll manage the thunderstorm that’s rumbling around the molten core of the Earth. 

He thinks then, that maybe, he can manage close to near anything with you, only if you keep looking at him like he can do no wrong, even if he is chewing close to half of your ice cream sandwich. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.

[booksandabeer]

Stucky Recs: Road Trips!

Well, well, well. Look at that! After only three months of constant whining about having no time to do it, I've finally managed to put together a new rec list! Yay.

The theme of this list was requested by multiple people and really, who doesn't love a good road trip story, right? And let me tell you, there are so many good ones, this post could've been twice as long. I'm actually already hoarding fics in my little folder to do a part two later this year.

But for now, please enjoy my effusive ramblings about the following 10 Road Trip fics + 1 Rail Trip fic:

🚗 you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all by biblionerd07 | T, 15K

Author's summary: Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

A post-CW canon divergent fic that's in a lot of ways very soft, but with just enough of an edge to keep things interesting and the reader uncertain as to how everything will play out in it. This starts with a somewhat disaffected Bucky who has not (yet) regained all of his memories and a Steve who, in his desperation to reconnect with him, tries so hard but ends up saying and doing all the wrong things. As they travel around the country, they both find ways to let go and to unlearn and relearn each other. Features moments of heart melting yet tongue-in-cheek sappiness (so the absolute best kind of sappiness) and a fun background Sam/T'Challa pairing.

🚗 a black sky prickled with small lights by emilywithoutY | M, 26K

Author's summary: There's this: The July heat. A wide open road. An obnoxious country song on the radio. Bucky in the driver’s seat.

Or: Two hundred-year-old men and their Great American Road Trip

The ultimate, unashamed Steve-and-Bucky-visit-the-Grand-Canyon wish-fulfillment fantasy—and I mean that in the best possible way. The summer road trip vibes are impeccable. This is technically the third part in the Litanies series, but it absolutely works as a standalone. However, if you ask me whether you should read the entire series, the answer is obviously a resounding yes. It's not only one of the best EG-Fix-Its I've read but also comes with an additional fun and sexy twist on how to get these two to finally get their heads out of their asses. Anyway, in this installment, they have already done that and now they get to enjoy the road, their freedom, and most of all, each other. Includes: healing along the way, long overdue conversations, and the attempt to reconcile the joy of finally having all that time with the bittersweet reality of having all that time.

🚗 Blue Moon by what_alchemy | E, 15K

Author's summary: "Now are you gonna run away with me or not, Rogers?”

God, this story (this author, really)! I’ve read this fic so many times I’ve lost count. It features one of my favorite post-WS characterizations of Bucky. One where he's still—somehow after everything—a romantic at heart, but also clear-eyed and unsentimental enough about certain things to not shy away from laying out some uncomfortable truths for Steve and the reader alike (there’s one line in particular that is seared into my brain and every time I read it I personally feel so called out). Steve may be a bit more cautious and softer about it, but oh, he gives back just as good. Nobody is handling anyone with kid gloves here. A story about learning how to be together (again), defining one's very own version of 'Happy Ever After', and about being very much in love, and also very horny for each other.

🚗 Not Language but a Map (The Grammar of Sensation) by dorian_burberrycanary | E, 20K

Author's summary: Steve has never felt right running away from a fight, even if the fight is with unanswered questions. But it’s not running if it’s a road trip and the oldest, thorniest unanswered question is along for the ride.

If you follow my blog you will probably already know that I am head over heels in love with this entire EG-Fix-It Series. This third story is finished, but Steve & Bucky's road trip continues in part 4, which is currently being posted (updates weekly). I believe this fic can be read as a standalone but, really, why would you deprive yourself of even a single word of this absolutely magnificent series? Every word, every detail, every narrative choice feels deliberate and well thought out. It's a masterclass in subtle storytelling and yet so rich in its themes, characterizations and descriptions of people, places, and food. This fic will make you hungry in so many different ways. A lot happens between the lines which may require some patience at times, but when the emotional payoff hits—it really, really hits. I cannot recommend this enough. Spectacular all around.

