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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 6 months

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i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T

cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)

Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.

He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.

He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor.

The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.

“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon.

Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages.

He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.

So, Eddie practiced.

Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.

Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.

“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”

Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.

Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.

“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.

“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”

“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in.

“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”

“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.

Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.

“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”

Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”

“Ed–”

He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”

His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.

“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair.

The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back.

Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.

“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”

“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”

“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl.

“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”

“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”

“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”

Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.

Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs.

Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.

That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl.

“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”

Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs.

“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”

—---

And so it went.

Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease.

His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight.

Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came.

Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….

Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time.

And that time was within the next few days.

He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…

He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.

He’d never fallen in love.

Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them.

The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return.

Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.

And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home.

A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.

And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.

–

The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house.

Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees.

Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.

Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.

-x-X-x-

Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.

But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.

Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”, but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.

She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.

“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”

“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”

“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.

“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.

“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”

“Even eggs?”

She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”

“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).

“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”

She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.

“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”

“How so?”

“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.

“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”

He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”.

He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.

“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.

“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car.

In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.

“We’re home Mama!”

“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”

“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers.

“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”

“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”

“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”

Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.

“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands.

She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.

That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.

It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.

With everyone but Steve.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure.

First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.

Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks.

It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.

“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.

“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”

Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.

Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.

He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.

He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.

Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine.

–

They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.

Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.

It’s more than he’s ever felt before.

In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever.

The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill.

It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact.

He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…

He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.

Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper.

Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”

“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.

Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.

He and Mama stare down at the words on the page.

“Mama, what is this?”

She is silent for a handful of breaths.

“This is why the luck never worked.”

now with a part 2!

also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅

#eddie is living in a non-specified olden times #and steve is post-canon about to turn 25 so it's 1992 for him and robin #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #wayne munson #robin buckley #noelle writes #it is nearly 11 pm and this looks good but i will probably find problems with it in the morning #if you see typos no you don't

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artandchocolate · 1 year

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Hozier - "No Plan"

#hozier #music #lyrics #typographyedit #typography #quote #words #typo

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alexturner2005 · 3 months

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i just found out that hozier played lollapalooza the same day i was there in 2014???? what the hell??? i checked the lineup poster and the schedule from that day and he’s not listed on either. i would’ve seen him if i knew he was there wtf lolla why am i finding this out ten years later 😭

#i just saw a video titled hozier lollapalooza 8/1/14 and was like ?????#i thought maybe it was a typo but nope he was there that day #someone really fumbled the bag #and i suffered the consequences :(

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weiwx · 7 months

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pyrrha no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight / for reasons wretched and divine / and lord she found me just in time / i need to be youthfully felt cause god i never felt young / she'll know me crazy soothe me daily better yet she wouldn't care / lord it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / we tried the world good god it wasn't for us / looking up from a cigarette she's already left / i start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / for whatever poor soul is coming next dve

#SO TIRED TRYING TO SEE FROM BEHIND THE RED IN MY EYES???? HI HELLO ANYONE ????#pyrrha dve #hozier #if u saw the typos no u didn't<3333 #jackie and wilson

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thevirtuesofmagpies · 6 months

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Seattle’s set list

#hozier #sorry for any typos I was doing this at the concert #I’ll be at the Portland show tomorrow night #say hello if you’ll be there #live music 2023 #tomorrow will be my third and final hozier show this year #I have been so lucky

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fox-bee926 · 1 year

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Guys im going absolutely insane r n i just checked the tour dates and hozier is performing in my city ON MY BIRTHDAY

#im frothing at the mouth rn #not really but same vibe #im in near TEARS #i just listened to the ep #im just gonna say ill have to really dissect things to parce out a meaning #unless hozier gives us the meaning #tho i like to think his songs havr any meaning dor whatever stage of life youre in #so many typos sorry #hozier #its a sign #im using this in defense of why i should go when talking to my parents

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hoziersredguitar · 9 months

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Man I love hozier so much I wish forests were real

#if you're seeing this post again its because i made a fucking typo #hozier #forest daddy #my sister told me i should put that on a t shirt #me

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 2 months

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the bafta livestream out of context: top 60 cursed quotes.

