#amber sky sunday

[lalacliffthorne]

mornings are for laying in bed, talking in hushed voices and tracing Azriel´s tattoos.

(hhrrrrggghhh... *buried in pillows in single* this writer is touchstarved. proceed with caution.)

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as I soundlessly slipped into Azriel´s room, crunching my nose in concentration as I slowly closed the door as quietly as possible.

It was Sunday morning, early Sunday morning; the flat was completely quiet just like the street outside, and the only reason I had woken up and slipped out of Azriel's arms was that I had desperately needed the bathroom.

Wincing when the door handle squeaked the tiniest bit, I looked over my shoulder, and my heart did a backflip.

The morning light illuminated Azriel's bare back, sculpted muscles relaxed under his even skin. He was stretched out on his stomach, the blankets pooling around his waist and his shoulders rising with his even breaths as his hand curled into the pillow where there was an empty, me-shaped spot in the sheets. His dark hair was a mess, and even from where I was standing, his head turned the other way, I could see the tousled strands curving over his forehead and his peacefully calm face, brows smooth and lips parted.

Trying to breathe against the sudden violent flutter in my chest that I really should get checked, I quietly turned around and tapped over to the window, the wooden floors cool under my bare feet when I peaked through the curtains. The sun was just peaking over the houses on the other side of the street, the city still quiet, the sky bright blue.

Turning to quickly slide back under the warm covers and curl into Azriel's chest, my gaze landed on his desk, and my heart dipped and fluttered.

Quietly stepping closer, I reached out, and my fingers brushed over the pictures strewn over the wooden top. They must've been newly developed, because they were still unsorted. Gently pushing them apart, I felt something rise warmly in my chest and how a smile slowly spread over my face as my gaze moved over the pictures. A few first warm rays of sun tickled the side of my face, and I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, staring at a picture Azriel had taken in a mirror, with me standing in front of him and his arms wrapped around my shoulders, half obscuring my face as I tipped back my head to look up at him. I could just see the upwards tilt of his lips peaking out from under the camera.

There was a soft click behind me, and I jumped a little, my head dipping and missing a beat when I quickly looked over my shoulder, and Azriel pressed the shutter release button again. Then he raised his head, his eyes glowing amber in the sunlight as one corner of his lips curved upwards slowly.

The flutter in my chest grew into something that stole my breath, warmth rising into my cheeks, and I lost the fight against the ridiculously wide smile pushing onto my lips.

Turning around, the bed creaked softly when I clambered up onto the mattress. Azriel rolled onto his back, his bright eyes following me, and I plopped down, my shins bracketing his lean sides when I settled on his hips and sent him a slow, cheeky grin.

My big sweatshirt slipped up my thighs as I reached out and carefully pulled the camera from Azriel's fingers, considering it curiously. His hands sank down, slowly beginning to brush up and down my thighs. His rough, warm skin left a trail of tingles in its wake before his hands settled just below my hips.

Squeezing one eye shut, I looked through the viewfinder, and my heart staggered and tumbled.

Lowering the camera a little, I squinted at Az, feeling my nose crinkle in a sheepish, cheeky smile as I said softly: "Can I -"

Azriel's eyes flickered over my face for moment before he blinked and nodded lightly, and it almost looked a little like his throat worked to suppress a small swallow.

My lips curved into a wide smile, and I raised the camera again, looking through the viewfinder. A few first rays of sunlight were falling through the curtains and made Azriel's iris look like molten gold as he watched me, dark hair tousled and messy, broad chest bare and hands on my thighs, warm and scarred and fingers slow tracing shapes on my skin, and my heart rose in a thrum as I pressed the shutter release button.

Raising my head again, I caught the bright light in Azriel's eyes as his gaze flickered over my face. Then he blinked; his hands slid up my sides, and he tugged me down.

Quickly craddling his camera against my chest, I inhaled softly when his warm breath brushed my lips. Then Azriel's nose gently traced over mine, and he lifted his chin to kiss me, slow and warm and causing my heart to shudder.

A soft sound escaped me, and I could feel Azriel beginning to smile slowly against my lips. Then one of his hands slipped to the small of my back while the other closed over mine, and he gently tugged the camera from my grip. His grip tightened, and he pulled me down flush onto his chest and rolled us over.

My breath hitched and heart rose when his warm, solid body pressed mine into the mattress.

Without breaking the kiss, Azriel reached out, a small clonk indicating him setting the camera back onto the bedside table, and breathing out, my heart rising, I slipped my fingers into his hair and kissed back.

A soft sound broke from my throat, and my back arched up into his chest when Azriel's arm slipped around my waist to pull me closer. Slinging my legs around his sides, I buried my fingers in his hair, and something turned over in my belly when Azriel exhaled softly and deepened the kiss.

The sun started to peak through the curtains, Azriel's hips lodged between my legs locked around him as he kissed me, and I kissed back, until my lips were tingling and the world was spinning.

When Azriel finally slowly broke away, his nose softly nudging against mine, a small, involuntary sound of protest left me, and Azriel chuckled against my lips, the sound, deep and soft, sending tingles through my whole body when he mumbled, voice hoarse and raspy with sleep: "Morning."

Exhaling as something rose and began to flutter in my chest, I felt a smile spread slowly over my face when Azriel brushed his nose gently over mine, then I pulled my head back just a little to open my eyes.

My breath hitched, and my gaze flickered over Azriel's face just a few inches away, drinking in the sharp line of his cheekbones and jaw, the golden spots in his amber eyes and the way a few strand of his tousled hair fell into his forehead. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the weight of his tall body on mine grounding instead of suffocating. The muscles in his shoulders shifted a little as his grip around my waist tightened and his eyes stared back, calm and steady and with the trace of a twinkle growing in his iris that made something pound against my ribs.

"Hi,", I whispered back with a slow, wide smile, and a soft crease appeared in Azriel's cheek. His eyes, warm and still a little full with sleep, slowly dragged over my face, then he dipped down a little, his arm wrapping closer around my waist as he rolled back onto his side, pulling me with him.

Wrapping my arms around his neck with a content sigh, I buried my nose in Azriel's neck and felt his hand slide to the back of my knee, dragging my leg over his side until the length of my body was pressed flush against his, and my heart dipped and rose. Then his fingers slipped under my sweatshirt, up and up until his arm was wrapped around me, and Azriel dropped his head to bury his face in the crook of my neck, nuzzling his nose against my skin.

"You smell good,", he mumbled, the low, hoarse rumble of his voice reverberating through me and causing my my breath to hitch.

"What?" I felt my smile lips curve into a soft grin as my fingers carded through his hair.

"You smell good." I could hear the trace of a smile in Azriel's quiet, raspy voice, his shoulders rising as he breathed in slowly and his grip tightened around me, and something warm swelled in my chest, beginning to flutter when he mumbled: "Really good." His rough fingers began to trace slow patterns onto my shoulder blades. "Even my bed smells like you."

My heart suddenly raced, and I squinted, barely biting back a giggle. "Sorry?"

Azriel's lips curved against my neck, then he raised his head to lean his forehead against mine, his nose softly nudging against mine when he mumbled, his deep, slow voice vibrating through me: "Wasn't complaining."

My heart fluttered and soared, and Azriel's chest rumbled as his arms slipped tighter around me, then he dipped his head, and something in my chest simply tipped over when he kissed me, warm and firm and causing the world to tilt. I exhaled softly and a little shakily, and Azriel's lips curved up against mine, causing me to bury my fingers in his hair.

"Shut up,", I grumbled softly against his lips, causing a chuckle to vibrate through Azriel's chest.

Sliding my hand over his warm chest, I pulled back slowly, brushing my nose over Azriel's and causing a small sound to build in his chest. My eyes got caught on the ink on his shoulder, and feeling something begin to rise in my chest, I pushed myself forward.

Azriel complied, rolling onto his back as he stared up at me, a gentle curious crease between his brows, and I settled on his hips, a strand of hair falling into my face as I stared at the tattoos on his shoulders and carefully brushed my fingertips over one of them.

Azriel's breath seemed to grow uneven as my fingers started to carefully follow the lines swirling over his warm, smooth skin, gently tracing the shapes. I could feel the muscles shift under my fingers when my hand slowly moved over his chest with featherlight touches, his eyes piercing my face, his fingers digging lightly into my knees. Then I leaned down, my heart beating steadily against my ribs, and a small, deep sound left Azriel when I pressed my lips gently against his collarbone.

My fingers stilled as I started to follow the lines and curves of the intricate shapes, my nose brushing over Azriel's skin, and my heart rose every time I lingered to slowly press my lips against the ink. Something thrummed against my ribs when one of Azriel's hands slipped into my hair and a soft, shuddering breath left him that made me smile slowly against his warm skin. He smelled woodsy and earthy like his cologne and something beneath, warm and dark and good, that was just him.

My fingers traced over his ribs as I brushed my nose over his shoulder and softly kissed his collarbone, my nose tracing over the shifting muscles in his neck before I gently pressed my lips against his warm skin, and Azriel gave a soft, shaking sound. His hand slipped further into my hair, pulling my head up, and my heart dipped when he caught my lips in a deep kiss.

My fingers curled into his sides as a soft sound escaped me. Then I kissed back, and Azriel pulled me closer towards him, his breath heavy against my skin when he deepened the kiss, almost a little feverishly.

Digging my fingers into his bare skin, I sucked in a soft breath when Azriel slowly broke the kiss, my heart thrumming as the world spun. His thumb brushed over the side of my neck as Azriel swallowed lightly, and a gentle hum vibrated through his chest, the deep sound a little hoarse when he softly nudged his nose against mine.

Opening my eyes with a flutter, my heart rose into my throat when my eyes met golden ones, bright in the morning sun, golden specks melting together as they dragged over my face. Then Azriel blinked, and a soft surprised sound left me when he rolled onto his side and slid me off his torso onto the mattress; his arm snuck around my waist, and in one smooth move, he dragged me over the sheets into his chest.

My breath hitched, and something rose in my chest when I felt his tall body curve around mine, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, his solid chest pressing into my back as Azriel buried his nose in the crook of my neck.

A breathy giggle bubbled in my chest as my heart dipped, and I felt Azriel's lips curve upwards a little. Then he tugged me closer, thighs sliding into between my calves and arm tightening around me like I wasn't already tightly pressed into his body. Reaching out, I crunched my nose in concentration as I tried to get a hold of the blanket, tugging at it and pulling it over us.

A wave of Azriel's scent washed over me (everything smelling like me my ass), and snuggling into the heavy sheets, I slipped my fingers through Azriel's resting right over my chest. His hand shifted, his fingers linking gently with mine, then his thumb started to slowly brush back and forth over my skin.

Something thrummed warm and steadily against my chest as I stared at the sliver of sunlight falling onto the sheets, my eyelids beginning to feel heavy again, Azriel's scent rising into my nose with every breath. I felt his body pressed against mine, warm and solid, the weight of his arm draped over me and the way his thumb slowly brushed over mine as he buried his nose at my neck, and something began to flutter gently against my ribs as I breathed out softly and allowed my eyes to drift shut.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate123 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds

#modern!roommate batboys series #azriel #az #azriel drabble #drabble #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel/reader #azriel x female!reader #acotar x reader #acowar #az imagine #acotar #az x reader #az/reader #acomaf #lalacliffthorne

[hellishjoel]

ride

7.2k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: Joel whisks you away to Houston for the weekend under the guise of a work trip. You keep a secret from him to try and keep your fling undetected from your parents. warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, fingering, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v (shower sex hehe), a little overstim if you squint

A/N: sorry not sorry this chapter took a month+, but I hope you like it! A little drammaaaa. and a reminder, they still have all day saturday and sunday together ;)

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You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-”  “Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles.  You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat.  “There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,”

June 23rd 7:48 P.M. 

I’ve had some time to think about Joel, and how much I like to think about him, and how things aren’t an accident. 

Thinking about how unlikely it is that we sparked. 

How Joel could have turned left, and I could have turned right. But we didn’t. 

Instead of running away, I said yes, and so did he. 

The impossibility of us seems so incredible, almost unbelievable. 

I love that so many things had to happen for us to be where we are right now. 

I saw the sun melt his eyes into amber, and he liked the way I smiled in the moonlight. 

This feeling was radical, unnerving, scary. 

I didn’t know why it was called falling or crashing into love. Perhaps I do now. 

“You could sit there and read all day, huh?” Joel interrupts your thoughts as he starts to guide his truck off the freeway, passing a large aluminum Welcome to Houston! sign lit up by the truck’s headlights. 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach, cheeks squished from smiling as his hand settles on your upper thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles on your sweet skin.  

“I’m not reading anymore. Got too dark.” He’s referring to the novel you brought for the trip from your to-be-read pile that you started when you first got on the road. 

The drive from Austin to Houston was two-and-a-half hours long, so you decided to saddle the passenger seat with different activities and snacks to keep yourself busy and out of Joel’s hair, much to his behest. He said he enjoyed letting you ramble on about whatever you were thinking about; said it was like listening to a podcast.  

“But I am writing.” You hum quietly, penning in your last thought before it gets lost in the black of night. 

“What’cha writin’, then?” Joel's curious eyes wander to the nest you had made for yourself in the passenger seat as he tilts his chin up to try and read beyond your journal cover. 

You snap it closed and slip the pen in somewhere between the pages. “Keep your eyes on the road, old man.” Your tone is teasing, making you grin even more as he grumbles in annoyance under his breath as the truck slowly approaches a stop light. 

Once off the freeway and down to the local roads, you roll the window down. You watch the moon start to rise in the sky, feeling goosebumps grow on your arms and exposed legs while the wind lazily flows through your hair. The gentle night breeze is welcome to air out Joel’s stuffy truck. 

You were supposed to be his navigator once he got off the freeway, but you were a bit preoccupied looking around yourself. 

You and Joel left Friday evening as soon as he was done with work, and now you were lightly coasting the streets of Houston as the sun finished setting. You could see the diverse architecture of downtown, the skyline of skyscrapers and high-rises were all crowded together. As you moved further into midtown, Joel drove past small businesses and parks. You let your hand float out the window, surfing the wind like a wave. 

“Hey, space cadet, if you’re not gonna give me the directions to the motel, the least you can do is toss me a french fry.” 

Your head cocks back to him, curiously smiling as you reach your hand aimlessly into the fast food bag, retrieving a fry and bringing it up to his lips. You settled on McDonald’s before you left Danbury, partially because Joel felt like being a little cheap, and you agreed they had the best, saltiest french fries. 

You feed it to him, and he teasingly sucks the salt off your fingers. 

“Gross, Joel.” 

He sneers as he watches you wipe your hands on your thighs to rid yourself of his saliva. “You like it.”

He’s not wrong. You force yourself to look back out the window again to hide the heat creeping up the back of your neck. 

Joel smirks and squeezes your thigh to bring you back to him. When you look over to the handsome man donning his usual green flannel, the wind furles your hair in messy, unkempt streaks. 

He hesitates for a moment, but now that you’re no longer preoccupied with reading or writing, he holds your hand. You feel him test the waters, settling for just lightly clasping it in your lap, but it’s not enough for him. His thick fingers and calloused hand meets the heart of your palm as his fingers weave with your own. He lets out a little sigh and settles himself there. 