🚗 where the days are longer by endofadream | E, 13K

Author's summary: And maybe that’s what they’re running from. Those ghosts. That minefield. The suffocating pressure to live up to who they used to be when who they used to be has now become stale, recycled words in textbooks and museums and clickbait online articles.

They fuck off to the coast, trying to put as many miles between them and D.C. as possible. New York is loud and claustrophobic at the best of times, but California has the open skies and roads that make Steve ease a little more into his skin.

I have such an immense fondness for this story. There are some very minor problems with shifting POV in the first chapter, but please don't let this deter you from giving this story a chance—it's got so much heart. This is a slow and meandering piece that can be best summed up as: Steve and Bucky being so very much in love. Set in some undefined period post-CATWS, in a world where the events of Civil War never happened, Steve and Bucky decide they’re tired of fighting and conforming to what everyone else wants them to be and just get in a car and drive all the way to California. There, they start figuring out how to live in the future while also accepting that they can never quite leave the past behind, and that time, indifferent to the tragedies of (not quite) mortal men, will inevitably keep marching on—whether they want it to or not. To quote directly from the story itself: They’re both men out of time, so they make their own.

🚗 Lightning in a Bottle by odetteandodile | E, 63K

Author's summary: The problem, Steve thinks, isn’t so much his motorcycle giving up the ghost on a lonely stretch of highway through a lonely stretch of the country. He doesn’t mind stretching his legs or the prospect of hitchhiking.The problem is the roiling black blanket of storm clouds slowly spreading itself over the landscape headed his direction…

Steve Rogers is looking to hitch on a highway abandoned by everyone smart enough to avoid a looming storm. Bucky Barnes is the professional storm chaser who offers him a ride. It gets more complicated from there. 

This AU offers an intriguing twist on the The Road Trip as a genre, Shrunkyclunks as a trope, and modern!Bucky as a character—it's an electric ride from start to finish—in more ways than one… *wiggles eyebrows* ...yeah ok, I’ll see myself out. It was either this or something about 'chasing all kinds of storms together' and I just couldn’t resist. Anyway, this story is a clever and unique take on canon events (not just limited to the CA movies!) and I don’t really want to give too much away and spoil all the fun, so I’ll just say this: If you are in the mood for a thrilling sci-fi/adventure/romance hybrid-story with beautiful evocative writing, characters that actually act like the smart, competent grown-ups they supposedly are, sex scenes that are both hot and emotional, and a touch of spy/mission fic to go along with a free crash course in weather phenomena—this is the fic for you!  

🚗 The Only Familiar Thing by brideofquiet | E, 39K

Author's summary: Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.”

And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

A Post-CATWS fic, in which Bucky has returned to Steve after being on the run for a while. They are together, share an apartment in Brooklyn, and Bucky has regained most of his memories—so yay! All good, right? Well, things are going…uh...let's say they're going. See, Steve and Bucky are still very much in love—the thing is, they're pretty good at the being in love part but pretty awful at the talking about it (and everything else that matters) part. So much so that they accidentally on purpose non-communicate and out-stubborn each other into going on a road trip, where things will eventually—inevitably—come to a head. Throughout the trip, the tension between them builds and builds until finally they have to admit that sometimes being partners, lovers, best friends, and knowing someone better than anybody else in the world, still doesn't mean that you can *actually* read their mind. Sometimes you gotta use your words. The author skillfully manages to create a story that treats its characters and their conflict seriously, while also infusing it with a healthy dose of humor and romance to always keep the readers on the right side of 'frustrated' (i. e. invested, not irritated).

🚗 old college try by kafkian | E, 19K

Author's summary: Bucky wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling like stealing: Steve Rogers, Captain America, the hope of a nation tucked into Bucky’s right hand. It’s the heist of the century.