There is nothing more cursed than the livestream I just witnessed, and I made a summary post but now I'm just going to put in quotes by the worthy maggots in the stream with no context, because BELIEVE ME THE CONTEXT DIDN'T MAKE ANYTHING BETTER. The livestream chat was NOT A PLACE OF THE LORD.

I'm going to make the quotes that were by me a different colour. Please know that I am NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR A SINGLE QUOTE OTHER THAN THOSE. SO HERE'S THE TOP 60 IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

Barbenhimer awakened things in me ok

aroace people the most disturbingly sexual talkers on the planet fight me on this

WHO JUST GASPED

MICHAEL SHEENS BABY TALKING BARK BADK IM A DOG BARK WOOF

I feel so sorry for this woman. She's being so heartfelt and we're here thristing over a slinky that possessed a man

IRELAAAND PLEASE ADOPT ME AS YOUR OWN PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF UNPRONOUNCABLE WORDS, GREEN FEILD, CATHOLISISM AND HOZIER PLEASE

the urge to go to france and misgender a croissant is real

Devastated the slutty knees have gone away

So many men nowadays are so submissive and breedable like thank you lord for these men thank you

witches and murder slime tutorial

speaking of royals did the bloke who ISN'T lizzy's husband but her son apparently die yet

Turtleneck Crowley is my gender.

WE COULD HAVE LEFT IT AS NOT SAFE FOR WORK WHY THE DRTAOLS ASMI

SAY AN BFUIL CEAD AGAM DUL GO DTÍ AN LEITHREAS AN WE'LL LET YOU THROUGJ

"Oompa loompa doopety dee, I really hated being in this movie" -Hugh grant probably

IF YOU'RE A CHILD AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THAT MESSAGE IM SORRY

i want the kilt back this a betrayal

if someone put me in a room with kilt!david tennant one of us is walking out of that room pregnant and its not gonna be me

a lot of these words are in the bible and none of them should be in that order you need jesus

Can we vote to make david wear that kilt back? Maybe make him do a twirl this time

You mean Bildaddy? 😏

Honey what make you think a dude who roamed around with prostitutes and got himself more holes for mankind won't be calling bildad bildaddy? [this was about jesus btw.]

FREE THE KNEE

Show us the knees!

AND YOU'RE COMING AFTER ME FOR MY BLOWJOB BANANA

He looks like those fancy chocolates. Imma take a bite outta him. Think you'll leak molten goo like them?

My brain isn't working, I read "bratty couch jr"

i'm sorry the what holes

FIND ME ON GOAD AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY APPROPRIATELY

I genuinely thought it was a road typo and I thought you were threatening asmi with physical violence on the road

OHH FLOWER OF SCOTLAAAAAAND

Combine that with the unfortunate oranges and see what happens.

DEVASTATING NEWS I ATE UP ALL OF THEM SO I'VE BROUGHT A BLOWJOB BANANA INSTEAD

That reminded me of the army video where the guy was deepthroating a 7 inch banana without a hitch.

OMG THEY JUST FLASHED BACK & I GOT A GLIMPSE OF THAT KILT 🥵🥵🥵

thats why apollo had to deliver you at an illegal sushi restaurant

How long do you think it would take to get david naked from his chocolate man suit? Can we set a new speedrun category?

SUPERBOWL FOR TENNANTISTS

Big feelings about pants straps in the chat tonight

Last time i check yoire supposed to thank the lord gor his gifts

HEY GUYS ASMI'S FROM A PARALLEL UNIVERSE CONFIRMED

I just have a deep appreciation for ireland

Can you use suspenders as bondage gear? I mean it looks like it would be fine? I mean if you make the length a bit more they might be more comfortable than ropes. Just sayin

All i can think when i see him in the costume is the one specific ken and oppenhimer slash fic. Lord help me i can't be saved

GIVE MY LOVE TO THE LEPRECHAAAAAAAAAAAUNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Like a giant orange slice on her one arm.

Stop hitting the lectern geez / what if its into that?