You feel like teasing him. You’re afraid to hold my hand but not to fuck my throat in your woodshed with a party right outside? But then you remember how difficult it was to kiss him. It still felt like a slip-up, you had to admit. Especially if this was supposed to be just a casual relationship. It felt intimate and emotionally charged. But it was just kissing, right? And this was just holding hands. 

Your thoughts wrestle around your head a bit. Joel feels it. You’re not sure how he always seems to know what you’re thinking, but he does. His thumb strokes a gentle line up and down the muscle of your thumb, a silent way of saying stop thinking for once.  It’s appreciated, the sense of care and thoughtfulness he provided without even speaking a word. 

Ever since he took you to that bar, Past Lives, all you could think about was Joel. Joel on repeat. Joel taking you away from the distracted environment of the lakehouse. Joel showing you the map, saying there was more to the world than Texas. Joel kissing you. Joel touching you. Joel fucking you. Joel protecting you. Joel saving you. 

As much as you’ve had time to reflect on Joel, you’ve also reflected on your parents. They were hardly bad people, but they didn’t respect your adult choices. You came to tearfully realize that your relationship with them had slowly deteriorated since leaving for university. You grew independent, and that was especially hard for them. Something you had trouble understanding, something Joel didn’t understand either. 

You called Joel Thursday night before your trip under the guise of asking if you should pack any specifics, but the conversation ended up landing on his relationship and parenting with Sarah. You told him how you appreciated the way he let Sarah grow and experience things, that it was good for her. 

“She’s a tough girl, and I trust’er. Nothin’ much left to say.”

“So, what-” you stumble and scoff over the phone. “My parents don’t trust me? Or think I’m not tough enough to tackle the world?”

“S’not what I’m sayin’, darlin’. I don’t know what’s up with your folks. But you don’t need their approval, you’re an adult. All you need is t’… t’ trust yourself. Sounds fuckin’ cheesy, but it’s true.”

You pause, twisting a strand of hair around your finger as your eyebrows furrow, thinking over his words. “Y’think if I act a little more confident about it, they’ll start believing it too?”

Joel’s chuckle is a little crackle-ey on the line as he wanders around his house talking to you, going in and out of good reception. “Gotta start somewhere, buttercup. At the end of the day, it’s about your happiness, not theirs. Don’t gotta be such a people pleaser all the time.” 

Yes, I do, you think. 

“Thanks, Joel.”

“Sure thing, hon’.” 

Dusk on the outskirts of Houston. The houses become few and far between. There’s more green grass and flourished trees. Joel slowly pulls into a small driveway, a large blue neon-lit sign designated that you were at your motel for the weekend. The entire truck is highlighted in a pale blue from the illumination, you nearly have to squint. There were no more than two or three cars parked outside. It was a two-level motel, with an outside staircase to navigate the different floors. 

“The Blue Swallow Motel.” Your attention strays to Joel with furrowed brows. “Why here?” 

Joel shrugs and navigates himself into a parking spot with ease. “Don’t know. Like blue swallows.”

Curiosity sparks you. 

“You like blue swallows? You’ve seen one in person?” 

He shakes his head and says nothing for a moment, but it almost looks like he can’t help himself to dispel some information. “They’re native to Africa, only ever seen the North American variants  ‘round here.” He lets the engine grumble down once he pulls the key from the ignition, but you’re still awestruck in his passenger seat.  

“I’m sorry- Joel Miller Bird Enthusiast?” The eager tone in your voice gives away your excitement, and Joel seems to despise it when you get too excited about him. He has to close his eyes and hang his head, wishing he never said anything. 

“Oh, Joel Miller, don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen those bird guides on your bookshelf, you’re a birder.” 

His neck swivels, eyes wide and defensive. “I am not a birder.”

You throw your head back in laughter, and eventually, he cracks a smile. “They’re interestin’, okay?”

You playfully pat his shoulder with reassurance, nodding in agreement. The two of you settle down from your fits of laughter and look over the exterior of the motel once more. 

“Y’said you wanted somethin’ quaint? Small?” 

Being with Joel and having no other distractions was your goal for this weekend. Since this trip was coming out of Joel’s pocket, you insisted you didn’t need some fancy hotel. You’ve traveled to Houston a handful of times before, and the last thing you wanted was for your view outside some high-rise hotel to be Danbury in the distance. 

You squeeze his hand once more and nod, stars lighting up behind your eyes. “It’s perfect. Thanks for finding something simple.”

Joel teeters on your appreciation but ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Could’ve gotten something a little nicer for ya, maybe closer to downtown-”

You stop him right there and bring his rough knuckles to your plush lips, adding a kiss to each one. “I said it’s perfect, so it’s perfect. I like it, it’s got charm, chutzpah even. Plus, looks like we’ll have the pool to ourselves.” You hum with a devious little smirk. You hop out of the truck and open the backdoor to grab your things. 

“Pool, you say?” He retorts, an eyebrow raised with narrow eyes on you. You lightly shrug as you grab your backpack. 

“Might have forgotten my swimsuit, though. Shame.”

You brush past Joel, who is scoffing lightly under his breath in disbelief, duffel bag brushing against his calves as he walks with you towards the motel office. You would be the death of this man. 

“Damn shame.”  He mutters, a smirk hanging low on his lips.

---

Room 135 was marked on the dark chestnut door, a small white plate with black numbering decked on. 

There wasn’t much to be said about the motel room itself. You tried to stifle a laugh when you and Joel both walked in to see two separate queen beds. The sheets were white, but the top cover was an extravagant red pattern that looked like it got lost in the 80s. A side table was resting against the wall towards the headboards with a beige telephone placed on top, resting over a few local restaurant menus. Two small lamps were attached to the wall above the beds, perfectly opposite of the television sat on top of a tall dresser. 

“Is this your idea of a romantic getaway?” You teased as you walked further inside over the beige carpet. “Two beds don’t exactly scream romantic.” You set your backpack down on the foot of the bed furthest from the door and closest to the bathroom around the corner. You assume this bed will just be used to hold both of your luggage, not a person. 

“No,” Joel said through a tight gruff as he strained to lift his bag of tools and luggage onto the edge of his own bed. “S’a work trip. Not a romantic getaway.” 

Your smile falters as you purse your lips and fiddle with your hands behind your back. 

“So, this really is a work trip?” You clarify, to which Joel looks at you a bit confused. 

“Course it is.” 

A light boil simmers through your chest. Maybe you will be sleeping in your own bed tonight. Joel could sense your flattened mood, and he quickly felt the need to sweep up the pieces of what he broke. He was bad with words, terrible really, but he tried to find the right ones for you. 

“I said that wrong. It’s a work trip but,” he trails off and falters as he saddles his hands on his hips for a moment and sighs, your doe eyes looking up to his own. “But I brought you here to spend some real time with ya. Didn’t wanna,” he shrugs and rolls his eyes. A classic Joel Miller sign that he wants to say something a little personally emotional. 

“What?” You probe him, a smile tickling your lips as you loop your hands to rest just above the ones on his hips. “You didn’t want to what, Joel?” You ask, setting your chin on his chest and looking up at him with a goofy grin. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes again, having a hard time looking at you. “I didn’t wanna go on this trip alone. Didn’t want to leave you at home when I could bring ya with.” 

Joel wasn’t a social man. In fact, if the world went to shit, you think he might really enjoy the solitude. But for him to admit that he would rather have you in his space than out of it, it’s quite endearing. 

Now you’re the one who's hiding a blush. You settle your cheek against his chest and sigh, soaking in his scent and his warmth. Joel’s hand comes to rest on the side of your head, gently stroking your hair away from your face as the two of you relax into a gentle hug. 

“Were you serious about that no bathin’ suit thing?” He asks after a moment of silence, causing you to roll your eyes and shove him a good distance away. 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You sneer as you round the bed to the bathroom, needing desperately to relieve yourself after the drive. Of all colors, it’s a beautiful mint green. Incredibly retro, you think as you use the toilet and stare at the shower absentmindedly. You roll your phone around in your hands once you finish washing them, a lump rising in your throat. 

Your mother’s words echoed in your ear. 

“If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.”

There was no young man. The young man your mother referred to was really Joel. Panic was spreading through your body just at the thought of trying to fix this situation. They figured out you were seeing someone, they just didn’t quite know who. A few heavy breaths labor out of you, anxiety nestling in your chest. 

“You okay, buttercup? Been a minute.” Joel asks cautiously from the opposite side of the door, his knuckles offering a few polite knocks. 

Your chest surges. You didn’t want him to know you’d slipped up, half-told your parents the truth. You didn’t want him to end things out of fear of them finding out. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine, Joel. Just.. gimme a minute.” 

His feet don’t move on the other side of the door. He doesn’t want to leave you, feeling something slightly wrong. 

“Really, Joel, just- checking out the facilities.” God. 

He sighs before you hear him back off. “Alright. Lemme know f’you need anythin’.” 

You need to act, or else this feeling will eat you alive. Finally, with some accurate cell service, you text the first person you think of. Nathan. Remember that childhood crush of yours? You hadn’t seen him in years, and with how gorgeous he was growing up, there was a scary feeling that you might be texting a man who had a girlfriend. But he was your only hope to cover up the mess you had made. 

Growing up with Nathan and his parents being friends with your own always felt like a setup. Your mothers always cooed that you two just might end up marrying one another. At the time, you wished it was true, that all this exposure with him would lead to something romantic. But then you grew up, saw each other a little less over the summers, and grew apart. You still kept in contact via social media, but not often. You saw his life in pictures. One from a homecoming dance, a group picture of him and his friends, an action shot of him playing basketball, a high school graduation picture, and a similar one for college graduation. He was still alive somewhere out there, you just didn’t know him like you used to. 

Nathan was always kind, goofy, very golden retriever-like. Summers spent apart created a rift, but he was your childhood best friend and crush once upon a time. If he was willing to help you out, you owed him big time. So you shoot him a text and cross your fingers that this is still his number. The last thing logged in your messages was a silly conversation about cheetahs versus jaguars. You were team cheetahs, obviously. 

You felt a slight sense of relief once you came up with a plan. Talk to Nathan. See if he can act as your fake boyfriend for your parents. See if he doesn’t think you’re damn crazy for concealing your forty-something-year-old fuck buddy. 

You’re not really sure how to reignite the conversation, it’s been so damn long. You stare at the blank screen before you craft the brilliant message: 

Hi

A sigh leaves your parted, anxious lips, and you shove your phone away. 

---

You really did bring a bathing suit, much to Joel’s eagerness for the rumor to be true. You change into it with your back turned to him. You feel his eyes boring holes into you, sending a small dash of goosebumps up your arms. “I’m going for a dip before bed.” You say as you fiddle with the strings of your bikini top, struggling for a moment before you feel a warm presence step in behind you and fuss away with the strings himself. 

You hum softly as he fastens the strings, making a bow at your midback. Joel’s lips brush against your shoulder before they start sponging gentle kisses up your neck. The hair you tied up into a loose bun tickles his nose. 

“Such’a pretty girl.” He hums against your skin, a soft shiver trickling up your spine, lips parting in pleasure. “Too bad you’re not a very good girl.” Joel murmured as his hands slipped lower, past your hips, past the curve of your ass, until he was cupping both cheeks in his large palms. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his fingers squeeze at your flesh. A moan escapes your lips, you just can’t help it. You love it when Joel is handsy for you, the needy one. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn in his arms, eagerly kissing him as you cup his cheeks. He fights for control instantly, pulling you in at your hips so your back arches backward out of habit. You let your head dip back, eyes dipping closed as his lips trail down your neck, then between the valley of your breasts, all while his wiry beard creates scratches in his wake. 

“Do you have swim trunks?” You ask breathily, shoving him lightly by the top of the head further down your body. He drops to his knees and continues to trail kisses down your stomach. 

The question catches him off guard.

“Do I- what?” He asks breathily, looking up at you as he sponges kisses over your clothed center. 

“If you don’t have swim trunks,” you try to continue, “you can’t go swimming with me.” You say with a teasing smirk, stepping around Joel, who was awestruck kneeling on the ground, his hands still in place where he was cupping the backs of your thighs before he slaps them down on his own to show annoyance. 

He was probably thinking how you just up and disappeared when you were just standing in front of him a moment ago. Joel grumbles something, but you’re already out the door of the motel room. 

---

The pool is glowing in its blue hue, lit by dim lights around the perimeter and the silver moon in the sky. 

In a world so vast, you couldn’t help but feel a little lost in wanting to explore it. 

You take a breath in through your nose and test the water with a dip of your toe. A bit cold for your liking, but the warm Texas summers make your skin sticky and the air a bit stale. So you dive in. 

The cool water is a shock to your system at first, with goosebumps growing on your skin like wildfire. Your face breaks the seal of the water, emerging over the light ripples you created upon diving in, catching your breath. You take a few leisurely laps along the outskirts, feeling weightless, free. 

“Nice night.” Joel’s brassy voice breaks the gentle chorus of the summer cicadas. You hum as you carve your way through the water until you meet the pool’s edge. You rest your arms on the lip of the pool, bringing your breasts just above the surface of the water. 

“Get. In.” You say with an authoritative voice, despite your eager smile. 

He cocks his head a few degrees to the right, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No. You look like a shivering chihuahua.” 

His joke elicits a giggle from you. 

“It’s only cold for the first few minutes. You’ll warm up.” You’re only half-lying, the pool was so fucking cold. 

Joel merely shakes his head. “You’re crazy, buttercup.” 

You hum as you push off the edge of the pool, moving towards the center, letting the water dance around you as your arms glide back and forth to keep you afloat. 

“Sounds like you need some motivation.” Your eyes lock on Joel’s as your fingers navigate to the back of your bikini strings, slowly pulling the tie loose, feeling the water aid you in floating the material off your upper half. The top strings around your neck are still tied, concealing the full reveal of your breasts. 

Joel’s once secure face fizzled, eyes straying and lips parting. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he kneels down, pointer finger curling towards him impatiently.  “Get over here.”

You shake your head disobediently. “Now.” His barking urgency makes you stifle a smirk. 

“Joel Miller afraid of a little cold water.” You shrug and move your fingers to the strings tied behind your neck, slowly tugging loose the threads. The material falls limp into the water, floating in front of you free from your body. 

Joel watches with impatience, the spill of your breasts making his cock twitch inside his swim trunks. The mesh material was forgiving, allowing him to swell at the sight of you. The cold water has your nipples taut, drawn into sweet peaks. You’re just out of his fucking reach, too far into the pool for him to grab you. 

He grunts quietly, jaw tight as you slowly swim closer to him. You shiver at his glance alone. 

“If you want me,” your voice drops innocently, doe eyes making their appearance to reel him in, “you’ll get in the pool, Mr. Miller.” 

Just out of his reach once more, you swim back to the center and push your thumbs into the band of your bikini bottoms, down your legs, leaving you bare in the pool for anyone to see from the highway or their own motel rooms. You must admit, Joel’s desperate gaze filled with want makes you squirm with excitement. Disobeying him lights that explosive even more. 