In which Bucky Barnes remembers himself, Steve, and what it means to be selfish – not necessarily in that order.

Another old favorite of mine. Set post-CACW, this fic starts with a recently defrosted Bucky and a somewhat unmoored Steve in Wakanda, as they try to figure out what to do next: Keep fighting the never-ending wars of other people or run away, see the world, and retire to a quiet life? Well, since this is a road trip fic, I think you can guess which option they go for. It's a beautifully written story about Steve and Bucky's journey across continents and decades, and their ultimate arrival in a life that they never dared to hope they could have one day. This was written in 2016, so right between the fanfic avalanche caused by TWS and the frenzy of EG-Fix-Its. Re-reading this for the first time in quite a while made me realize that—aside from being a fantastic story in its own right—it's also an interesting commentary on popular Stucky fics that came before it (you can see clear influences but also some gentle rebuttals to popular fanon of the time) as well as very much a product of its time. And I don't mean that in a negative or disrespectful way at all, but simply, that it also serves as a fandom artifact; a text that reveals and reacts to certain trends, shifting attitudes, and developments in Stucky fanfiction over the years. Either way it's definitely well worth a read.

🚗 The Long Way: A Stucky Fancomic by BeaArthurPendragon, LittleWolf82 | T

Authors' summary: After Thanos is defeated, Steve doesn't stay in the past. This is the story of where he and Bucky go next.

A little something different here: a road trip fancomic! And oh, it's only one of my favorite fic writers teaming up with one of my favorite artists—what's not to love? This is an EG-Fix-It that simply ignores the last five minutes that Ruined It All and instead tells the story of what could've or should've happened to Steve and Bucky after EG. A story that is infinitely kinder and truer to these characters. Sweetly told and beautifully drawn—an absolutely wonderful collaboration.

🚗 i need a forest fire by tomorrowsrain | T, 65K

Author's summary: In which Tony Stark makes a reckless decision, becomes a wanted fugitive, goes on the run with the former Winter Soldier, and learns how to forgive. For his part, Bucky Barnes is just trying to hold himself together. AU, post-Civil War.

This is the only fic on this rec list that does not have Bucky and Steve going on a journey but instead it's Bucky and...Tony. WAIT! Hey, come back! I know that for a lot of Steve and/or Bucky fans the idea of reading a 65K fic that heavily features Tony Stark does not really sound like an enticing prospect. BUT! Hear me out. This is a fic that runs with one of the core concepts of fix-it fanfiction, which is: What if these characters actually talked to each other for a change? And yes, it gets messy and complicated and often painful—nothing is glossed over and no one is let off the hook easy. What you get here is a fantastically written story that is simultaneously an intimate & slow character study of both Bucky and Tony, a grand sweeping road trip fic with a thrilling plot that will have you on the edge of your seat (there is a moment in this where I really thought it was all over), AND a decade spanning tale of epic love. If you're worried that there is too little Stucky or Steve in this, don't be. Even before he shows up around the halfway mark of the fic, Steve is very much present the entire time. It's incredible what the author pulls off here. This is one of my all-time favorite fics. I love it a totally not normal amount.

🚂 Will There be Any Freight Trains in Heaven? by phoenixflight | E, 56K

Author's summary: It's summer of 1934, a quarter of all Americans are unemployed, and record numbers of migrant workers are hopping freight trains to seek their fortune out west. What are two boys from Brooklyn to do?

Or, Steve and Bucky ride the rails, become socialists, and fall in love, in no particular order.