Men who wear suspenders are such losers like why do you need so much cloth to keep your pants up. Why dont you just wear a belt. Where do you live. What is your timezone. What are you office hours

what is this suspender shaming ari chappal for you

Aziraphales office hours are: fuck off

Put me ina room with a suspender wearing man and he shall have the same fate as kilttennant

MARIYADAM E ILLAI

It was titled "snake in my b***" It meant butt lmfao

CROWLEY AND LOKI MY GENDERFLUID ICONS

THE KNEES ARE BACK

THEKNEES GOD SAVE ME FROM THESE SINFUL THOUGHTS

What if slutshaming is my kink?

NOT THE BLOWJOB FACE NO

AT THIS POINT IF NEIL HASN'T UNFOLLOWED ME YET HE'S ASKING TO BE MENTALLY SCARRED IM SORRY

I am failing

Tagging the main culprits whose tumblr handles I know:

@thearoacemess @vitrilol @queermarzipan @good-usernames-were-taken

Cheers, maggots.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #good omens #maggots #good omens fandom #crowley #bafta awards #bafta 2024 #bafta #suspenders #discord livestream #david tennant #michael sheen #barbenheimer #oppenheimer

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alwaysonthemend · 6 months

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Author's Note: Hello my loves! This is my most favorite thing that I've ever written so I really hope you all enjoy. Please ignore any typos lol 💞

Content Warnings: Cussing, arguing, mentions of unrequited love, heartbreak, mentions of drinking, frat parties, angry sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, praise kink, squirting, oral (m and f receiving) bruises from sex. I think that's all but please let me know if I missed anything! 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 7946 (oops)

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Frat parties can be hit or miss you’ve come to discover. The music tends to be just okay (though they often play the better music towards the end) and they’re always hot and cramped and leave you feeling completely wiped out and gross by the end. For a long time, you avoided them all together – choosing instead to spend your Friday nights indoors reading or listening to music. But then you’d met Josh (and by extension the rest of the Kiszka-Wagner friend group) and they’d shown you that with the right people, parties could be a hell of a good time. Having a group to go with – ones who’ll dance with you and laugh and have fun with you, makes parties a nice break to the monotony every now and again.

This one will no doubt be like all the others – packed and hot and the music blaring so loudly that you can feel it reverberate through your chest. The lights will be flashing between blues, greens, and reds and the room will smell strongly of alcohol. But you'll be surrounded by your little group of friends who will be laughing and dancing with you, distracting you from anything other than having fun.

You’d met Josh during your first semester at University of Michigan and the two of you had quickly become good friends. You’d been partnered up in your film class and the rest, as they say, was history. He’d been the one to drag you out tonight – despite your protests of being tired.

“Please?” He’d asked, giving you his very best puppy dog eyes. “It’s not fun if I have to go by myself.”

“Josh,” You’d sighed, tucking your book into your backpack as you spoke, “I’m tired. Get Jake to go with you or something.”

“He is going with me! But he hates frats and all he does is stand there and sulk the whole time.”

You’d halted for a brief moment, your brain conjuring up images of Jake at a frat party that had butterflies erupting in your tummy before you’d quickly shaken your head, but Josh had caught you anyway.

A smug smile had spread across his face, making him look like the damn Cheshire Cat.

“Is seeing Jake not reason enough to show up? You know you wanna see him…”

You rolled your eyes, huffing a breath and trying to ignore the heat spreading across your cheeks. Evidently, he’d yet to catch on to the tension that had taken up residence between you and his twin in the last few months – a far cry from what you two used to be.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joshua Michael. No idea at all.”

“Sure you don’t, babe.” He’d said with a grin, knowing that he’d successfully convinced you.

Your relationship with Jake is odd to say the least. You’d met him pretty quickly after meeting Josh – given the fact that they’re practically attached at the hip, and you’d hit it off with him just as you had with his twin. In fact, there was a time when you’d thought that maybe there was something more there with him… subtle glances and private smiles that took place between the two of you had sure made you think so.

Though you and Jake had never hung out one on one (Josh was always there with you), the two of you would usually manage to find an excuse to sneak off together and you’d quickly found that the two of you have a lot in common – a love for music and Tolkein most notably. You and him could spend hours talking about the nuances of the Silmarillion and about whether or not Hozier should be considered a pop artist.