He offers you his hand, one final offer.  “Last chance, angel, get out of the pool.” 

“Why do you even have swim trunks on if you aren’t going to get in?” You ask, eyes gazing over the tangled hair he has scattered across his chest. 

“I was hoping these would appease you alone. Now come here,” he juts his hand out as an offering one last time. 

You roll your eyes and swim closer, your breasts lapping in the water as you take Joel’s hand. And tug with all your strength. 

His feet skid to try and hold him back, but he ultimately summersaults into the pool. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to conceal your laughs as Joel emerges, sopping wet, cold, angry. 

“Y-You-” He chatters his teeth, eyes screwed tight on you as he pushes his hand back through his soaked curls and down his face, grazing his wiry beard. “You’re gonna get it.” 

Joel’s threat makes you squeal. You attempt to doggy paddle away, but the grip he catches on your arm is iron.  He pulls you back to him, and your body glides through the water, arms securing on his biceps once you’re locked in his hold. He’s threatening, but not as much so when you wrap your legs around his waist and feel his half-hard length. 

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he half-chuckles. 

“Such a fuckin’ piece of work you are.” He grunts out, hands searing the flesh of your hips as he skirts his hand down lower, cupping the globes of your ass. 

A hum tickles your throat as you lean in and press your lips to his jawline in a tempting kiss, smiling as Joel’s nose playfully nudges yours, leaning in for more. 

It’s stomach-twisting how you feel so comfortable with Joel, how you sink into his body, and how he warms your core. You kiss him until your lips feel bruised, and he grips your beautiful curves with eagerness. The two of you kiss like hungry teenagers, finally outside the watchful eyeline of your parents. Joel’s cock is hardening against your naked core.

He forces himself off of you, groaning lightly as he strays from your eyes. Cupping his jawline, you angle him back to you, resting your foreheads together. 

“Makin’ me get all riled up like a damn teenager.” His warm breath puffs across your face, his words make your bundle of nerves tingle. 

“I like that I’m the one causing it.” 

Joel chews at the inside of his cheek before giving you a tight little nod. “Me too, buttercup.”

---

Joel decides pool play is over. He gets out first, snags your bikini pieces that floated to the edge of the pool and starts walking leisurely back into the motel room. 

He only hears your cursing and belligerent rambling after he returns from turning on the shower, piping hot. 

“Can’t hear ya when you’re chatterin’ your teeth.” 

Joel returns to the bathroom and strips his swim trunks off, still half-hard. He tests the water with his hand, giving you an affirming nod it was okay to step in. 

You’re still angry and seething, having to streak your way back to the room naked and freezing your bare ass off. He looks at your crossed arms and playfully tuts. “You’re the one that thought t’drag me in there with ya, princess.” 

Joel follows you into the shower, the water splashing searing hot droplets. It only feels that hot because you’re readjusting from the pool’s temperature. You find yourself huddling into Joel’s warmth. 

He finds it endearing, the way your head settles on his chest, your ear to his heart, too chilled to let him go. He angles the showerhead downwards, letting it focus on your body first. He could wait. 

You gently release your crossed arms, letting them wrap low around his hips. He had a few extra pounds of flesh low on his tummy and on the sides of his waist. You gently pinch the area and smile. 

“Stop that.” He hisses, eyebrows knitted together. 

“But I like it. You’re my favorite person to hug.” 

The sentiment splashed warmth on the back of his neck. Joel has picked up a few extra pounds from town barbeques, and beers tossed back during football games. He used to not like it, the way he had to loosen his belt after a big meal, or having to purchase his new t-shirts in a size up. He didn’t think about it much, but naked with you in the shower, feeling you admire his ever-changing body, was a comfort. 

You look up after a few moments of silence, setting your chin on his chest and feeling his chest hair graze against your skin. 

Joel wants to warm you up, get you to relax under the showerhead. He presses a nimble kiss to your lips, pitter-pattering kisses along the extent of your body before he is down on his knees, angling your back to rest against the shower wall. 

Tired after your car ride and melting under the shower’s sprinkling water, you ache for a relief that will come from your head hitting a pillow. But Joel had other things in mind, things that would make you forget you were tired in an instant. 

Now under his watchful eye, lips and wiry beard scratching at your soft skin, you lightly part your legs for his entrance. God, please don’t let me slip and embarrass myself right now. Let me have this one good thing, this man’s tongue against my pussy would make me a God-willing woman. 

Joel can feel your exhausted body, begging to find a bed. But he had you where he wanted you, and his mouth was watering to taste your sweet musky arousal. His hands settle themselves on the backs of your thighs, supporting your weight as his head leans into your warmth. 

He brings two fingers forward, parting your center, licking a slow draw up your core. His tongue flicks off your clit, your bundle of nerves twitches. Something flips in his stomach, and his cock grows heavy against his thigh. 

You taste sweet and serene, something he’s grown an appetite for. With several days apart awaiting your weekend trip away, he often found himself at night, spilling into his hand thinking about your young, beautiful pussy flushed against his mouth. He takes this opportunity to relish in you moaning his name, without any curious ears. 

His tongue sinks lower, swirling around your tense entrance. The swell of his tongue gushes more arousal from you, and he gets a proper taste that isn’t mixed with water from the shower. 

Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens, and he laps at your clit like a famished man. 

The constant flicks have you gasping for air in the all-too-warm shower. Your fingers weave into his soaking wet curls, still finding a grip as your thigh twitches against his hand. 

Joel’s two fingers parting your center gently massage at your entrance, wiggling in gently as he suckles on your clit, and you mewl weakly. 

His tongue and teeth lightly graze your sensitivity, feeling stars clouding your vision as his fingers set a gentle pace. 

“Ooh,” you sigh weakly, feeling his fingers hit the perfect spot, one that makes you shake. 

Joel knows that sound, knows the feeling. He looks up, admires the way your pretty lips are parted in bliss. The hand on your thigh is brought to your stomach, gently stroking over the flesh. 

You watch him a little curiously, a little fucked. His mouth returns to your clit, but his hand still falters on your lower abdomen. You whimper as he adds a little pressure, and quickens his fingers. It’s jaw-dropping, the friction and pressure, piling on top of each other.

You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-” 

“Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles. 

You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat. 

“There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,” he grunts, jaw tight, and teeth clenched as he watches your cum-arousal mixture glide down his fingers in a sticky mess. He slowly stands, watching you pant for air, as he sucks his digits clean with an evil smirk. 

The temperature in here is too much, heat consumes your body as you weakly grip his biceps. 

“God damn, Mr. Miller.” You say breathlessly. You take him in a quick kiss, moaning weakly into his mouth at your taste. His tongue tangles with you, and he keeps his fingers on your core. His first two fingers start to slowly circle your clit again, but it’s entirely too soon. 

You whimper weakly into his mouth, your clit aching and still recovering from your oral orgasm. 

“Mmm- can’t do it, Joel.” 

Joel snarls as he swiftly turns you around, his foot hitting the insides of both of your ankles to spread your legs. Your face is plastered against the shower wall, watching him out of the corner of your eye with your jaw dropped. 

“Be good for me, baby girl, show how thankful you are.” 

You whine at his raspy voice, feeling its timbre bounce against the walls. 

“Please,” you beg in a whisper, inching your feet farther apart for him to take you in the shower. 

Joel strokes his cock, seething through his teeth at the desperate relief he’s feeling. His swollen tip vies for your attention. He lines himself up, his other hand on your hip as he notches himself inside. 

You visibly flinch away, Joel hushing you softly as he tries again. 

“Gotta relax for me, pretty girl.”

You sigh weakly and let yourself melt with the warm water, fluttering your eyes closed as you gently jut your hips back into this, needing to be filled. 

Joel tries again after lining his tip up and down your slit and gathering your arousal. He notches inside of you once more, causing your eyelashes to flutter. He slowly presses on. 

The drinks must have really loosened you up since the last time the two of you fooled around in his truck. He wasn’t so hard to take then, but now he feels thicker, rounder. You could feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock as he ruts his hips into your ass. 

Finally, you will yourself to breathe, moaning his name in desperation. 

Joel’s trying to contract his lungs, but you’re gripping onto him so tight, the heat of the shower going to his head. 

You hum and purposely grip your walls around him, squeezing for his last breath. 

Joel snarls and smacks your ass from below, watching the fatty flesh jiggle. It stings, but you like it, thinking about his large handprint marking you red. He winds his hips back up and presses in, groaning lowly as he fills you to the brim. 

He sets a decent pace, one that robs you of what air you have left in your lungs. Your entire body feels sensitive, your cheek growing sore from being fucked against the shower wall. But it feels entirely too good, a certain itch that only Joel Miller can scratch. 

Every thrust he makes, you moan his name like a broken record. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you moan and grunt it so much, that it starts to sound like it’s not a real word anymore. 

You reach back an arm blindly, gripping his bicep and stitching your nails into his skin. 

Joel grunts out weakly, the burning sensation you caused on his arm making him go wild. He reaches for both of your wrists and plants them at the base of your back, forcing your face to be your only weight to keep you up against the shower. 

But it unlocks a new angle, one that has you crying out curses and his heavenly name. 

“Fuck me, Joel, fuck- fuck your favorite little pussy,” you mewl out, feeling his cock twitch inside you. 

“God dammit, fuck me good like that, like that,” your eyes clench close, panting heavily. “Right there, daddy, please, Mr. Miller, touch my clit, please,” you beg, the pet name rolling off your tongue. 

It makes him snarl. He sets a hellish pace. His chest puffs up, his broad biceps locking around you as his fingers stroke over your pussy. 

He loves the way you wind him up. Because you are his favorite young pussy, one he’s made his own, railing you so good that you forget about anyone else that may have had you before. 

All you know is Joel Miller. 

His thighs and lower tummy smack your ass cheeks, a distinct slapping sound filling the shower and pinging off the walls right back into your ears. 

Stars flutter behind your eyes, you feel light-headed. The water splashes warm across your back, allowing Joel even more slip. 

The harder he fucks you, the closer he moves in. Now he has his entire torso flushed against your back, flicking his hips up into you with precision. 

Suddenly he’s grabbing your leg by the underside of your knee, hiking it up, and planting it against the shower wall as he exposes a whole new sensation. 

You can’t last any longer. His fingers circle dangerously around your clit, and now he’s pounding you into the wall, forcing friction against his glorious thrusts. You whimper loudly as his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly, feeling your walls clench around him as you come. 

It’s jaw-dropping, heart-surging, mind-fucking how good he feels coming inside of you. It’s warm, warmer than the water still raining over you. It’s comforting the way his seed spreads throughout your core, his grunts filling the shower as he drops his last load inside of you. 

And goddamn, he loves how you milk him dry. 

You weakly slide down the wall, tiredly dropping your leg once he pulls out. 

“No ya’don’t.” Joel quickly says, snagging a strong arm around your waist and hauling you up. You whimper as he peels your face off the wall, blinking rapidly as he spins you to face him. “C’mere.” Joel embraces you, and you lean weakly into his front like a bear hug. 

“Water,” you whisper against his pec. He turns the shower temperature down, a more comforting heat surrounding you now. 

“You’re alright.” He assures. 

After time to recuperate, Joel reaches for the shampoo bottle, squirting a small amount into his palm and lathering it between his hands. You feel a little better standing, but you still stay wrapped up in his arms, in his hug. 

He massages the shampoo into your locks, gently massaging it against your scalp, before he gently washes the bubbles out. He gathers conditioner next, letting it soak into your ends.

You hide your smile against his chest, knowing that he probably had to learn this type of stuff for Sarah. Hair care, skin care, tampons and pads, all the sort of stuff single dads fear. You wonder whatever could have been in Sarah’s mother’s mind to leave a guy like Joel Miller. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he seemed to fit into your life like a glove right now. For however long that perfect fit would be.

A weak sigh leaves your lips as he strokes your head sweetly, his fingers then grazing your cheek. 

“Y’alright? Feel good?” 

You nod weakly and smile, letting your arms drop gently as you pull away. “M’tired.”

Joel stifles a chuckle and nods. “Me too, baby. Sit tight.” 

Once Joel is assured you’re not going to lose your strength standing up on your own, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel low on his waist. You gaze at the lines around his hips, and how they dip down into his towel. 

You clear your throat as you quickly look away once he approaches you with two towels. He wraps one around your shoulders, gently moving his warm hands up and down the sides of your arms. 

You look so sweet, warm and cozy, cum-filled, at ease. The stress he usually sees you carrying around is wiped away. He hoped he had something to do with it. 

Joel leans down and presses a light kiss to your lips. Not hungry, not desperate, not chasing. Delicate. Assuring. 

You smile tiredly and shyly evade his eye contact, something that he hates to admit is goddamn adorable on you. 

Both of you towel dry off any remaining droplets of water. Joel forces you to show him how you even get the towel you wrap around your hair on your head. 

“This is girlhood, Joel Miller.” You say once you secure it on, watching him shake his head in disbelief. 

“A mystery to me.” He says with a boyish grin.

You both exit the steamy bathroom and search your bags for pajamas. You packed a few comfy shirts for bed. And only one extra pair of panties. You better be damn careful with your one last sacred pair. You toss it back into your pack for now, deciding that they would probably be taken off in the morning anyway. You slip under the covers of Joel’s bed, saving him a space you hope he fills. Of course, he does. 

Joel flips off the light switch, indulging the room in a black and blue hue. He grunts quietly as he slips into the covers. The both of you just melt into the mattress. 

You nuzzle into his side, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He makes gentle circles into your back as your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You sigh and turn your back to Joel to retrieve it from the charger. 

“Your parents askin’ if we made it okay?” Joel murmurs tiredly, eyes closed, waiting for you to return to his side. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a text message from Nathan. 

Hey stranger

“Yeah,” you lie, your fingers gliding across the keyboard to configure a response. “They uh.. They’re tellin’ me to not bug you too much on the trip.” You awkwardly chuckle, your back still turned to him as you stare at Nathan’s message. 

Joel dryly chuckles as he reaches a hand out and settles it on your hip. “Quite the opposite.”

You feel terrible concealing this from Joel. But you don’t want him to think you were young and foolish letting your secret fling slip. This was to make things work, to keep the secret buried from your parents.

Another message from Nathan makes your phone buzz in your hand.

Heard you’re in Danbury for the summer with your folks. Wanna catch up? 

Your heart sits in your throat, shocked by his ask. 

You flip over your phone, opting to reply in the morning. You’re beat. You sigh weakly and return to Joel’s side, hiding your face in his shoulder as you gently kiss along the muscle. He was already passed out. 

As messy as this felt, being with Joel felt like being tossed a life jacket in open water. And you weren’t going to lose that safety, not if you could help it.

---

here's my masterlist!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

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

[cryptotheism]

It is AMBER SKY SUNDAY

[rookiesbookies]

The COD guys as I write them but they’re random songs off my playlist and I will not be elaborating. Ive been sick but this is me trying to get back in the grove, let me know what you think.