This story is a bit of an outlier on this list because not only is it the only fic that's set in the pre-war period, it's also not strictly a road trip fic, but a rail trip fic. Usually the road trips in these stories are either (1) a last ditch effort at saving a friendship/relationship, (2) a way of finding oneself and/or making peace with one's past, or (3) the 'we survived all this and here we are together in the future, so let's go and actually see some of that world we fought so hard to save' victory lap. The impetus for travel in this fic, however, is born out of sheer necessity. It's the height of the Great Depression and Steve and Bucky are really poor and really desperate—so desperate even that they're willing to leave behind Brooklyn, their families, and their lives as they know it to go look for work in the West. This is not a fic that's always easy to read, circumstances are dire, attitudes are, ahem, authentic to the period, and the nostalgia-tinted glasses about the good old days before the war will get firmly knocked off your face. It's also a story that will show you time and time again that sometimes you will find kindness, love and almost overwhelming humanity in the places you least expect it. And listen, if period accuracy and a very political Steve Rogers do not convince you, let me tell you that there's also a lot of pining in this. So. Much. Pining.

Ok. This was fun.

Next up: Short fics under 10K

[egginfroggin]

hi! i’d be interested in hearing more about the dying of the light AU if you don’t mind sharing any thoughts or details!

Hi! I don't mind, just lemme scrape my brain real quick (so many thoughts).

Honestly, the Dying of the Light AU has been giving me some issues as far as the ending goes, but other than that, I have a few ideas.

This got. so long. so, again, there's a break put in place further down.

We're dragging Kyurem into this, first of all

after Emmet "snaps," you could call it, and completely loses control of his powers, Reshiram amplifies it to the point of halting the ongoing autumn, replacing it with summer-like heat and causing a massive drought that starts to spread out from its epicenter around Nimbasa/Route 4

Once Reshiram's involvement is confirmed, it's decided that the other dragons will be brought into this

Ingo, chosen by Ideals, will pursue Zekrom, and hopefully that will help tip the scales in his favor, helping him root out the deceit Reshiram speaks of and reinstating Truth without Unova crumbling

Iris and Drayden both go after Kyurem, and do eventually find it; however, Kyurem will only help them if they give it something in return

They both wind up being roped into a bond with it, agreeing to give it their time and attention, which it seeks after a long time hidden away from people and its own siblings

The intent is to essentially use Kyurem's ice and cold to combat Reshiram's heat -- winter is summoned against summer, and the result is a sort of flaky half-season, somewhat like spring and autumn at the same time, though the cold is more extreme around Kyurem's location and the heat is more extreme around Reshiram's location

Content warnings for burns, claustrophobia, and possession under the cut! And thank you very much again for the ask, Anon! I hope you have a very good day! ^^

Reshiram is definitely doing some possessing by the way

In Reshiram's defense, Emmet can't be trusted to not run off and mess up its plans, so. yeah

Also, speaking with mortals is far easier when one has the approximate appearance of a mortal so there's that too

Zekrom doesn't so much as possess Ingo as it does reside within him/follow him around. It will speak through him at times, and certainly bolster him, but it rarely if ever just up and snatches his body to go do something

Kyurem does not care about possessing people it just wants a friend and thinks its siblings are being overly dramatic

I somewhat implied it in And Learn, too Late, but the twins actually have a few dislikes/phobias related to their respective Dragons! Ingo dislikes having his Ideals and intentions restricted, and has a mild case of claustrophobia; this is mean to reflect Zekrom's weakness to ground, as being enclosed makes Ingo feel restricted and like he's being put under pressure (i.e., a coffin or being entombed) Emmet's aversions are more prominent due to the strength of Reshiram's gift/influence on him; detecting deceit and lies makes him feel physically ill, and he has a severe aversion to deep water and pouring rain

Drayden and Iris don't really have any issues after they connect with Kyurem, as their dynamic with the Dragon differs from the twins' and their respective Dragons; it's more of a mutual agreement that they're bound to, rather than a direct piece of power being imbued as a gift and a connection

Going off of this logic and that of the above point, I suppose that that would mean that after Ingo finds Zekrom and his own gift is strengthened, he would have worse claustrophobia