Your favorite times though were when you all would be hanging out at Josh’s house for movie nights – you, Jake, Sam, Danny, and Josh, and you and Jake would sneak off alone to do whatever you pleased. Most of the time, you and him would end up on the roof to stargaze. Sometimes you talked – you’d talk for so long that both of your voices would grow hoarse from use. Other times, the two of you would just sit in silence, enjoying the other’s company. In those moments, it was like you and Jake were the only two people in the universe, completely content to let everything and everyone else melt away.

Your friendship with Josh had been easy but the one you had with Jake had been effortless. Jake made you feel seen – like you could truly be yourself without him judging you for it. Though he could come across as broody and sullen at times, there’s a light inside Jake that only few people are lucky enough to see… and he had trusted you enough to be one of those people. At least, until about four weeks ago when suddenly it seemed like he didn’t want to even be near you anymore.

Where used to the two of you would hang off to the sides at parties and gatherings (often standing a lot closer than you needed to be), now it was like he made sure to be wherever you weren’t. And God, did it hurt your feelings. You’d allowed yourself to become vulnerable with him – let him see parts of yourself that you’d hardly shared with anyone, not even Josh. And he’d tossed you to the side seemingly overnight… like all those deep conversations you’d had with him meant nothing at all. You desperately wanted to understand what had changed but refused to be the person to reach out. He was the one that stopped texting back. He was the one that started acting like you were merely acquaintances. He was the one who made you think that you were both in love one minute only to completely ignore you the next. He owed it to you to be the one to talk first.

So silence had fallen completely between the two of you and evidently, Josh wasn’t aware of it yet. But still, you were determined to not let Jake ruin a good time for you. You hadn’t been out with Josh in ages and you were confident that it would be easy enough to ignore Jake’s existence, especially given that he seemed intent to ignore yours too.

–

As expected, you're immediately assaulted with humidity and the smell of alcohol as you step through the doors. Josh stands at your side as you both scan the crowd for familiar faces. Sure enough, tucked into a far corner is Sam and Danny – both of them already seeming to be a little tipsy. Josh grips your hand and the two of you wade through the sea of bodies, doing your best to avoid stray elbows and drunken party-goers.

“You actually came!” Danny shouts at you over the din, a rosy hue on his cheeks from the alcohol he’s no doubt already indulged in. He and Sam called it “pre-gaming.”

“Josh convinced me!” You shout back, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“It’s my irresistible charm!” Josh answers, grabbing your hands in his and playfully beginning to sway you both back and forth.

“Charm my ass.” Sam mutters, just barely audible over the music. Josh just shoots him a glare before returning his attention back to you.

“Where’s Jake?” You ask, allowing Josh to lead you both a little bit more towards the center of the packed room. It's slow going – everyone else is hardly paying attention to anyone trying to get through, but you manage to get halfway there before you both become trapped from moving any further.

“Sulking over there. Just like I said he would be.” Josh jerka his head in the direction to his left and you follow the movement, finding Jake leaning up against a wall with a red solo cup in his hand.

Your eyes meet his and he immediately drops your gaze, the corners of his mouth dropping into a frown. You want desperately to march over there and demand he tell you what had changed but you refuse to back down first. This wasn’t the place for that anyway.

“Aren’t you gonna go sulk with him?” Josh asks, smiling down at you. The blue strobe lights make his teeth almost glow and it reflects off his sharp cheekbones.

You shake your head.

“I feel like dancing tonight.”

He only grins before pulling you in closer to him, letting go of your hands to place his palms on your hips. You bring your own hands up and lace your fingers together behind his neck and allow him to guide your hips to the beat of the music. You close your eyes and lean into him, allowing the music to drown out everything else. If you keep your eyes closed, you can almost imagine that it's his twin out here dancing with you instead.

Josh is attractive – that had been obvious from the moment that you first saw him. And maybe in another lifetime you and him might have been more than friends. But you and Josh both knew that in this one, best friends were all you would ever be. You’d kissed once at a party… You’d both been drunk and high off your asses and afterwards you had both agreed that there wasn’t anything there. But in this moment, you almost wish that you’d fallen for him instead of Jake. Falling for Jake had clearly been foolish given how he dropped you so quickly. Making you feel like he wanted you one moment only to then act like he hated you the next. You know Jake was angry though – especially if the glare that he's giving you and Josh from his place against the wall is anything to go by.