Price

Slow hand by Conway Twitty

Soap

Milf Song by Puddle Ducks

Ghost

Ghost Riders (in the sky) by Johnny Cash

Or

Raging on a Sunday by Bohnes

(I couldnt pick)

Gaz

Does the Swallow Dream of Flying by Cosmo Sheldrake

Konig

Fire Up the Night by New Medicine

Krueger

Born Without a Heart by Foauzia

Keegan

WTF by HUGEL (feat Amber Van Day)

Alex Keller

Super Bass by The Downtown Fiction

Actually that’s a lie, I’ll elaborate or add other characters if you ask nicely

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, check out my AU list for more like this. Don’t forget to leave me a comment (i always try to respond) or a request in my inbox (i also try to respond to these when I can), a reblog, or even just a like to let me know what yall want to see!

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #simon ghost riley #john price #konig call of duty #konig x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #soap mactavish #kyle gaz x reader #alex keller x reader #alex keller #sebastian krueger x reader #cod krueger #keegan russ x reader #keegan p russ

[passivenovember]

Billy opens the black velvet box and says nothing.

Steve wrings his hands. Thinks about wrining his own neck. He runs through everything Robin said to him, every ending to every nightmare he's ever had about this moment and locks those thoughts out in the cold.

This is the worst and hardest and most--

Terrifying thing Steve will ever do.

He counts to fifty. Thinks, if he can make it through this promise he can make it through anything.

And Billy doesn't get it.

His knuckles are white on the lip of the coffee table, sock feet peeking gently from where they're tucked against Billy's pajama pants, and.

His cheeks are red and pillow lined. Nap-fresh. Babyfaced.

And it hits Steve right through the center of the chest. It's like taking a nail gun to the upper lip, stubbing every toe on each foot against a wall that's caught fire-

Steve loves him.

More than anything.

And, he used to think that was a figure of speech. I love you more than anything--that it wasn't possible for a man to love someone more than he loves the sound of his grandmother's Sunday service voice, or the first winter frost, or the amber tint of the sky at dusk--

But. Billy wets his lips. "I don't know what it means," He admits finally.

And Steve loves him.

More than--

"Anything," Steve hears himself say. His mouth is dry, cotton all the way down. "It means anything you want it to. Anything you want to give me."

Because it doesn't matter, what Billy's answer is. If he shuts the velvet-lined box and tilts it back across the table. If he gets up and puts his boots on and stomps out the front door and never comes back ever again, because.

"I got it for you because we're too young to get married," Steve tells the coffee table. "Because I just wanted you to know that I would if I could. Because you're. Everything."

Steve's heart bangs on his uvula. Asks to be let out along with his breakfast and all his fear, where it sits bottled in the back of his throat.

Billy sits like that for a long time. Civilizations rise and fall around them. They both turn to stone, to pillars of salt, to galaxies full of stars, and back again, until.

Billy puts the ring on his finger.

Billy puts the ring on his finger, and the entire ocean of love inside of this room, this house on Hawkins hill, calms.

It sleeps, lapping gently at Steve's own left hand when Billy takes it and nestles the matching ring where it belongs.

Steve is swallowed whole

#harringrove #idk what this is! #hope you're all having such a lovely night #<3 <3 <3

[lanitaminaj]

lapvona 🐑🧺

a story about love, lust, and love.

literalmente based on ottessa moshfegh’s lapvona.

cw: heavy religious themes, mentions of abuse, death, mentions of bodily fluids (just vomit i know im sorry).

armin loved the quiet of the forest.

nothing, save for the occasional birdsong or the swaying of the sycamore trees, manifested to bother him while he prayed.

his ivory knees, jaded with ruby-red scarring and amethyst-purple bruises, pressed against the roughened surface of the cliff's rocky edge. across his view was the waterfall; the constant stream constant, yet hushed. to the right of it, carved naturally by the seasons and time, was the face of Jesus Christ himself.

that's what the sunshine-blond boy found himself praying to every sunday.

he prayed for his mother and father, singing soft hymns to himself as he pictured what he could remember of their soft, doughy faces. he prayed for his grandfather, the knowledge of him being devoured by titans caused a shiver to run down his spine. armin never prayed for himself, because in doing so he'd be committing the third out of the seven deadly sins.

"God has given you what you need," armin could hear pastor erwin's voice ringing in his ears. "God has given you what you deserve. what, my dear child, could you possibly be pesting God for if naut for earthly, petty whims?"

an icy breeze rushed through his tresses. opening his eyes, the lone boy was quick to discover how the once river-blue sky had shifted to that of a tangerine-orange hue. the birds had stopped chirping, their brawny wings streaking through the clouds as they flew.

armin knew he would have to return to his village, his belly rumbling in both hunger for supper and anxious thoughts. desperately wanting to recite a prayer for himself as he would make the short travel back home, he ultimately thought against it. it wouldn't be wise to anger God right when nightfall would arrive soon.

his scrawny, little legs stood up from his knees, his tattered shoes crunching the leaves and twigs under his soles.

-

his sapphire eyes squinted at the amber lights of his village's torches.

not a lot of villagers remained out, save for a few adults who'd been smoking rosemary cigarettes as they watched the children run around and play.

entering his own home, a tiny home made of ivory cement and olive-green wood finishes, armin shrieked as he felt a smack landing on his right cheek.

"where've you been?" eren's cool, baritone voice questioned. when armin didn't answer, the brunet was quick to give the blond another blow.

"you can't answer me now?" eren hissed, his cyan-blue eyes focusing on how iridescent tears rolled down armin's ballerina-pink cheeks.

"i was with God," armin sniffled, his hand soothing his aching face.

"and you didn't bother to let me know?" eren chastised, his head cocking as he endulged in the other boy's agony. "don't think God would find that pleasing, would he?"

armin anxiously shook his head, his babydoll eyes wide and glossy from his suffering. how pathetic, eren thought. he strode towards him, nonetheless, his lengthier legs pausing right before armin's shaking form. his rough palms cradled the lamb's warm cheeks, a cruel smile emerging on his lips as his tongue peeked out to lick the remaining tear droplets.

salty, eren internally voiced. yet tastes like honeysuckle. there was a sudden swell in his chest, his shoulders subconsciously straightening in pride. he had a certain hunger for seeing the shorter boy like this; a teary mess underneath his hands. his cock hardened at how armin hiccuped, how armin sought the comfort from eren as if these weren't the same hands which tormented him.

"God wouldn't like how my little lamb seems to wander off without his shepard knowing, hm?" eren's voice whispered. his left hand's thumb gently caressed armin's cheek, before his fingers spiraled down to rescue the boy's bottom lip from his own gnawing teeth. "i take care of you," eren purred. "i bathe you, i feed you, i home you. the least you can do is tell me where you're wandering off too."

armin's peach-toned lips wobbled. he felt so stupid, ashamed of how he disappointed not only eren with his insolence, but how he abashed God, too.

"i'm sorry," armin softly cried, his only comfort being a consoling 'good boy' that slipped from eren's lips.

"bed time," the silk of eren's words stated, the warmth of his fingers banishing from armin's face. the blond's shoulders dropped at the loss of affection. "you've had enough fun for the day."

wordlessly, armin found himself in the little space that they deemed a kitchen. in a wooden bucket was days-old rain water, the water in which the blond palmed at after his fingers has rustled through the amber-colored honeypot on the tiny room table. emerging with a mint leaf, he rubbed the plant against his teeth before using the water in his other hand to gargle his throat before he spat it back into the bucket. they would be getting new rain, anyways. it would be raining someday this week according to marco, the town's forecaster.

stepping just five feet into the bedroom, armin stripped himself of his soiled clothes as he tossed it into the pile that eren had already made.

the brunet himself had been laying on the straw-filled mattress, the sheepskin blanket pushed off his bare, sweat-shimmering body. armin joined him, his knees making a dip in the mattress before his body peacefully laid. he could feel eren stir beside him, his soft words of 'goodnight, pet', lulled armin to sleep.

-

eren had gotten angry again at armin the next morning.

the poor doe couldn't even remember why. all he could recall through his watercolor thoughts was eren throwing a straw-woven basket at his blond head.

not wanting to upset the irate man any longer, armin decided to visit mikasa's little cottage.

his bare feet trudged through her wild-grown lawn, the little bunnies hopping wildly as they sensed his arrival. they leaped away, however, when the baby approached her door to knock.

"mikasa?" his honeyed voice questioned, his darting eyes peering in through her windows to try and spot her.

it didn't take long for her to answer, much to armin's joy. mikasa simply opened her door, her lavender smell dancing through the boy's nostrils.

"hi, baby," mikasa greeted, her right hand reaching up to tuck a few loose, golden strands behind armin's ear. "what's wrong, hm?"

"eren's mad at me," the boy confessed, making sure to widen his eyes to garner extra sympathy. "cause i went to go see God last night."

"why would eren be mad at you for that?"

"cause i didn't tell him," armin's voice trailed off. his ultramarine eyes looked anywhere but mikasa's eyes.

eventually, desperation got the best of him.

"can i come in?" his bambi voice asked. "please? i need you."

"yes, baby," mikasa cooed, widening the door behind her to let the boy in.

the lavender scent, coupled with a whiff of vanilla, grew as armin laid on her wool-textured mattress. he dug his nose into her velvety pillow, his nostrils harshly inhaling every remnant of mikasa.

he could hear the ruffle of her cotton, pearl-white dress. he could feel the dip in weight on the mattress, the boy picturing mikasa on her knees as if they were on the temple's pews. he began wondering what her knees would look like reddened, her pale skin all cherry-blushed as eren commanded her to her knees.

"come 'ere," mikasa adored, rocking the blond in her nurturing arms. "i've got you," she whispered.

armin knew that eren and mikasa fucked occasionally. he pretended he hadn't been conscious during it, feigning sleep when the brunet forced the blond to seek bedding on the wooden-floor. he'd mellow his gentle breathing, the young man trying not to gasp and whine when he'd hear the slaps of eren's pelvic against mikasa's hips. his cheeks would flush, the sounds of mikasa's erotic whines and eren's obscene words caused the poor boy's cock to angrily harden.

in those times, armin felt enraged. he felt maddened at how eren's cock was made to illicit beautiful melodies from mikasa's throat, infuriated at how mikasa was graced with the rage and coarseness that was eren's harsh fucking. it was supposed to be him who'd experience eren's aggressive nature. him who eren's misdirected anger shall be pointed at. him who would endure eren's wrath.

like how God intended.

in an episode of furiousness, armin found himself wanting more.

"can i suck?" armin questioned, his fingers subconsciously fingering the trim of mikasa's dress.

"yes," the young woman simply answered. she pulled the top of her dress down, her pillowy tits out for display. armin's peachy-lips wrapped around one of them, his eyes shutting as he nursed from her as if imitating a newborn doe.

in these little moments, he determined that this was his revenge against eren.

they laid there for a spell, unmoving except with the occasional melody sung and a soft suckle.

armin supposed it must've came natural for the brunette. he hadn't known much, but he was aware of how mikasa had been there for eren after the passing of his mother. he assumed mikasa must've nursed eren like this, too.

that only made armin suck harder, a soft hiss emerging through mikasa's gritted teeth. good.

-

by nightfall, mikasa had sent armin home with a straw-basket filled with loafs of baked bread, jars of lamb's milk, and freshly plucked figs. she offered a kiss on the side of his cheek, her soft words of "be good for eren, baby," hummed the young boy a goodnight.

armin felt himself getting angry all over again.

arriving home, armin set the basket on the kitchen's counter, carefully examining the tiny home to determine eren's whereabouts.

he wasn't home.

trucking into the bedroom, the blond found himself getting ready for bed. shedding his clothes, he tossed them into the familiar pile when something shiny caught his eye.

a pearl. a pale, opalescent pearl shone greatly underneath eren's pillow, its gleam so great even under the nightly lack of light. lifting up the pillow, armin discovered a letter, the paper folded and the contents slightly smudged with octopus ink. his fingers grasped onto it, his cerulean eyes squinting as he struggled to encode the words.

mikasa, you have been the subject of my dreams for as i can remember. my mind often pictures your face, my thoughts serving as pictures of how your body trembles while under mine. it's your voice which sings in my ears, every laugh, every moan, every gasp more beautiful with each tone. you're the woman in which God intended, the woman in which shall belong to me. there's been word that the northerners are experiencing much more pleasantries than us down in lapvona. i plan on wedding you, mikasa. i plan for you to bear my fruits in the swell of your womb. father fritz had agreed to wed us, and from then we shall make our ascent up north. as for the boy, I'm not sure. he's not intelligent, and runs around prancing like a doe. he's not capable of many things, and yet i find him endearing. we could leave him here, i suppose, however the boy would never survive on his own. perhaps he can tend to our farm animals, or entertain our young ones up north. i understand you're quite fond of him, and so i assume this'll be a bridge that we will cross in the near future. for now, just understand that you are my woman and my priority. your being takes hold in my life, and in my heart. yours truly, eren.

by the end, armin found himself shaking with unadulterated rage. he knew he was disobeying god with his envy, his jealousy and outrage at how he wasn't eren's prime concern. he wasn't who eren would inflicted his chaos onto, the blond not deemed worthy enough to indulge in the brunet's fury.

he wasn't worthy enough to reach salvation. how could armin reach heaven, when only the select few were cherry-picked by God Himself? how could armin prove to God that he was noble enough to be chosen, when there would be no suffering to be endured?

"Jesus Christ had sacrificed himself for us," pastor erwin's voice echoed. "he endured crucification just for us, just for us to live in righteousness. therefore what makes you worthy enough to join the Lord in heaven? what sufferings had you endured? what pain had you sorrowed that could be measurable to the pain felt by the Christ?"

without cognition, without discernment, without reason, armin's mind had settled on one thought.

the blond is going to kill eren.

-

he fled to annie's the next morning. the ambivalent girl found herself feeling suspicious at armin’s sudden visit, yet nonetheless fulfilled his pondering questions.

“well,” her steady voice spoke. “the mandrakes cause hallucinations. they’re rather hypnotic, armin, so i’d stay away from those.” she pulled out a box from above a cabinet, the silver-plated chest carved with an artistic rendition of Christ's crucification. she unlatched it, turning the chest around for armin to see the next root.

“you can try mugwort,” she shrugged, holding the plant in her fingers before dropping it back into the velvety-cushioned interior. “it’s not as harmful, so it wouldn’t really kill. it would just lightly harm you, however.”

armin stood wordlessly, his vision distorted as he heavily contemplated between the two plants.

and then, "do you have anything stronger?"

annie stood just as soundlessly, her turquoise blue eyes sizing the strange boy up. she struggled to decipher what exactly brought the young man to her's, what cause the blond to ask for the strongest poison she had.

her silence arose anxiety in armin, the pregnant pause causing the insistent man to blurt out an, "i'll pay you extra."

well, then. annie turned to open a cabinet behind her, the stoic woman re-emerging with a tiny, cream-colored, wool bag. she dropped it on the counter, the woman taking a small step backwards which went unnoticed by her, but acknowledged by armin.

"belladonna", her voice dropped, her form moving slightly over the bag as she leaned over the counter. armin leaned in, too, the young man feeling a hint of arousal from sharing a potential secret. the tips of annie's little lips glazed gently against the lobes of armin's ears, a shiver running down his protruding spine.