Similar to the accident that happened in Iced Tracks, Emmet accidentally hurt Ingo when they were little; only, in this case, it involved fire, and Ingo's clothes caught, leading to pretty severe burns on his arm, side, and part of his jaw; they healed well, but the trauma of the situation combined with him passing out made him forget :< Emmet had no such "luck," he just dead-up remembers ("Dragons, Truth irrefutable, Truth before him, he knew how skin melted," from The Sun in Flight)

Emmet is not immune to his own powers, though the worst damage is done when it manifests physically, such as when he forms flames or embers

Much of the damage that he's unintentionally inflicted on himself comes from accidentally setting his cuffs on fire, burning his wrists and arms, or from conducted heat searing his palms when he's holding something

He doesn't wear gloves anymore

He doesn't leave fingerprints anymore, either

(He's not made to contain so much power, he's kindling for a pyre he has no choice but to light, and only the power of Reshiram itself can keep him safe from its own curse of a gift)

On a lighter note, someone asked in a comment on The Sun in Flight if Emmet wore gloves or not, and if his powers affected his clothes since he can burn things so easily

For the sake of his decency -- and my sanity -- I'm basically handwaving the matter of his powers not just burning off all his clothes as magical interference; if his cuffs caught, maybe it could spread if he let it, but that would also hurt, so he doesn't

This being said, though, Reshiram basically fireproofs his body when its possessing him

And with that being said, I couldn't resist this entirely silly mental image: Reshiram: ugh, mortal's clothes are so restricting, why do you even bother with such a nuisance -- Emmet: IF YOU BURN MY CLOTHES OFF AND MAKE ME RUN AROUND UNOVA NAKED I WILL PERSONALLY STRANGLE YOU YOU STUPID BALL OF FEATHERS

So Emmet gets to keep his clothes (thank goodness)

Thank you, Anon! ^^

[lesb0]

as the world gets hotter than ever, we're going to see more and more new kinds of climate related deaths. In Phoenix, ER doctors are facing a new kind of heat illness, as the patients temperatures are no longer measurable on thermometers, so they're getting over 110°f. extreme heat death looks like rapid decay: once you slowly get too hot, your cell walls cook down and your insides melt into a liquid. technically it's reported as "organ failure" but this inner liquification has never been recorded so frequently before.

Of course these sudden deaths are in the most precarious people, the elderly who can't figure out their new thermostat app, homeless mentally ill whose brain melts a little more every summer, a drug addict who passes out, a baby who stops crying in a hot car ride, who can't afford to run the AC or it's too old. Climate disaster HAS reached the global north, and our nice air conditioned apartments which miraculously haven't caused any serious outages are the only reason we didn't all die this summer.

The cool human adaptation part: people in the Mojave and Sonoran are shifting to being nocturnal. Las Vegas has done this for decades. Shopping centers, restaurants, sometimes museums, runners clubs, and the zoos are opening late at night and staying open until 3am so people (and animals) can stay inside and sleep the entire day.

[bish-plz-haha]

I haven't seen any posts about this so I wanna make it; bare with me as I'm not sure my thoughts will be entirely coherent and understandable (this Pennsylvania summer heat got my brain melting, no joke).

So I rewatched the Lightning strike ep and the coma ep, and I found something quite interesting on my watch-through (as well as watching some edits of buddie on tiktok). So I've been thinking: why was everyone else in Buck's coma dream but Eddie. Eddie is one of the closest people to Buck. So why wasn't he there?

I'm not sure if this will make any sense, but the coma ep is basically Buck living out a dream where everything was fine and he grew up with his brother and parents and sister.

Now almost everyone except Eddie and Athena were in his dream. All completely different people: Bobby was an alcoholic and drug addict (at least that seemed my take from the ep), Maddie was still playing happy wife to dickbag, Chim and Hen were friends and firefighters but they had NO CLUE who he was, his parents were actually kinda nice and supportive of him (kill me now. That's nice and all but I hate them so much). And even Chris was there at the end of the ep, though he didn't particularly recognise Buck. He sounded lost, and like he was asking a stranger for help, not his best friend.