As you and Josh sway and rock to the pounding music, Jake’s dark gaze stays locked on yours. There's anger in his eyes that makes you want to pull away from Josh but you refuse. Instead, you only pin him with one challenging glare of your own before turning your attention back to Josh.

“What’s got him so pissy?” Josh asks you, leaning his head down to press his lips against your ear so that you can actually hear him.

“Hell if I know.”

Josh hums and you can feel the sound reverberate through his chest thanks to the close proximity.

“If I didn’t know any better…” he starts with a sly look on his face, “I’d say he looked jealous.”

“He’s just a dick.” You say, venom lacing your words – the hurt that you’d been keeping to yourself these past few weeks finally beginning to spill over. Josh looks taken aback for a moment before smoothing over his expression.

“Sorry.” he says, though you can tell that he doesn't really know what he was saying sorry for. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He knows that your relationship with Jake is… different. And it pains him to see you both angry at each other but he has no idea how to fix it. Instead, he seems intent on making it worse.

“Wanna give him a show then? Show him what he could have had?” Josh whispers, a wicked smile on his face.

You smile back at him and nod. He uses his grip on your waist to pull you into him even more so that your hips are flush against each other. The lights have morphed from greens and blues to a deep red and the base is pounding in your chest. You move your hips from side to side, pressing your face into Josh’s neck as he moves with you to the beat. It isn't even dancing anymore – just mindless grinding against each other. You deliberately keep your gaze pointed away from Jake but you know he's still watching. You can feel his piercing gaze even from across the room.

Just as you begin to lose yourself fully to the moment, a strong hand wraps around your bicep and yanks you harshly from Josh’s grip.

“The fuck?” You spit, spinning around to be met with none other than Jake, his chest heaving and his brows pinched together in anger.

“Jake, what the fuck is your problem?” Josh yells, regarding his twin with a frown.

The two seemed to be sizing each other up, though you knew that Josh is just enjoying getting a rise out of his brother and feeling protective over you. But Jake… you can practically see the rage oozing from him. The red lighting makes his smooth skin almost glow and his dark hair falls on either side of his face, framing his sharp features. If you weren’t so pissed at him you might be tempted to kiss him.

“This doesn’t involve you.” Jake finally says, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“The hell it doesn’t!” Josh snaps back, eyes blazing in defiance.

“Josh…” you hedge, placing a calming hand on his forearm. His eyes sweep to yours, immediately softening. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

Josh stares at you for a moment, debating whether to step away or not. You hold his gaze, silently trying to let him know that you could handle this on your own. Finally, he dips his head and steps back.

“I’ll be with Sam and Danny if you need me.” He tells you, before retreating back to the corner.

You watch him go before spinning on your heel to glare back at Jake.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You rip your arm from Jake’s grip as you speak.

“What’s wrong with you?” He shouts back angrily. “Grinding on my twin brother like that!”

This time, you're the one to reach out and harshly grip his arm. You tug him backwards, leading him towards a side door that you know leads to a bathroom downstairs. You don’t turn back to look at him as you lead the two of you down, instead focusing on trying to steady your breathing and bring down your blood pressure. You're so angry you could scream.

As soon as the bathroom door is shut and locked behind the two of you, Jake has you pressed back against the wall, nostrils flared and eyes blown wide as he regards you.

“What in the world is wrong with you, Jake? You’re acting like an asshole.” You seeth, hating the tremble in your voice. Despite your anger, his closeness is still affecting you.

Jake doesn’t answer. He just stares down at you, chewing on his plump bottom lip.

“No. I’m not doing this with you.” You shove him away from you, the sudden movement causing him to stumble back slightly. “You don’t get to ignore my existence and then get pissed just because I danced with Josh.”

“If you wanted to fuck him so badly you could at least have the decency to do it in private. Instead of throwing yourself at him like a whore in the middle of a dance floor.”

You balk, taken aback by his harshness. Never in all the time you’d known him has he ever spoken to you like that – to anyone for that matter.

“Fuck you.” You spit, clenching your fists at your sides to stop yourself from punching his stupid, perfect face. “You have no fucking right to be pissed at me, dickhead. I’m the one who should be pissed at you!”

“The fuck did I do?”

You roll your eyes.