"or," she whispered, the boy struggling to not laugh as the movement of her lips against his skin tickled him. "as you might know it as, deadly nightshade."

she backed away quickly, yet gracefully, like a lake swan. it was as though the short conversation hadn't occurred.

"what are you willing to give me for it?" annie questioned, humorously observing how armin struggled to swiftly pull whatever it was out his worn-down cotton pants. he managed to have it swaying in his hand rather quickly; a solid-gold rosary decorated with red-ruby jewels shone beautifully, even in the dim light of annie's shop.

she didn't question where he'd got such a luxurious rosary from. he didn't feel rather inclined to answer it, too ashamed to admit he'd stolen it from the praying hands of the Virgin Mary statue from the temple. annie rarely visited the church, anyways. she wouldn't have realized, or snitched.

"deal?" armin questioned, bringing it closer to allow the rosary to hypnotize annie into accepting the deal.

it worked. "deal."

she took the dangling jewels from armin's fingers, her left hand shoving the little wool bag towards the blond's direction.

"they're in blueberry form," she explained, as if it was a rapid disclaimer she was obligated to give. "don't leave it around anyone who'd mistaken them for such."

"yes, annie."

"and when you use them, make sure to use every last one. it'll cause harm onto you if anyone were to discover you with them, and harm onto me if anyone were to know i sold them to you."

"yes, annie."

"okay, then," the blonde breathed, her stress alleviated as she chose to trust armin with the poison.

the young man was headed for the door, poison bag tucked into his pocket, before annie's curiosity got the best of her.

"hey, armin," she called, absentmindedly playing with the lobe of her ear. "what exactly did you need it for, again?"

armin, with the sweetest smile he mustered, swiveled delicately around as he answered with his dulcet voice.

"for rats."

-

armin hadn't known how to bake a pie.

he settled on making oatmeal. it was easy enough; couple of oats, lamb's milk, and belladonna blueberries.

he served it beautifully on their little wooden table; a rusted spoon on the left side of the bowl, with a cup of freshly-squeezed orange juice on the left.

admiring his work, the blond didn't anticipate eren's soft footsteps as he sauntered wordlessly into the tiny kitchen.

"what's all this?" the brunet slurred, the young man still blanketed by sleep. he blinked, fighting the rest that blurred his vision. his cyan-eyes focused on the display before him, before they looked up to meet with armin's baby-blue eyes. armin could swear he'd seen surprise behind those almond eyes, and something deeper. something complex that the blond couldn't name.

"you made breakfast?" eren questioned, his veiny hands pulling back the table's seat before sitting gently on it. "for me, pet?"

armin blushed. "yes."

"what's this?" eren probed, his fingers grabbing the spoon before he fished at the belladonna berries, raising them up to inspect. "berries? they're not in season, lamb. where'd you get these?"

the blond tensed, fighting the urge to pull his bottom lip into his teeth. it was a habit he'd done when he'd conducted a lie against eren, a habit that the meaner man soon picked up on. now, the only thing armin's little habit earned was a sharp slap on his cheek in response.

luckily for armin, eren hadn't questioned him again. he indulged in the oatmeal, his face cringing in the flavor of the berries.

"how sour," he commented, quickly washing it down with the orange juice.

armin's bottom lip was held captive by his teeth. he silently watched eren eat, the twinkle in the blond's eyes dimming with each spoonful eaten.

once he was done, he shoved his now empty bowl back. he got up, his body carrying him to the bedroom. armin followed.

the blond watched eren return back to bed. the brunet's tired form moved to the left, patting the vacant, lush spot near him.

"get in, little lamb."

armin complied. he sunk into the bed, letting himself be pulled into eren's side. he always did love how he smelled; pinecone and earth's dirt. his nose dug into eren's armpit, breathing in his masculine musk. he could feel the brunet's arm wrapping around him, his thumb caressing armin's pale stomach.

"my pet," eren purred, pressing a soft kiss on armin's golden fringe. armin curled deeper into him, his nose pressing farther into eren's warm skin. "i've got to tell you something later, lamb," eren rasped, a sudden cough bursting through his chest. he coughed for a good minute, causing armin to jerk his head up. he settled back down, however, a sudden wave of guilt boiling in his stomach.

"wake me up in a bit," eren waved, his eyelids fluttering as they shut. his lips let out a string of coughs, a string of spit shimmering on them as he spat on the wooden floor.

he fell asleep rather quickly, his breathing labored and harsh.

armin laid, incapable of sleeping as his thoughts raced with worries and sorrows. thou shalt not kill.

armin's breathing hurried, soft little huffs marched out his lips as the realization began to sink in. he got up from under eren's heavy arm, his shaky hands resting on the brunet's stomach.

"eren?" his small voice questioned, his fingers gripping onto his torso. he rocked his body slightly, in an attempt to wake the taller man up.

no response.

armin began to get frantic; his hands jolted eren's sleeping form, little tears began to form in the ducts of his blue eyes.

"eren?" he cried, madly thrusting the boy as he outwordly prayed to God.

"please, please," the pale man whined. he hoped that he could reverse it, hoped that God could hear his pleas and take mercy on this mistake. "please, eren. don't die. God, please don't kill him."

he rested his ear on eren's chest, the blond fighting the urge to not vomit on the brunet's wool sweater.

no heartbeat.

wildly, armin sieged eren's wrist. he pointed his index and middle finger into two standing pillars, pressing them sharply on eren's flesh. no pulse, either.

armin wailed, his body jerking from the bed as he fell harshly onto the ground. he yelped before stammering up to his feet.

"eren?" armin sobbed, taking in eren's slain form. the blond moved in, his head laying on eren's unmoving chest. he laid there, armin's breathing irregular and labored from howling.

he failed to notice the sound of the front door opening, or the little pat-pat-pats of footsteps.

"eren?" another voice, a female's, rung out. "you in here, honey?"

armin's spine straightened.

"armin?" the patting of footsteps entered the room. the blond didn't have to turn around to recognize who'd been calling him. he immediately knew based off the lavender scent.

"baby?" mikasa's soft voice questioned, her gentle hand rubbing against armin's bouncing back. "what's wrong? why're you crying?"

armin couldn't answer her; too ashamed, too regretful.

"honey?" mikasa tried again, before her babydoll-eyes caught onto eren's still form. she pressed a smooth hand against his forehead, before dragging it down to his heart.

she stilled.

"eren?" her voice rose, her actions mimicking that of armin's as she gently shook his arm. "baby?"

she soon realized, however, the tragic scene before her.

she screeched, her cries more piercing and gut-wrenching compared to what armin produced. her upper-body melted into eren's chest, her shrieking face burrowing into his richly, eren-scented, sweater. as if her love and horror would bring him back to life.

armin lifted himself off the bed, his body hunching over as he emptied the containments out from his stomach. the whole act before him made him sick, his heart pounding and his head throbbing.

mikasa turned her head to look at armin, a primal fear developing in him once she did. he couldn't pinpoint what it was at first; perhaps it was her bloodshot eyes, the way the white transformed into a rose-red hue, or the way her pupils were fully dilated. perhaps it was the paleness of her face, her cheeks snow-white from shock. or perhaps it was the way her raven-black gripped onto her face, the sweat that perspired served as the glue.

what couldn't escape his mind, however, was the way her mouth hung open like a dog. slobber escaped from it, her breathing sharp and ragged as she huffed. to witness mikasa, so poised and so elegant, reduced to this inhumane state was what ignited terror in armin's little, quivering body.

and so he ran, darting out the door as he heard mikasa's pained voice yelling out an, "ARMIN."

his bare feet rapped against the brutal rocks, carmine-toned cuts and violet-hued bruises were sure to immediately emerge on his soles. he payed the pain no mind, his adrenaline forcing him to run. he couldn't hear the cries and screams from the villagers, couldn't hear the way they called his name nor the yells that erupted once they quickly discovered eren's state.

he just ran. the young man ran into the forrest, past the emerald-green trees, past the mud-brown branches that stabbed into his arms. up above him, four ash-black ravens flew with him.

he hadn't known where he was going. he allowed his legs to take him where they pleased, as long as he was far from the village. far from mikasa's wailing form, far from eren's still body.

eventually, however, armin grew to realize where his body had taken him.

he slowed down, his feet inching towards the edge of the cliff. the birds above him sang, the sycamore trees swayed gently by the force of the cool, autumn air. even there, to the right of the constant waterfall, was the face of Jesus Christ.

armin found himself hunched over again, spitting out the remnants of his stomach. the adrenaline, mixed with being presented in front of an image of Jesus, had caused the blond to spiral.

"i'm sorry," he wailed, dropping down to his knees as he clasped his hands. "i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryididn'tmeanto." he breathed, before he screamed for the forrest to hear. a couple of partridges fled, yet the ravens remained. they lurked above armin, taking home on the trees and branches.

he coughed, heaving up bile and blood and the evilness that lurked deep within his spirit. judas, he could hear the villagers curse. filthy demon. he could imagine, once they caught up with him, how'd they capture him. he'd be held in the pillory, his body displayed to be ridiculed and demeaned. they'd humiliate him, just before they took him to the gallows. just like Jesus.

except armin was nothing like Jesus. the blond was a coward, running away from his crime while begging God for forgiveness and mercy.

just like judas.

from below, he could hear the pounding of footsteps, the voices of angry men and sorrowful women. his heart raced, his throat closing in fright. were they looking for him?

he choked. his dilated eyes met with stone Jesus' eyes, before they looked below. under the cliff, there'd been boulders which met with the cool stream of the water. there were bones buried just underneath the rill, some animal, some human.

the footsteps grew. armin's eyes darted back up to stone Jesus, before they met with the observing ravens. they simply squawked.

"eternal God," armin hymned, a jitter in his bones as if his soul knew what was to come.

"your mercy is endless and so is your compassion." his voice lifted with every word, his throat bobbing with every syllable.

"look kindly upon me, and increase your mercy in me." his feet inched closer and closer to the cliff's edge.

"with great confidence," he finished, his fists clenching the cotton-edging of his soiled sweater. "i submit myself to your holy will, which is love and mercy itself."

his right hand unclasped, his fingers touching his sweat-rippled forehead. "in the name of the Father," he breathed, just as the ravens began to screech uncontrollably.

"in the name of the Son," his fingers danced down to touch his chest, the home of his heart and soul. he took a glance at stone Jesus, his unmoving figure simply studying the blond.

his fingers grazed his right shoulder, before they crossed over to his left. "and the Holy Spirit," he ended, his eyes peering down the too close, yet too far, cliff's end. "amen."

the ravens warned him how the villagers were arriving, how they'd soon capture him and gut him for his crime.

he had to move, and he had to move quick. with his prayers sent, he took one last glance down the cliff.

there was a fifty-fifty chance of armin landing on either the rocks, or the water. if he landed in the stream, he’d be taken out of lapvona, God’s mercy on him allowing armin to start a new life somewhere. if he landed on the rocks, however, he’d get to see his family again.

through delusion, coupled with the pressure squeezing on his brain, armin jumped, entrusting God with whatever were to happen.

the ravens suddenly stilled, and everything went very quiet.

the end.

#attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #attack on titan eren #eren aot #eren jaeger #eren x mikasa #mikasa aot #attack on titan mikasa #armin aot #eren x armin

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @rewritetheending @eowon @forthewolves @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @hippolotamus

thank you darlins! muah!

a little bit of cute domestic fluff from paint sex fic and i swear the smut is actually on the horizon so hooray

Herding a sleepy and slightly displeased Buck towards the bedroom is a bit like trying to make a toddler go to bed when all they want is to stay up to watch one more movie or read one more story.

There is a lot of stumbling and soft, murmured complaints and fluttering eyes rubbed over by lazy palms, but Eddie is nothing if not an expert at this by now, so he knows to keep a firm grip on Buck’s hand and to press his fingers into that certain spot on Buck’s hip to get him to go where Eddie wants him to go and that his voice needs to be low and soothing but not too cajoling and that Buck needs directive words disguised as praise–praise which Eddie always means but certainly uses to his advantage–and that the combination of all of that will get Buck to give in to the tiredness layering itself over his bones.  Getting into bed is a familiar dance, one whose music is made up of sultry, intimate violins, their strings plucked and played so delicately within Eddie’s body, vibrating with a lilting frequency that guides him into every single step, each movement ingrained into his very cells, something he could never forget even if he didn’t do it every single day.  It’s such a normal, mundane comfort, something he can rely on, a tiny piece of his day that never changes much, his and Buck’s bodies moving around each other like this is the only thing they were ever meant to do, exist in the same space, make room for each other and rotate around the bright core held within themselves, fabric covered skin brushing and hands reaching and eyes meeting.  It’s something Eddie always looks forward to, awed and pleased that he has this kind of stability in his life, stability offered to him by someone else and that he offers in return, passed from hand to hand like a ripe fruit shared between lovers, sweetness clinging to their skin and sticking them together with a tart, melodic heat that swirls in Eddie’s mouth and paints his teeth with rose and amber and sky blue. Eddie smacks his lips as he slips beneath the covers and wonders if those colors are glittering and glowing enough for Buck to see. He glances over at Buck, who is pulling the blankets up to his neck and burying his face into the pillow as his whole body does a little shimmy. A smile forms from the sugar-coated hues that live in the cavern of Eddie’s mouth, tucking into his cheeks and bursting into the world.

tagging: @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @diazass @paranoidbean @bigfootsmom @anxieteandbiscuits @jeeyuns @diazblunt @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @bucks118 @cowboy-buck @cowboy-buddie @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @buddierights @the-likesofus @heartshapedvows @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @eddiediaztho @transbuck @transboybuckley @messyhairdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @bekkachaos @gayedmundodiaz @rogerzsteven @911onabc @spotsandsocks @devirnis @honestlydarkprincess @folk-fae and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie wip #paint sex fic #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #ryan writes #seven sentence sunday

[stridersdiner]

Bergamot. Oak. Linen.

Three scent profiles that never meant much to you before he did.

Bergamot.

Eau Pour Le Jeune Homme, Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Top: Orange, bergamot. Middle: Nutmeg, coriander. Base: Sandalwood.

Like lazing across from each other at the dinner table. Steam billowing over mugs of earl gray tea, cookies that one of the nice old women in town had shoved into your hands just earlier that day stacked haphazardly on a plate between the two of you. Clear vase of purple catmint, yellow coneflowers, and whorled milkweed sitting at the end of the table runner to your left.

His chuckle turns into a snort as he scribbles onto a sticky note, peeling it back and slapping it down next to your mug as he turns his attention back to his phone. He's been doing this the entire time you two settled down at the table. You regret influencing his Instagram algorithm. Messy blue ink sprawls out the yellow piece of paper.

betray, belittle, boytoy

Oak.

Gentleman Reserve Privée, Givenchy. Top: Bergamot. Middle: Chestnut. Base: Whiskey, amber.

Like special occasions. You sit on the bed, watching him rubber band between the bathroom and the bedroom to get ready to leave. You've been ready for at least ten minutes, but he insists on looking his best for this party your parents were throwing, and that meant rummaging through his fancy fragrances. He's never overbearing with it- always just enough cling to him and his clothes. Neck, inner elbows, wrists- always, like clockwork.