Now when 'Daniel' tells Buck when he wakes up, "Next time you go up a ladder, have someone there to spot you." And, as we know, Buck replied with, "I did," we get kinda a quick flashback to the ep previously to kinda remind the audience what happened. We kinda see a quick flash of Eddie hooking him up and hear his voice saying "go get em cowboy" (the implication of that is another thing in and of itself if we're being honest).

Now, why would Eddie not be in Buck's coma dream?

Honestly, with Buck being able to 'remember' he went up the ladder with a spot (AKA Eddie), I don't think he really had a reason to hold on to him. He already remembered him as he was- in uniform, doing his job, and having Buck's back ("You can have my back any day").

He has all these people in his dream because he's trying to hold on to them. To remember who they are, not necessarily how they are, just who. His central nervous system had a jolt and he was clinically dead for 3 minutes (and 17 seconds, courtesy of Eddie counting the time it took for them to get him down and start compressions: you cannot convince me that that man didn't mentally count each passing second from the moment he realised Buck had been struck and was dangling from his safety line to the time he got Buck down and placed onto the stretcher). That's a lot for someone's system to take. His brain lost a lot of oxygen in that time: and, speaking generally, when the heart stops for a good amount of time (being about 2 and a half minutes or more since the brain can take only about 5 minutes without oxygen before permanent brain damage without CPR), the chemical makeup starts to change because your brain is basically sending signals to the body that it may be dying and it might be time to shut down the body too. To go into a permanent slumber (hence the "superpowers," which is a real thing. Though a lot of people, including myself (it's my fun fact about myself: surprise! I've died), develop a "sixth sense" if you will).

So back to my main point; why Eddie wasn't in the coma dream.

Buck's subconscious already remembered Eddie. He may not have remembered his face or anything, but he most definitely remembers him. He remembers key things about him. There's no need for Buck's brain to conjure up a version of Eddie because he's already significant enough. He is the only one we hear and see that Buck actually remembers being there for him. The shot they replayed as his memory was solely of Eddie and himself. Yes, Chim was in the background but he wasn't the focus of the shot. He was barely visible. And, again, we only hear Eddie's voice.

Idk maybe I'm crazy thinking about this but I'm at work, I'm bored. And it's been on my mind for a few days now.

[jellojelli]

more sampo brain rot. I just want this man to feel genuinely loved and cared for

*a/n: me too, he’s just a silly little guy who I want to give some headpats and hugs to*

Sampo: Love Language & Cuddles

I think Sampo’s love language is physical touch and acts of service

You might think words of affirmation would be one of his preferred, but since he finds it easy to lie and most people never believe what he says anyways he’d rather show you how he feels by showing he’s there for you and proving he loves you in a way that’s undeniable

Also this man is clingy, he’s clingy as a friend and he’s extra clingy as a boyfriend

The type to literally drape himself across you and have you basically carry him if he can get away with it

You don’t ever have to ask for anything from him because he’s already done it??

Hungry? He already brought home food for you and put it in the fridge, need him to heat it up for you?

Tired? Don’t worry his arms are open and his chest is free for you to lay on at all times!

Busy and overworked? All the chores and extra work are done and he’d like to be paid in some cuddles and sweet kisses please!

He’s a man of many talents so don’t worry you can count on him!

He’d absolutely melt if your love language was physical touch or words of affirmation

I imagine Sampo rarely gets any kind physical touches or words thrown his way so being sweet with him physically and verbally makes him short circuit

Give this tall boy a head pat and he’d never stop begging for them

He would stoop as low as shoving his head in your hand if you refuse

Also if you don’t like cuddling you’re gonna have to learn to love it because Sampo is a grade A cuddle bug

As I said before he loves to drape himself on you while standing

Would 100% use your lap as a pillow or lean on your shoulder while sitting

Might even make you do those things if he thinks you need a break or need to just chill out