“If you don’t know what you did then I’m not going to tell you.” You turn your back to him, intent on going back upstairs. “Figure it out yourself.”

“Go right ahead, then. Go fuck my twin like I know you want to!” He snaps and the sheer aggression in his tone makes your whole body freeze. Icy hot anger washes over you and you feel like you could explode from anger.

“What” You seeth, turning back around to face him, “did you just say to me?”

He meets your gaze, defiance coating his expression.

“You heard me.”

“Is that what you want me to do? You want me to fuck Josh?”

“I don’t care what you do. Just don’t do it where I have to fucking watch.”

His eye twitches, betraying him. You take a step closer and he steps back away from you, caging himself in against the wall. Acting on sheer impulse, you press in close to him – so close that your lips are almost touching. His chest heaves with each breath he takes and a sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten in the low light of the bathroom.

“I think you care.” You say, voice so low it's almost a whisper.

“I don’t.” He growls, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I call bullshit.” This time, you let your lips just barely ghost over his as you speak. “You’re just pissed that he’s not too much of a pussy to make a move like you are.”

In a flash your back is slammed against the bathroom wall, knocking the air from your lungs. You gasp but the sound is swallowed by Jake crashing his lips into yours. You can’t help but to kiss back and he groans into your mouth. You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his black jeans, pulling him in closer to you. The kiss is rough – teeth clacking together as you practically devour each other.

Your chest begins to burn and finally you pull back for air. Jake looks completely ravished, cheeks flushed and lips slick with spit.

“Fuck me.” You demand into the silence, your voice coming out embarrassingly high pitched.

“Sure you don’t want Josh to do it instead?” His voice cracks on the last word, ruining his facade but you aren’t ready to give up the fight yet.

“Okay.” You tell him, shrugging your shoulders as you make to step away from him.

Before you can even begin to detangle yourself from him, he’s spun you around and slammed your face into the cold tile wall.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He mutters, smothering your body with his own. You can feel his hard cock pressing into your ass and you can’t help the whimper that falls from your lips. “Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispers, a tad softer than before.

You open your mouth to snark back, to tell him that he’s an asshole or a dick or something, but all that comes out is a breathless, needy moan.

“Words, Y/n.” He insists, digging his fingers into the meat of your hips.

“Do it, Jake. Fuck me.” You demand, pressing your ass back into his hard length and drawing a breathy little groan from him. “Please.”

The “please” is all it takes. Jake hooks his fingers into your waistband and roughly yanks your jeans and panties down. You hear him unzip his pants and the clink of his belt buckle as he pulls his own jeans down just enough for his length to spring free. He swipes a calloused fingertip through your folds, brushing against your swollen clit and causing you to gasp.

“Fuck.” The word falls from your lips like a prayer, though to whom you have no idea. God surely wants no part in what Jake is about to do to you.

“You’re dripping, angel.” Jake murmurs, swiping through your pussy lips again to gather as much of your wetness as he can. You can’t see him but you can hear the wet sounds of his hand pumping his cock, your slick making it easy. “Fuck, you look incredible like this.”

You whine, shoving your hips backward to let him know that you’re more than ready for him. Jake takes the hint, spearing you with his cock and burying himself inside you all the way to the hilt. The stretch is painful and wonderful all at the same time and you both cry out at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. You want desperately to hear that noise from him again so you bear down on him as much as you can, contracting your muscles to squeeze him.

“Shit.” He grits out through clenched teeth, wrapping one arm around your lower belly to keep you in place. “You keep doing that and this isn’t gonna last very long.”

“Move, Jakey.” The nickname escapes you unbidden but he doesn’t seem to mind, instead finally starting to rut his hips against you, his cock dragging along your walls deliciously.

You bring both hands up to brace your palms against the wall and let your head fall back onto Jake’s shoulder. Immediately, his lips attach to the sensitive skin as his thrusts pick up in speed. It’s brutal – no finesse as he pounds into you so hard that you see stars. You know that you’re being too loud but you can’t seem to stop yourself. Curses and please and his name spew from your lips with reckless abandon but he’s too far gone himself to silence you. He detaches his lips from your throat and tosses his own head back, little grunts and moans escaping him with each thrust of his hips into yours. He draws you in closer to him with his forearm and his free hand reaches up to wrap around your throat. He squeezes just enough to restrict a little bit of the blood flow, causing your head to swim with pleasure.