He has no idea what the fancy words on the bottles mean, but he does know that he doesn't want to smell like anything resembling 'toilet', so eau de parfum is the next best thing. You can catch wafts of it lingering in the air as he moves, before he finally stands proudly before you, hands on his hips, and a proud wide-toothed smile on his face.

"Y'ready?"

Linen.

Lin Blanc, Jeanne en Provence. Top: White flowers, pear. Middle: Lavender, cotton. Base: Vanilla, white woods.

Like freshly dried sheets. He dedicates Sunday to laundry day. The washer and dryer in the house are still pretty new and practically pristine, but he will always air out and pin up the bedsheets and pillowcases on the clothesline like Ma did when he was younger. It makes him feel better to shake them out and flatten them out against the line outside in the backyard- nostalgic, really.

Sometimes he lays down in the grass beneath them after a few hours. He stares up at the bright blue sky. Sheets dance along the cool breeze, like the fluttering fabric of a waltz. You watch curiously through the window the first few times, and eventually, you convince yourself to go outside and lay next to him.

And he welcomes you happily.

"That cloud looks like a cow."

Bonus.

The Most Wanted, Azzaro. Top: Cardamom. Middle: Toffee. Base: Amberwood.

He pulled the bottle out of the box and buried it in his sock drawer in the walk-in closet. You're half sure he got it just because it looks like a revolver cylinder. You've test-sprayed it on your wrist before- sickly sweet caramel, strangely spiced- and you scrunched your nose at it. He laughed from the doorway.

It was supposed to "settle," he had said. Whatever that means. It had been maybe a month since he hid it away, so imagine your surprise when he finally pulls the bottle out. You cringe a little as you recall the scent while he mists it onto the collar of his button down, watching the fragrance just hook onto the fabric. He chuckles at your expression as he affixes one of his watches to his wrist. You take a half step back as he comes towards you, but the smell isn't nearly half as bad nor domineering as it first was- suddenly subtly sweet and tangy. He simpered as your expression mellowed.

"Better now, ain't it?"

Babes that wanted to be tagged:

@mockerycrow @kivino

#Rancher AU #Graves. #Mini. #Been on a perfume kick recently idk. #Dawg said “Toilet?? Oh hell naw.” #Had to post it or else it wouldve never seen the light of day. #It's been sitting in my drafts for TWO WEEKS. #Phillip Graves x Reader #Phillip Graves x gn!Reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #Phillip Graves

[jpeg-dot-jpeg]

Snippet Sunday

A little plotty konbart i'm working on for @bi-bats and @this-was-a-terrible-idea <3

“Want me to make you something?” he offered instead.

Big amber eyes immediately focused their unearthly gaze on him. Bart’s undivided attention was a rare gift, one that always left him a little breathless. It was like staring into a fossil, a remnant of a far off time cradled in a resin bed, except, instead of a relic from the past, it was a fragment of the future.

“Like what?” Bart asked.

“What are you in the mood for?”

Those big amber eyes turned up to the ceiling in consideration. “Mmmm….soup.”

“Soup? It’s July.”

“Yeah, but it's gonna storm soon. Rain makes soup taste better.”

Kon’s brow furrowed. He looked out the giant windows of the living room at the darkness of the night sky. There were clouds blotting out lots of the stars, but they were thin and wispy, not anything that promised a summer storm. “It’s supposed to rain later?”

“The weather forecast doesn’t think so, but my knee can tell.”

“Oh.” That…made sense in a weird way. “Is it bothering you?”

“A bit.”

Of its own volition, Kon’s hand found the knee in question, gently pressing over the numb hardness of metal beneath skin. The scar had long since disappeared, but he could remember the way the wound had looked, mangled and bloody, bits of white bone peaking out. The wretched sound of Bart’s anguished cries had buried itself in his gut and never left.

He felt around the edges of the titanium kneecap to the offending tendons and muscle. With great care, Kon pushed into those grooves, working little circles in to ease the tension. His other hand came up to knead the muscle at the very bottom of Bart’s thigh. 

A soft sigh captured his attention, and Kon looked up to find Bart with his head tipped back and his eyes shut, the perfect picture of contentment.

Seeing that only spurred Kon on; his gaze stayed locked on Bart’s face while his hands continued to rub away the ache. His fingers ventured around to dig into the meat at the back of the knee and Bart’s mouth dropped open a bit. His lips were less of a pink and more a warm peachy color that made his eyes look darker, like molten gold. If Kon were a more artistically inclined person, he’d spend hours mixing an exact match for that color.

One moment Kon was looking at Bart, then the next Bart was looking back, catching him red handed in his observance. Kon felt frozen to the spot, unable to look away, unable to stop his hands from trying to coax out more of that peaceful look. 

What was there to say?

Bart’s stomach, of course, chose that moment to let loose a noise that wouldn’t have been out of place in a nature documentary. Despite himself, the sound made Kon smile. “Soup?”

“Soup,” Bart agreed.

#bi-bats my beloved #bean my beloved #snippet #snippet sunday #fic update #konbart #Kon-El #Conner Kent #Bart Allen

[thistlecatfics]

12 Fic Recs for 2022

In order of how recently I bookmarked them and very much non-exhaustive. (I’m in awe of everyone who has a coherent and systematic fic tracking system. I... do not.)

Lengths are all over the place, as are ships though Blackcest and wolfstar are highly represented. 

Absinthe (and a candy apple) by Anonymous (Bellatrix/Andromeda, 6k, E)

December 1970.

One of them is getting ready for war.

One of them is preparing to leave her family behind.

Neither of them knows that this is their last Christmas holiday together.

Fucked up and delightful

Buy the Stars by wilteddaisy (taotu) (Sirius/Remus, 23k, E)

Sirius Black, respectable pureblood patriarch and heir to the Black family fortune, has a wife and three children at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Remus Lupin wrestles with the aging wolf inside of him. When Black offers him a hand, Remus reluctantly takes it.

Dubious morality and Slytherin Sirius Black in the best way!!! What a wonderfully toxic relationship. 

under the blood moon by @iamsiriuslyriddikulus (WIP) (Sirius/Remus, 29k+, E)

A Wizarding War has been raging for several years with no end in sight. When Lily learns how to infuse Dark Magic into her music, Remus and Lily work together to take justice into their own hands.

Murder family bluegrass band AU!! Sirius is especially hot in this. Go subscribe!

White Sheets, in the Closet (or: the earth from a great distance is perfect and whole) by @tahtahfornow (Sirius/Remus, 12k, M)

The preacher’s boy is pale and strange. Silver scar running horizontal across the crooked bridge of his nose like a tributary catching winter sunlight. Dusty freckles collecting in the corners of his cheeks. And thick fair hair that on Sundays shines with pomade, slicked behind two apricot-slice ears: sweet flesh and flesh, always at attention.

(South Georgia, 1961-1962. Hurried kisses in hostile climates.)

So powerfully atmospheric. 

Shades of Dawn by @corvuscrowned (Lavender/Ginny, 3k, E)

It happens once a month — the full moon fades in the black night sky, replaced with the pink light of dawn. Ginny’s Floo sparks — vibrant green, devoured by gold and amber light. And out spills Lavender Brown.

Angsty as hell and utterly divine. 

Lit Match by Phantomato (Alecto/Lily, 2k, E)

Redheads should stick together.

Canon-compliant Lily/Alecto! Go read it! 

Clip, Ravel, Cleave by @vdoshu (Bellatrix/Andromeda, 15k, E)

Before Andromeda met Ted, she was a Black, through and through. While years later the story was told that she’d turned her back on her family’s dark ways, in truth, nothing was so simple.

In the beginning, it was just Andromeda and Bella. And it was just the two of them until it was too much.

One of my all time favorites. Pinnacle of wonderfully fucked up Bellatrix/Andromeda. 

57th Street On Fire by Suchsmallhands (Sirius/Remus, 31k, M)

 It's the 90's and springtime in New York. Remus is dealing cocaine, Sirius is looking to get high.

He felt a twinge of paranoia. He thought, This is a junkie. One way or another. You don’t take walks with people you sell cocaine to. And he might be rich. Do not say yes.

He’d never seen grey eyes quite like that before.

Maybe my favorite Muggle AU of all time? It’s so New York in the 90s and also so wolfstar and so perfect and I just fell in love with Sirius right alongside Remus.

the grace unasked for by @leftsidedown (Remus/Tonks, 18k, T)

What if… instead of going to Bill's after the Malfoy Manor, Harry and co. flee to Tonks' parents' house, where Remus and Tonks are hiding with Andromeda?

How would Remus and the others react and handle this? Remember, Tonks is in her last trimester, her dad just died, she's still being hunted down by Bellatrix and everyone is in hiding, and suddenly Undesirable No 1 shows up with a tortured Hermione, former hostages and a dead house elf and his presence is now potentially threatening everyone's safety..

Read and be converted to Remadora. 

wet gray gold-lit street by basketofnovas @slashmarks (Fleur/Tonks, 10k, E)

Fleur Delacour returns to Britain after the Triwizard Tournament to work for Gringotts and spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Then she falls in love with her Order contact.

It was hard to pick one slashmarks piece but I just loved how both trope-y and canon compliant (and canon defiant) this Flonks is. 

Hurt Heals by @vdoshu (series) (Andromeda/Bellatrix, Narcissa/Hermione, Narcissa/Andromeda, 17k, E)

Pain. Grief. Sorrow.

Sometimes, to suffer is to heal.

I know I’m in awe of how blindingly hot this is because it was specifically written as a gift for me and mindful of my specific kinky tastes BUT also y’all should read it too. 

Nor All That Glisters by sweet_s0rr0w (Draco/Harry, 110k, E)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

But before long he finds himself with a thriving business, a nice flat, some actual (albeit irritatingly Gryffindor) friends, and a very satisfying sex life. What’s more, no-one is hexing him in the street. And Harry Potter is single, and gorgeous, and giving Draco decidedly interested looks.

Stop taking the Felix? You must be joking…

Felix Felicis addiction fic handled so perfectly. I adore the extremely imperfect Draco in this so much

#hp fic rec #thistlecat fic rec #wolfstar #wolfstar fic rec #blackcest #drarry fic rec

[auroradivine]

As people of the Sun y’all really be sleepin on the big homie Sol ☀️ He just be up there chillin in the sky givin us life when he could be giving your work life. Don’t get me wrong I love me some Luna. Big feminine energy 😌Ijs the moon as a anchoring symbol in spell work and ritual is so ingrained in our thinking that we tend to forget the sun's energy can be used as well. Father Sun is the natural balance to Mother Moon. If you do it in the moon you can do it in the sun. Duality 🤌🏿 Rather than offering opportunities that can take several weeks to manifest according to the moon phases…the Sun presents us with five different phases every single day and an additional phase we call a year.

🌅 Sunrise,Dawn: Infant/Child Sun– Basically when the sun wakes up and peers over the horizon. This phase is all about new beginnings, changes, health, employment, renewal, resurrection and finding the right direction. It can also be very cleansing.

☀️Morning: Adolescent Brother/Lover Sun– This is when the sun is growing in strength, so it brings the magical power for growth, positive energy, resolutions, courage, harmony, happiness, strength, activity, building projects and plans, prosperity and expansion of ideas.

🌞Noon: Father Sun – When the sun reaches its peak in the sky at midday – work magic for health, physical energy, wisdom and knowledge. It is also a good time to pop your tools or crystals out that need charging. (Note: some crystals can fade in strong sunlight so check first before putting them out).

☀️Afternoon: Sage/Warrior Sun – The sun is heading back down, and the energy now is good for working on business matters, communication, clarity, travel, exploring and anything professional.

Sunset – As the sun takes itself off down below the horizon, work magic for removing depression, stress and confusion, letting go, releasing or finding out the truth of a situation.

🌄Sunset: Grandfather/Sacrificial Sun

Because the energy of this Sun phase is much akin to that of the Waning Moon, His appearance makes it a good time to simplify or tie up loose ends, and provides the perfect atmosphere for work that involves dieting; getting rid of bad habits; and eradicating stress, confusion, and poor health. Efforts designed to uncover deception work well at this phase too, as do those related to divinatory skills and psychic activity.

And just like the moon you can charge your crystals 💎 in the afternoon sun, make sun water ✨, sun salutations 🙇🏿‍♀️ meditate 🧘🏿‍♀️ , allat.

AND! It’s almost summer time so the sun is just growing in strength so summer rituals are exceptionally powerful. Harness that Cancer ♋️ energy for love work and emotional healing , Leo ♌️ energy for fertility and business, and Virgo ♍️ to get organized and goal planning.

I also lean more towards working with the sun when the retrogrades have Lunar energy chaotic and out of whack or when I need to manifest something faster than the moon phases would allow.

Oh yea let me not forget the sun correspondences because like the moon there’s herbs, stones etc that work particular well with Solar energy

Colours: Gold, Yellow, Orange, Red

🌿 Herbs Marigold, heliotrope, sunflower, buttercup, cedar, beech, oak, St. Johnswort, bergamot

💎 Crystals Diamond, amber, carnelian, citrine, sunstone, topaz, red agate, goldstone

Metal: Gold

🗓 Weekday: Sunday

🧠 Intentions: Strength, Victory, Creativity, Growth, Love, Prosperity, Hope, Money, Exorcis

Chakras: Root, Sacral, Solar Plexus

But yea, balance out your work with some Sol ☺️

#black spirituality #black girl magic #black witches #hoodoo #black witch aesthetic #african spirituality #spirituality #voodoo #ifa #sunrise #sun #sun magic #sun witch #witches of tumblr #rootworker #conjure

[cryptotheism]

it is amber sky sunday

[galahadiant]

The Rainy Hyades and Desert Hills

My 2023 @inklings-challenge entry for Team Chesterton!

Frankly I kind of hate this piece; it was planned to be part 1 of 3 but it is not working out at all. I'm glad I participated this year, though, even if intrusive fantasy is far from my preferred genre. Father Rivas is a recurring character of mine; people who've read any of my other horror writing set in modern-ish times might recognize the name.

---

The church is on the edge of town, with only a small parking lot and an old wire fence separating it from the sagebrush flats and the grit-red hills beyond. March came in warm this year, and rainier than usual, the storms carving divots of silver water into the gritty earth. Little pockets of scarlet and orange flowers grow in the shadows of the desert hills, half-hidden by the gray spines of sage. 

Stations of the Cross are over, and the following fish fry is winding down in the dim evening light. Overhead, the steel-blue sky plays reluctant host to a spangling of early stars.

Father Rivas leans back against the clapboard side of the little church, keeping a sharp eye on the little groups of children playing in the lot. The adults are clustered around the grill and picnic table, the murmur of voices crescendoing now and then in laughter. A few beers were briefly brought out and shooed away– it is still Lent, after all. Almost Laetare Sunday. (Laetare, Jerusalem.) 