Cuddling in bed is gonna get crazy

First, Sampo is a heater

He probably doesn’t even need a blanket to sleep most days

Thankfully, it’s cold there so at least you’ll never have to suffer cuddling in the summer with him

Second, Sampo is all over you when cuddling

He will hug you, hold your hand, wrap his legs around yours, and bury his head anywhere he can

Not opposed to making you cuddle him either

He has no problems throwing you on his chest and making sure you can’t wiggle free from his arms

Pillow talks too

Sampo is goofy and he talks about some crazy and random stuff with you

He loves drifting off to sleep listening to you talk about anything and everything imaginable

Pet his head or play with his hair while you talk and he won’t even make it a minute before he checks out for the night

[angie-long-legs]

I'm not tormenting you 🙄 that's overstating it a bit don't you think? I'm just introducing you to accountability. You know, in the form it is meant to be presented, instead of it being acts of abuse framed as "deserved" and "justified" by some abusive manipulator who is trying to guarantee your submission by coaxing you into believing his abuse is a direct consequence of your actions who I am not going to name because I don't have to.

You might not believe yourself worthy of redemption (which, by the way, is a completely false belief. I mean, come on. What started this pessimistic attitude? What, just because you've fucked up you can't ever get it together? Snap out of it. By that logic people that "are worthy" of redemption are the ones that don't even need it. You need to be flawed in order to fix your flaws, it's kinda the whole point. Making mistakes is what puts you in a situation where you are in need of redemption so how could it be the same thing that makes you unworthy of it? This logic just drives you into a wall.) but you are a resident of the Hazbin Hotel and there's people you've made commitments to and you need to at least try, if not for you, then for them.

And assuming you will try (because we have all of afterlife infront of us and I won't fuck off until you do)(consider your redemption journey forced if it has to be) what better place to start than your boyfriend? You know, the one who loves you and treasures you and is guaranteed to always forgive you (and actually already has, even if you haven't apologized yet)? If you can't bring yourself to confront your biggest supporter who will always be there for you no matter what, how exactly do you plan on ever confronting anything or anyone in your environment that you are even less familiar with?

To finish this off... Omg did you just say I'm your favourite anon 🤭 Stop it you, you're making me blush! You know, it's not the first time I've been proclaimed the favourite anon of a person that just couldn't get rid of me no matter how hard they tried! Isn't that hilarious? I'm like that mosquito that buzzes right beside your ear on a hot summer night when all you want to do is sleep to escape the brain-melting heat! And I wear that like a fucking badge of honor.

Angel did not recall telling the stranger that they were tormenting him, nor calling them (on the contrary) his favourite. However, having been accused of something he did not remember doing, only to find out he was indeed guilty, he saw no purpose in fighting his cause over these... anomalies.

He also, to no one's surprise, did not feel much like addressing the comments about a certain abusive manipulator.

"I think ye'll find I did apologise, sweetheart," he said dryly. "Not that yer self-righteous lectures had jack ta do with it."

Once Husk had confirmed in no uncertain that Angel had thrown a glass bottle at him, that was what had prompted a shift in his mindset. Husk had presented it as a fact: tolerable, something he could swallow. There was no morality attached, no expectations, no demand for an apology.

The ball was in Angel's court. Husk had made sure of that.

Angel had chosen to apologise.

"I ain't doin' shit fa you, it ain't fa Charlie, and it sure as shit ain't fa myself," he continued. "But as ye've clearly noticed, I give a fuck about some people. So I told him I was sorry fa throwin' glass at him. Even though I don't even rememba' it."

Folding his arms across his chest, he regarded the stranger with a pointed glare. "So ya can kindly climb outta my ass now that ye've got what ya want from me! And by the way, I'm still tryin' the whole redemption shtick, even if I don't think I'm Heaven material. I got my reasons fa givin' it a shot, and those are my business, stalker. Now, take yer big mouth and yer weird obsession with my moral compass and scram."