“Who gets to see you like this?” He demands as he drops his forehead to rest against your shoulder, his thrusts somehow picking up even more speed. Your knees slam into the wall each time he pistons in and out of you and you know that you’ll have bruises there tomorrow – battle scars to remind you of this glorious moment.

“You, Jake. Only you.” You manage to say through a wheeze, his fingers still wrapped around your throat.

“That’s fucking right.” He confirms, pace beginning to falter. “Touch your clit, angel. Touch her for me.”

You comply, sliding one hand down to circle feverishly against your swollen bundle of nerves. Your body is trembling, Jake’s grip on you the only reason that you’re still upright. The coil in your belly tightens dangerously, a feeling like none other beginning to claw its way up your body – completely engulfing you in the feeling of Jake, Jake, Jake.

“M’ gonna cum.” You warn him, speech coming out slurred and barely comprehensible.

“Fuck, me too. Give it to me. Now!” He demands and the band inside you snaps.

You cry out loudly, your whole body trembling as the pleasure inside you hits its peak. Jake lets go of your throat and the rush of blood to your head coupled with the way he keeps pounding into you sends you tailspinning into another orgasm. Your pussy feels like it's on fire – the pleasure and overstimulation of two orgasms so close together sending you into a state of fucked out bliss. It seems to go on forever, your whole body going slack against him.

Finally, Jake pulls from you and immediately ropes of his own release paint your ass and lower back. The moan that escapes him sounds angelic and you wish that you could have recorded it somehow.

You both just stand there for a long moment, the silence only broken by yours and his panting as you both recover from the mind-blowing orgasms that you just experienced.

“Y/n.” His voice cuts through to you, sounding breathy and tired but so much softer than it had before.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, a frenzied rattle of the door handle causes you both to jump.

“Open the fucking door!” A drunken voice that you don’t recognize calls out. “I’ve gotta take a piss!”

Jake lets go of you and you both quickly yank your jeans back up, doing your best to straighten your clothes and hair. Without saying a word, Jake strides over to the door and unlocks it, pushing a frazzled and drunk looking young guy out of the way and exiting the bathroom.��

“Watch it, buddy.” The guy pouts, rubbing his shoulder where Jake had run into him.

“Move.” You demand, pushing him out of the way again to catch up to Jake as he angrily stomps up the stairs. “Jake!” You call, leaving the poor guy to stare after the two of you confusedly.

“Jake, wait!’ You yell, ascending the stairs and stepping back out into the cramped dance floor. You’re disoriented, the loud music and flashing lights suddenly causing you to feel dizzy. You just barely see Jake disappear out the front door before you push and shove your way through the throng of people to follow him.

Stepping out into the cool night air, you see Jake fumbling in his pocket for his car keys.

“You can’t just leave, Jake!” You call, tears beginning to brim in your eyes.

He must hear the tremble in your voice because he finally stops, turning back to look at you. He looks distraught.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He tells you, eyes dropping to stare at your shoes. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

“W-what?” It feels like you’re spinning – like someone put your brain in the dryer. You can feel the blood drain from your face. “Why would you-” You stop yourself, unsure of how to even continue.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, before rounding the corner out of sight, leaving you to stand there alone on the sidewalk.

–

Two weeks pass. You and him don’t speak. Hell, you barely even speak to Josh – his presence serving as too much of a reminder of what had happened. It felt like a fever dream… almost like it wasn’t even real. It’s like your own worst nightmare has come true. And not only that, you’re being forced to deal with it completely alone.

You’d let passion and desperation dictate you towards the decisions that you’d made that night. Had you wanted it in the moment? Yes, you had. But now that it was all over and Jake clearly regretted it, you’re sure that the friendship you’d had with him is shattered beyond repair. Before, there’d been hope of fixing things – of talking things out and going back to how you once were. But now… There’s no reason to hope. You fucked the guy who used to be your closest friend in a frat house bathroom and there’s just no going back from that.