Rivas is still a young man, but his back gives him trouble. The priest’s lanky frame can usually be found leaning on something, propped up at an angle like an abandoned scarecrow in black. He doesn’t miss much, despite preferring the company of the desert to that of his congregation. It’s been almost six years since he came out here; not far from his hometown, but smaller. A municipality and not a proper town, constantly threatened by the red-gold desert grit and the encroaching tumbleweeds. He likes it out here, even if he has to chase snakes and scorpions out of the sanctuary from time to time. The people are nice, but they don’t mind too much if you spend a lot of time staring out across the sagebrush flats, or if it takes a few tries for you to answer when you’re spoken to. 

“Eden,” he calls warningly, as one particularly tall girl breaks away from the others and heads for the fence, “Be careful out there. Darkness sets in fast out here.” 

Eden turns to look back at him, her amber eyes catching flame off of the single yellow porch light in front of the church. She leads most of the children here, and often leads them into trouble– though in fairness to her, they’re usually long out of the trouble by the time any grown-ups catch on. She’s clever, and unfortunately knows it. 

“Rest assured, I won’t go far,” she says lightly. “But the starlight’s bright enough for me. I have good night vision.” She hops over the fence, and Rivas starts splitting his attention between her and the other children. A few of the younger kids run up to the edge of the fence, grabbing onto the old wooden fenceposts, and he sighs and disengages himself from his comfortable wall to go pick up Jasper, age four, and return him to the circle of porch-light. 

From what he understands, there’s been a schism of sorts in the children over the last few months. Perhaps it started earlier, with the summer baseball team (the Woodpeckers.) Some of the boys from the baseball team have started their own little operation, with a base built somewhere out in the desert. Seems that Eden takes this as an insult; she’s been getting into fights with their unofficial leader, Asher. Both of them were dragged to Confession a few weeks ago after an incident with a baseball bat.

What is she doing going out into the desert at night? 

There’s a bright flash of light overhead, and a shooting star– a low-flying airplane– a white bird burning– arcs across the sky, stunningly blue-white. Rivas barely has time to track it across the firmament before it strikes the horizon, afterimages blurring his vision in its wake.

“What was that? Did you see that?” calls Eden, running back towards the fence. He blinks a few times, the bruise-bright echo of light fading off of his eyelids. He takes a deep breath, the sharp smell of sage and dry earth. 

Eden, her hands full of cicada shells and bone. The light of the porch reflects off of her startled face. “Was that a plane, Father? Should we go look?”

“I don’t think it was a plane,” he says, recovering himself a little. His back aches. “It looked like a meteorite to me.” 

“If it was a plane that crashed, you might have to give people Last Rites,” she pursues. 

“We would have felt the impact if it were a plane, or heard it.”

Eden frowns and looks back across the sagebrush flats, tucking her handfuls of cicada-shells into the pockets of her skirt. Something is building behind her face, clever-eyed, thin grim mouth. But then again, it always looks like there’s something building there. 

The night grows deep, and parents collect their children and start home. The cicadas scream sporadically in the sagebrush flats, underneath their blanket of stars. “Hey, Father,” says a voice at his shoulder. Asher, with a pile of dirty paper plates in his hands. “We thought we’d stay and help clean up.” 

Asher has a round freckled face and wears an outsize leather jacket whenever he can, even over his church clothes. He’s got one of the other boys with him; Cody. Black hair, dark eyes, big smile. 

“Thank you, boys.”

“What’d you think about that falling star? Do you think there’s any of it left?” Asher’s bottle-green eyes are bright. He doesn’t look down at his hands at all as he works. “I bet Eden’s gonna want to give it to the Professor, but we think it should go in our museum.” 

Rivas ties off the trash bag and heaves it into the dumpster. “Your museum?”

“Well, more of a collection. All kinds of cool stuff from nature and the desert, like skeletons and geodes. But it’ll be cooler than the Professor’s stuff, because he never lets anyone touch his things and they’re all hidden away in boxes. Like a museum for real people.”

“...All museums are for real people, Asher. Dr. Kaestner has a personal collection that he sometimes lets you kids look at.” He sighs and rubs his shoulder as a new twinge of pain goes down his shoulder and spine. “It’s good to have a collection of interesting things; I had something like that when I was a boy. It was mostly eggshells.” 

Asher looks around. “Well, it looks pretty clean here,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “We’re gonna head out. See ya, Father.”

“It’s long past dark,” says Rivas dubiously, looking up at the starry sky. The silver haze of the Milky Way can be seen dimly at the top of the sky, softening the hard, bright edges of the stars. When he looks down again, Asher and Cody have already scrambled over the fence, pushing through the gray-green sagebrush and scaring cicadas into the air. Cody sweeps a flashlight through the air, carving a blinding yellow path in the dark. 

Unlike Eden, most of the Woodpeckers don’t have parents who will miss them out past dark. He paces at the edge of the fence, chewing on the inside of his cheek. When he looks out after the boys, cresting a hill and disappearing into the sharp shadows of the sage, he sees something shining on the horizon.

There is a great light and a soft wind out of the desert, and before he knows it he’s managed to scale the old fence, cattle wire snagging on the edge of his cassock, and headed off after them.

The light is almost blue, very pale, and would be too faint to see if it were not long past dark, but here, in the desert, in grit and darkness, in the balsamroot and sage and tufted desert grasses, he can see it. Almost like a second dawn. The light reflects gently on the narrow spearhead leaves of sage. The wind smells fresh-made tonight, sharp with the smell of distant juniper trees and quite cold for this time in the spring. 

“Boys,” he calls warily, “Slow down. We don’t know exactly what it is.”

The trepidation in his voice makes Cody stop, catching at the sleeve of Asher’s oversized jacket. “We’d better wait,” he says, slowing down. 

Asher sighs, climbing up onto a lichen-covered boulder to survey the landscape. His head is framed by a bright crown of stars, the face itself in a dim blue shadow. “I want to beat Eden there,” he says, scuffing a foot on the rock. “She’ll take all the magic out of it.” His sneakers are taped up with duct tape to hold the soles on; Rivas remembers that he needs to scrape together the money to get new shoes for the kids. Asher, Cody, Cody’s little sister Nina…

“Meteorites don’t glow like that,” says Rivas, squinting at the light. He thinks, now that they’re closer, that it’s coming from a cleft between two hills, some half a mile off. A small worry squirms in his gut. “It could be radioactive, or something.”

“You can feel it, though, can’t you?” asks Asher, sitting down on the boulder and sniffing the air like a dog. “The wind smells like it’s from another world, or something out of a myth. Surely it’d smell different if it were a bomb or something.” 

“It’s not radioactive,” calls Eden. “Sillies.”

Rivas turns to see her picking her way across the sagebrush flats, holding up a plastic box that ticks sporadically. “Is that a Geiger counter?” he demands.

“I borrowed it from the Professor,” she says, with a sniff. “Father, what are you doing out here? This is our business.”

“No, it’s not. You’re thirteen.” 

“I’m fourteen,” says Asher. “C’mon, Cody, let’s go.” He grabs the smaller boy and starts marching off. In places, the sagebrush is over the boys’ heads, and Asher has to use a stick to beat his way through it.

Rivas looks down at Eden. “Did you steal that?”

“...I plan to give it back,” she says, tossing one dark braid over her shoulder. She holds it up and starts walking, keeping a careful eye on the meter. “If it does start clicking more you should shout for the boys; they won’t believe me if I tell them.” 

It’s a long walk, pathless through the sagebrush flats. The ground between the bushes is mostly bare, flecked here and there with flowers and wild, tufted grasses. The ground is gritty and flecked with small flakes of mica here and there that sparkle on the ground like another set of stars. Rivas mostly keeps his eyes turned downwards, focusing on keeping his footing without stepping on any scorpions or snakes that might still be out so late or tripping over the protruding roots. His shoes crunch in the rough sand as he follows Eden down a narrow cow-trail, into the sloping valley between hills.

“Father? Father?” calls Asher, from ahead. There’s a note of panic in his voice; Rivas’ head snaps up, and he starts to run. 

“Asher? Are you boys hur–”

There is a crater at the impact site, dark spines of vitrified sand rising from the edge of the pit. The sagebrush around it has been singed and blackened, the sand and gravel piled in echoes of shockwaves,

and in the center of the crater,

there is a small girl.

She can’t be older than seven or eight, and her hair is ashen blonde and glowing. Her skin is pale, tinged with blue at the lips and on the fingers, and she has no clothes except for the grit and ash that covers her body and the long, shining curtain of her hair. 

Her eyes are mirrors, dragonfly-faceted behind a mask of ash. 

“...She must have come from the sky,” says Eden, scrambling down into the crater, and holds up the Geiger counter. The clicks become slightly more pronounced; a slow heartbeat. The girl turns to look up at her, shuffling away a little as Eden begins to chatter– switching languages every few words, English to Spanish to broken Navajo.

“Get away from her,” Asher snaps. “Look, she doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”

“She must understand something,” says Eden. “Father, you know Latin, right?”

“Why would she know Latin?” demands Asher. He shucks off his jacket and tries to give it to the girl, who switches her mirrored gaze over to him as the jacket falls limply onto her lap. He sighs and picks it up again, trying to wrap it more closely around her shoulders.

“She might be an angel…”

Rivas’ thoughts spin frantically, trying to figure out what to do. She looks like a little girl, surely, and not an angel. He feels like an angel should be older. What if someone comes looking for her? The second, more worrying question– if something comes looking for her? 

“Hello,” he says, and swallows hard. He smiles weakly.

“Are you a Night Warden?” she asks. Her voice is high and slightly accented, the formal speech of a young child who hasn’t quite learned how tone works. “Can you help me find my mama?”  

It’s a slight shock to hear her speak, but the relief more than makes up for it. She can understand him. “I’m a priest,” he says, squatting at the edge of the crater. The wind is cold, but he can feel heat radiating from the sand. Good thing it took them a little while to get out here, or Asher and Eden would have been badly burned. “Where did you last see her?”

“...In the garden.”

He probably should have expected that line of questioning to be less than useful.

“We could take her back to our base,” says Eden. “In the auto junkyard. We have sleeping bags there for when we go stargazing, and none of the adults would find out about her; this doesn’t seem like something the adults should know about. They might call…the government.” Her bright amber eyes flick up towards Rivas, weighing him thoughtfully.

“I don’t think Father Rivas counts,” Cody stage-whispers. “Right?”

Asher gently takes each of the girl’s arms and pushes them into the sleeves of the coat, which comes down past her knees. “She’s about the same size as my sisters,” he observes, fastening a button to hold the coat in place. The girl reaches out and touches his face with a small, silver hand. “Eden, you won’t tell the Professor, will you? Even if we do bring her to your base?” 

She shakes her head grimly. “We’re going to have to carry her back,” she says. “The cheatgrass and sage are going to cut up her legs otherwise. How do shifts sound?”

Rivas’ forehead furrows. “I should carry her,” he says, and is met with three flat stares. 

“Your back, Father,” says Eden.

“She’s not very big, we can do it,” Asher says with a wave of his hand. He looks almost unfamiliar without his jacket on, in a slightly oversized blue t-shirt and nervous goosebumps covering his bare arms. 

“Fine, but I’ll carry her first,” Rivas concludes. “And we’re taking her to the church, not the junkyard. Cody, Eden, do either of you have any little girls’ clothes at home?” Eden nods.

He approaches the girl carefully, becoming aware that the sand in the crater is almost painfully hot. It’s a good thing it took them a while to get out here, otherwise he’d certainly be burning his hands right now. The wind is still cold. “Let’s get you somewhere inside, okay?” he says to the girl, putting on a friendly smile. “What’s your name? Do you want something to eat?” 

She touches her lips hesitantly and nods. “Heliaca.”

It’s a long walk back. The girl Heliaca gazes up at the moonless sky the whole way, her dragonfly eyes tracing the milky way. She seems unbothered by the sharp, thin twigs of the big sagebrush scraping against her bare legs.

They make a line against the sky as they trek along the ridged earth, gravel and sand shifting beneath them. Rivas, and then Eden, tall and lanky, and Asher, smacking his arms to keep warm, and Cody trailing a little behind to pick up pebbles. The girl, shining, outlines their silhouettes in liquid silver. 

Eden breaks away at the edge of town. “I’ll go get her some of my old things; I can get in and out without my dad noticing,” she says, scrambling up and over the fence and taking off down the road. “He shouldn’t be back from his shift yet, anyway.”

Asher jogs after her, his duct-tape sneakers snapping against the asphalt.

“...I guess they’ll be back soon,” says Rivas to Cody.

 The younger boy nods, his dark hair flopping down over his eyes. “Can I have a snack, too?”

“I’ll see what we have.”

They have chocolate-chip granola bars and juice boxes in the church basement, as it turns out. Also, a couple of very crushed fruit rollups, a clementine, and a rather stale loaf of whole wheat bread, which Rivas decides to throw away. These must be leftover snacks from the last time 4-H was in here. 

He sits Heliaca on the floor and puts an unwrapped granola bar into her hand. “Cody, can you help her with the juice box? I’m going to go make some tea, or hot cocoa or something.” He feels the urgent need to make something with his hands, to shoo away the worries that are building in his head. 

What’s going to come after her? Ordinarily he’d laugh at Eden’s whisper about the government finding out; she picked that up from her parents, a parroted turn of phrase. She might not actually be wrong this time, though. There’s bound to be some investigation, even a small one, and their footprints are all over that impact site.

He rubs his aching shoulder absentmindedly and leans against the small kitchen table in the rectory as the teakettle boils. 

And what about that mother? If she does come after the girl, will she be like a human? 

What if she doesn’t come at all?

The whistle of the teakettle makes him jump. He pours the water into five mugs of varying sizes, digs out honey and packets of creamer and tea. When he gets back to the basement, Asher is back with a pile of clothes.

“Eden’s dad got home early, so she had to go to bed,” he explains, sifting through the rumpled pile. Underwear, mismatched socks, a couple of dresses and a rather faded sweater that Rivas remembers Eden wearing constantly when she was ten or eleven. “I brought all the stuff, though. I was worried she might snitch, but it seems like she really wants to keep this quiet. Helps that the Professor is probably asleep.” Heliaca, sucking quietly on a juice box, examines the clothing. 

“Don’t you know how clothes work?” asks Cody. He starts pouring honey into his mug of hot water until Rivas reaches over and wrestles the squeeze bottle away from him. 

“I know,” she says, putting down the juice box and picking up a sock. “I’ve seen Earth people wear all these things. I’m just not normally so small.” She pulls the sock on, upside-down, and then puts a second one on correctly. “You have so few hands,” she adds casually, which is a little worrying in implication.

“Hey, Father, can I have the honey?” asks Asher, leaning over to try to take the bottle out of Rivas’ hand. He, at least, has actual tea steeping in his cup and not just boiling water. 

“Yes, fine.” Rivas is picking up one of the dresses to hand to Heliaca– she can’t keep wearing Asher’s coat forever, after all– when a sharp knock sounds on the door upstairs.

Not likely to be continued. But maybe; if I do continue it I'll put links to the other parts down here.

#inklings challenge #inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: clothing #story: unfinished #theme: food

[ready-steady-freddie]

California Golden // Tuesday

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace x Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Word count: 2,6K

Huge thanks to @nixnbob for looking this over 🥰 this is part one of a mini series.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Every like, comment and reblog is deeply appreciated!