[cderiva]

[ TOUCH ]  for sender to trace one of receiver’s scars (kusakabe & maria) 

[ TOUCH ]  for sender to trace one of receiver’s scars 

@tsuiokuno

it’s too hot, the kind of heat that clings to the skin and makes it feel like every breath is thick and heavy. the sun is still blazing even though it’s late afternoon, turning the metal of the train tracks into something blinding and sharp. maria shifts from one foot to the other on the platform, her sneakers scuffing against the concrete, and she wishes she could will a breeze into existence, just something to break through the suffocating warmth. kusakabe is standing next to her, or maybe just behind her, it’s hard to tell when her brain feels so scrambled from the heat. she’s aware of him in that way she always is, even when her mind spinning like a whirlwind.

"ugh," she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair and lifting it off the nape of her neck, trying to catch the smallest hint of nonexistent breeze. she has never coped very well with the heat. no, scratch that - she’s terrible at it. miserable and dramatic and uncharacteristically vocal about her discomfort. she’s rambling now, half to herself, half to him. something about how they need shaved ice or something equally life-saving, how this kind of weather should be illegal, how people weren’t made to survive in this kind of sauna, and how the only thing that might save them from melting into puddles on the train platform is something cold to drink or maybe a massive, ice-covered bowl of kakigōri. “i'm going to combust.” she says, squinting against the sunlight. her voice comes out rushed, words a little too dramatic. “we have to get something cold to eat or drink, or you’re gonna watch me spontaneously ignite. i swear, this heat is—”

and then she feels it. his hand on her shoulder. his touch is gentle, unassuming, but it sends a jolt through her all the same, like a static shock. the words die in her mouth, her rant cut off mid-sentence, and suddenly the heat in her cheeks feels different, less from the oppressive sun and more from the awareness of him standing so close. “huh?” at first, she thinks maybe it’s a bug. her mind jumps to a dozen tiny, irrational possibilities, some cicada or a spider the size of her palm. “is it a bug?” but something in the way his fingers linger, the way they move, tells her it isn't. his touch isn’t quick, the way it would be if he were brushing off some bug for her. his fingertips are tracing something on her skin.

oh.

it’s the scar.

the one on the back starting at her right shoulder and running downward. the one she keeps hidden because it makes her feel too exposed, too raw. she’d forgotten, or maybe she’d just been too exhausted and annoyed by the heat to care earlier, too desperate for relief to think about all the reasons she usually keeps that part of herself covered. she’d slipped off her light jacket without a second thought, the warmth too unbearable to handle any extra layers, and now her whole body feels like it’s gone still and rigid with embarrassment.

the scar is anything but delicate, an angry, jagged line that cuts harshly across the otherwise smooth skin of her back she tries not to think about it often. about that summer day at the beach, how her curiosity had won over and she'd wandered away from her friends and stupidly walked toward something that looked off, how not long after there was the excruciating pain of claws raking across her back, a shock that made her knees give out followed by the sound of her own screams tearing through the warm, salty air. she remembers the confused panic in her friends’ faces up ahead, and the way she’d had to pretend afterward that it was just an accident, just her clumsiness leading her to trip on the rocks and landing on her back.

now, his fingers are touching that same scar, following its uneven path, and she feels this strange mix of emotions twisting inside her. it’s not like she’s never had someone notice it before, but this feels different. his touch is careful, almost curious, the complete opposite of what left that scar. she can’t help but wonder what he thinks of it. does he think it’s hideous? does he feel some pity or disgust? the thought tightens her throat, and she doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry, or if she's starting to feel sick.

she wants to say something, to make a joke about how scars are just battle trophies or something equally dumb, but the words get stuck in her throat.

“it’s, uh, not a big deal” she finally manages, but her voice comes out strangled, and she clears her throat, forcing herself to sound more like her, more casual. she twists around, just enough to catch his eye, and tries for a crooked smile, even though it feels wobbly around the edges. “just a stupid mistake from a long time ago. it's so old i forget it's there.”