Natasha actually considered it a blessing that her commercial flight back home for Thanksgiving had been cancelled. She hated flying commercial. She hated not being the one in control of the aircraft. She hated sharing such a cramped space with anyone but her backseater. (And even that could be a challenge, depending on who the backseater was.)

The best part of it, however, was that she was heading home in a car with her best friend by her side. The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, painting the clouds above in the warmest amber and pink hues under the darkening blue sky. Bob's hair looked reddish in the evening light, Natasha mused. Not a bad look on him.

The right side of his face was shrouded in darkness as the sun sank further below the landscape. He looked so focused, almost unnerved when he was behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the road and a tiny furrow between his eyebrows. It wasn't often she saw him like this as Natasha was usually the one to steer whatever vehicle they found themselves in. The rest of his body told a different story. One hand held the steering wheel soundly while the fingers on his other hand drummed the console between them. He sat back relaxed, shoulders down, one leg bouncing slightly in rhythm with the music. He drove with ease and confidence. Natasha felt safe with him behind the wheel.

Natasha wasn't exactly sure where they were or how long she had been asleep. It didn't matter. She was about to spend the entire Thanksgiving weekend with Bob and it honestly scared her a little. It hadn't been the plan from the start but she was glad it had turned out this way.

"Damn it," Natasha said under her breath as she looked up from her phone.

Bob looked over to see Natasha's lips pursed and brows knitted together in annoyance. "What is it, Nix?"

"My flight home tomorrow has been cancelled," she sighed.

Bob put his book down and gave her a sympathetic look. "Oh, no. And you were so excited to go home to see your family. Is there any way you can make it up there in time?"

Her expression softened as she looked into his kind blue eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I still have the car I borrowed from base until the end of the month."

"Isn't it like a four hour drive?"

"Yeah, I'll have to leave tomorrow afternoon. God, it's just … Driving is so boring." 

Natasha rolled her eyes at her predicament and herself.

"Do you, uh, do you want some company on your trip?

She let out a surprised sound while her eyebrows flew up. "Don't you have plans already? I saw that you had requested time off for Thanksgiving, too."

"No, I don't have any plans." He shrugged. "I could drive you up there, stay at a hotel in Oakland, drive you back down on Saturday or Sunday."

"Bob, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. No way in hell am I going to let you spend Thanksgiving on your own in some hotel! I'm calling my mom this minute to let her know I'm bringing you."

"Oh, um, thanks. But I really don't want to be a hassl-"

"You're being a hassle to me right now by telling me that you're spending Thanksgiving alone." Her tone was painted with the tiniest hint of irritation and she resettled her entire being with a few breaths before adding, "Look, it's absolutely fine if you want to be alone. I respect that. But please know that you are more than welcome to stay with me at my family's house for the entire holiday. What do you think?"

Bob nodded. "I want to stay with you and your family. Thank you."

Natasha found it difficult to look away from Bob. He was usually soft, but tonight in this gorgeous evening light he looked even softer. She couldn't remember if she had ever flown with a backseater, who was so different from her yet whom she gelled so well with. He made her better in every possible way and suddenly her weaknesses didn't feel like weaknesses because she knew Bob's strengths and that he had her back. They just made sense together.

"Good evening, sleeping beauty." If Natasha hadn't been focusing on Bob already, she probably wouldn't have heard him. There were faint flutters in her stomach when he gave her a tired, content smile.

"Hey," she yawned and rubbed her forehead. "Where are we?"

He turned down the stereo ever so slightly. "We're heading into Castro Valley now. We'll be at your parent's place in an hour."

"Oh, I've been sleeping for two hours." She leaned forward a little to look at him. "I'm sorry, that wasn't supposed to happen. Do you need me to take over for the rest of the trip?"

He shook his head. "It is absolutely no problem. I stopped at a service station and got us something to eat and some coffee, although I think yours might be cold by now."

He motioned to the backseat where two takeaway cups were perched in a cardboard holder along with two paper bags. She noticed a bouquet of autumn flowers tucked in carefully between their bags.

“What’s with the flowers?” she asked.

“They’re for your mom.”

“Bob, you really don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I want to."

Natasha smiled to herself as she reached for the cup with her name on it and the food. She knew her mom would love the flowers. She took a sip of the coffee, immediately scrunching her face up.

Bob chuckled. "Still good, huh?"

"It is clinging on to life with the tips of its fingers," Natasha replied with a grin. "It's still drinkable. It’s almost like an iced coffee. Almost."

Bob nodded with a satisfied smile.

She cradled the cold brew in both hands, observing him with soft eyes. "Thank you, Bob. That was very considerate of you."

"You're welcome."

The drive through the cities on the eastern side of San Francisco Bay had Natasha appreciate and miss her time in the jet even more. There was something terribly trite about having to follow the straight lines of the road, driving at - relatively - low speeds and especially being stuck in traffic jams. Itt didn’t suit Natasha’s temper or her personality very well. Bob was different. He was much more capable at adapting to driving in all sorts of conditions. You would never hear him complain.

They reached the bridge that crossed the bay and Natasha leaned forward again to get Bob’s attention.

“Bob?”

“Mmh?" he replied as he overtook another vehicle.

“Thank you - again - for doing this. For driving me home. It means a lot to me.”

He glanced at her. “Oh, hey, no problem.”

“Is this a good time to warn you that my family can be a little … Intense?”

“Your level of intensity - or less intense?" he asked with a straight face.

Natasha scoffed at his comment, then grinned when she realised he was right. "As individuals, probably less intense than me. But together, in the same room, perhaps with alcohol involved … Far worse."

He held eye contact, deep and earnest, with her for a moment before looking back at the road. It sparked something in her belly, something unfamiliar, and she wanted to ignore it. "I can handle intense."

Natasha knew he could.

"I'll give you a quick run-through of my brothers and my sister. So you know what to expect."

It was just after dinner time when Bob pulled into the driveway of the Trace family home. Natasha sighed in relief that they were the first ones to arrive. She looked over at Bob to see him staring intently at something in front of him. She frowned when she heard him mumbling the names of her siblings.

"Sebastian, Benjamin, Alexander, Natasha and Sofia. Sebastian, Benjamin, Alexander, Natasha and Sofia."

Natasha chuckled and touched his arm to bring him back to her. "What are you doing?"

It was difficult to discern his facial expressions in the dim lighting of her parent's driveway. "I, uh- I'm trying to remember all of your names. I don't want to mess it up."

"Bob." She squeezed his arm gently, her upper body leaning towards his for a second. He seemed to relax a little. "Don't worry if you do. Mom can't even keep track and she gave birth to us, so …"

Her mother stood outside on the front steps waiting for them and waving heartily once they noticed her. Natasha jogged up to her mom and gave her a long hug. Bob stayed behind for a moment and grabbed their bags and the flowers. Her father appeared behind her mother and Natasha hugged him tight.

Bob came up to them when they parted again. He shook their hands before presenting Natasha's mother the bouquet. "Good evening, Mrs Trace, Mr Trace. Thank you so much for having me. I really do hope I'm not troubling you."

"Nonsense!" Mrs Trace said with a warm smile. "These flowers are beautiful! Thank you. You are most welcome, Robert. And please, call us Heidi and Nick."

"Call me Bob, please, ma'am."

They exchanged pleasantries while Heidi showed Bob around the house. Natasha wasn't much for letting Bob out of her sight, but her father insisted that she come into his study to see his newest paintings. She stared at Bob, asking wordlessly if he needed saving from her mother’s excessive talking. He shook his head with a small grin and waved her off.

Natasha and Nick passed by the living room where the youngest Trace sibling was sprawled out on the couch, TV blaring while Sofia talked loudly on her phone.

"Sofia, your sister is here," Nick said. 

"Hey, babygirl,” Natasha called.

"Hey, Nat." Sofia's hand came into view from behind the sofa. And then nothing more.

Natasha rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'll talk to her later. When are the others arriving, dad?"

"Let's see .. Sebastian, Michelle and the kids will be here tomorrow before noon. Ben and Alex won't be here until Thursday morning, I think. But, you know, they are so close by, they can just come and go whenever they please." Nick looked at his daughter with the softest expression Natasha had ever seen on her dad's face. "It's so good to see you again, pumpkin."

"Dad …"

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I won't embarrass you in front of Bob."

"It's not that, I just-"

"He seems very nice, by the way."

Natasha smiled to herself. "He is."

They met up with Bob and Heidi in the dining room. Plates of food had been reserved for Natasha and Bob and they ate happily while discussing life in the Navy with Natasha's curious parents. They were particularly interested in hearing Bob's experience of their daughter as a naval aviator.

"Sir, I trust her with my life every time we get up in that jet, and it's an honour and a pleasure to do so. Your daughter is one of the best pilots I have ever flown with."

Natasha felt a tingle, followed by warmth spread across her cheeks as Bob spoke. Her parents beamed at her. She gently kicked him under the table to make him stop talking. He sent her an amused look and didn't say any more about her talents in the air, instead complimenting Heidi on her cooking.

"I'm so glad you like it. Here, have some more. Do they even feed you on that base? You're both looking so skinny!"

They retreated upstairs after dinner. Natasha and Bob stood at the top of the stairs. Their bedrooms were at opposite ends of the hall, but Natasha wasn't ready to say goodnight yet.

"So, did my mom give you the grand tour of the house?"

"No, just the guest room and all the necessities." He paused, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "They're really proud of you, you know."

"I know, thanks. I wouldn't be in the Navy if it wasn't for them. I really needed their support to get through application and initial training. I still do, to be honest."

Natasha's heart sank when she remembered that Bob didn't have a supportive network to return home to, and that was a plausible reason why he was going to be alone on Thanksgiving. Natasha hadn't been told any details about his family, and one time when it was brought up briefly she hadn't thought it appropriate to ask him to elaborate. She and Bob had been close friends since the uranium plant mission, but he didn't seem too interested in talking about his past or his family and Natasha didn't want to push the matter. She was confident that if he wanted to share his story with her, he would. Natasha considered Bob part of her family now and she hoped he would feel a sense of belonging with her family, too. Or with her, at least. 

Truthfully, Natasha worried about him. She didn't know what it was like to not have a family to come home to. To have a familiar bed and a safe space available at all times. To spend every holiday in your own company, constantly bombarded with happy families celebrating their time together, reminding you of what you don't have. Bob had expressed several times that he felt at home in the Navy and was happy to go wherever he was stationed. He acclimated easily and quietly. But she wondered if he ever felt lonely. Even if he didn't look or act it. Perhaps she put far more thought into Bob’s situation than he did himself. Perhaps it didn't bother him at all.

"Is he your new boyfriend, then, Nat?" Sofia's amused tone of voice came from the bottom of the stairs and she quickly joined them at the top of it. Sofia craned her neck to look up at Bob as her head reached the middle of his chest. "You're very tall."

"Yeah, I am," he replied. Sofia raised an eyebrow with a wicked smile, looking him up and down, and he quickly added, "Tall. Yes, I am tall."

"Nice to see you, too, sis!" Natasha pulled Sofia into a hug and grinned. "Leave him alone. He's not that tall, you're just a short-ass."

Sofia wrestled out of Natasha's embrace and looked between the two lieutenants. She looked so pleased with herself and Natasha wanted to slap that smirk right off Sofia's face. She knew where her sister's mind was headed but Natasha didn't avert the situation in time. "If he's not your boyfriend, why did you bring him home for Thanksgiving?"

Natasha groaned softly and sent her younger sister a bothered look. Bob stood with an amused expression of his own. "Because he's my best friend."

"Sure." Sofia rolled her eyes before she sauntered down the hall, glancing over her shoulder. "Nice meeting you, Bob."

"Nice meeting you, too," he said to her leaving form.

"Sorry about that." Natasha shook her head. "Sometimes I forget that she's still fresh out of high school and doesn't yet know what proper human behaviour is."

"Don't worry about it. That youthful boldness is refreshing. Brutal sometimes, too."

"Anyway, I think I'm ready for bed, I'm exhausted. Are you okay?" She reached over to stroke his upper arm, hoping he would once again understand how much she appreciated his efforts to drive her home.

"I'm okay," Bob replied. Natasha wasn't sure if she actually felt some of his weight pressing into the palm of her hand, or if it was something that she imagined. "I'd do it all again tomorrow with you by my side. Goodnight, Phoenix."

She was confident that Bob had no idea what his words did to her. His soft expression and kind eyes revealed nothing more than friendly sincerity. Natasha hoped her outward appearance didn't betray what was going on inside her. If it did, she would be a trembling mess.

"G-Goodnight, Bob."

#Robert Floyd #top gun fanfiction #natasha phoenix trace #top gun maverick #everyone's favourite bob #BobNix

[worldenough-and-time]

Sunday Snippit

Thank you @kaleidoscopexsighs for the tag! I was sick for a few days this week and ended up writing a massive chapter while stuck in bed. Luckily I got better before I went to the beach this weekend (to see some sea turtles, my non-fanfic hyperfixation)!

Anyway, here’s a little inner monologue moment from said chapter of True Blue.

Sirius knew many things about Remy Lupin that others did not. She knew that Remy's eyes looked amber from afar, but were actually hazel green rimmed with brown. She knew that Remy was particular about what she ate, and often enjoyed odd combinations of things, like sausage and jam. She knew that Remy got on with her mum and didn’t talk much to her Da, because they were the same kind of quiet. She knew that once a month, her body transformed into that of a wolf. She knew that’s where the pale scars that lined her face and body came from. She knew that Remy's best subject was Charms but that her favorite was History. She knew that when she slept, Remy stayed perfectly still. She knew that when she was upset, Remy’s mouth would press into a thin line, and she wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. She knew that Remy got bossy when she was angry, and teasing when she was pleased. She couldn’t be around silver, and she wore the same oversized jumper over her uniform all winter, and she always stacked her plates when she finished breakfast, even though they disappeared from the table.

Sirius would do anything to protect her.

But it was more difficult than one might think- protecting someone. Sirius had learned this already. She’d tried to protect her brother, drawing her mothers ire away from him by making a display of all her inadequacies. Make noise, be the quick moving thing in the corner of her eye, invite the chase. Look over here, over here! And she even thought it was working. But now it seemed she’d just backed her brother into a corner. Taught him to be still, to hide. He was so quiet now at home. She didn’t know why it never occurred to her that that might happen, if she was so loud.

And now with Remy, was she really doing anything so different? Still putting on a show. Look at me, look at me! Bruises and dittany and laughing madly at it all, instigating, escalating, the center of attention, the brightest star in the sky burning everything up. She was a dog that only ever learned one trick, and she knew it wouldn’t work forever.

I’m trying, she thought. I’m trying to grow up for you. I’m just not doing it fast enough.

No pressure tags for @capacity-for-wonder @spindrifters @lynxindisguise @kaleidoscopexsighs @achilleslikespeas

#fic: tough tried true blue #wolfstar #lesbian wolfstar #sapphic wolfstar #wolfstar fic #marauders

[normal-horoscopes]

Oh right yeah it's amber sky Sunday