Josh has been calling and texting you incessantly, begging you to tell him what happened that night. But you refuse. And after he wouldn’t give up asking after the second day, you’d resorted to just ignoring him completely. The fact that Jake hadn’t told him anything – despite having always told him everything, speaks a thousand words about how Jake feels about it.

–

A knock echoes through your apartment, just barely audible over the Hozier album you have playing in the background. Thunder rumbles softly in the distance and sheets of rain pelt your windows. It’s a perfect night for a book and some wine – a way to detach yourself from the drama of the past few weeks.

You sigh audibly, closing your book and placing it on the coffee table next to your wine glass. You figured it wouldn’t take long of ignoring Josh’s messages for him to come and find you. You rise from your seat and make your way to the front door, shoulders taut with the anxiety of having to tell Josh what happened. There’s no way he’s leaving you alone without the full story.

You open the door, expecting to see a mop of curly hair waiting for you but instead you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of his twin.

“Jake?” You ask incredulously, instinctively taking a step back from him. “You look…” You trail off. He looks awful. Dark bruises mar the smooth skin beneath his eyes and his long hair lies limp across his shoulders. He’s soaking wet from the rain.

“Can I come in?” He asks and you nod at him, stepping aside from the doorway to make space for him to step inside.

He stands completely still after closing the door behind him – awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Let me get you a towel.”

You don’t give him time to reply, instead hastily retreating to your bathroom to grab him a clean towel to dry off. Perhaps it’s cowardly to run but you truly hadn’t been expecting to ever see him at your door again.

When you return he’s still in the same place, dark eyes watching you warily as you hand the towel to him.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, drying himself off the best he can.

You just incline your head at him before retreating back to your living room, jerking your head in the direction letting him know that you want him to follow you.

Your record had gone silent so you go over to your record player and flip it over before pressing play again.

“Why are you here, Jake?” You ask him, turning back to face him with your arms crossed tightly across your chest.

“To say that I’m sorry.” He gingerly places the towel down on the coffee table, his whole body looking tense and uncomfortable. You’ve only ever seen him look like that around strangers. Somehow, you suppose that that’s what the two of you have become to one another.

“Sorry for what?” You bite out, your hurt spilling over into your words like poison. “For leading me on for months on end or for fucking me in a bathroom and then calling it a mistake?” You don’t want to fight with him. Not anymore. But you can’t seem to stop the harsh words as they spew from your mouth – lashing out like an injured animal that’s been shoved into a corner. You suppose he has done that in a way, showing up at your own home unannounced in the middle of the night like this.

Jake flinches back slightly at your words, shrinking in on himself like he’s been struck.

“For… all of it, I guess.” He shrugs, eyes staying locked onto the floor at your feet. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” That makes you angry. So angry you could cry. He came all this way – did all those things to you… and yet he doesn’t know. “I think you and I both know that you owe me more than that.”

He nods once, eyes finally sweeping to meet yours. His gaze almost makes you soften. Almost.

“I assumed a lot of things, Y/n. And made an ass of myself because of it. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

You collapse onto your sofa, suddenly feeling like you’ve run a marathon. Jake eyes the spot next to you but makes no move to join you.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.” You tell him honestly.

“I- I thought you and Josh were together.” He admits quietly, shoulders sinking in defeat.

Somehow, you don’t doubt his words – nor do they shock you. You’ve known the twins long enough to see little hints here and there of the insecurity that lies buried within Jake. The way he’s quieter in large groups, like he feels like his words aren’t welcome. The way he shrinks back sometimes, afraid to voice his thoughts for fear of being judged or mocked. You've seen the way that he always looks to Josh in moments of doubt, like he can’t fathom ever going against what his twin might want of him.

Josh had even hinted about it once, a long long time ago. He’d told you that he worries about Jake sometimes when he thinks about when they’re older and he won’t be around to look after him. You hadn’t quite understood the meaning behind his words or the depth of their bond back then. But now you do. They’re connected in a way that you can never understand. Their very souls are intertwined – wrapped around each other lovingly just as they had been since the womb. It’s a beautiful thing that you even find yourself envious of from time to time. Bonds like theirs… It's something that doesn’t happen often.

But that bond seems to come with a caveat for Jake – burdened with thinking of himself as the lesser twin. He’d always been the quiet one, happy to let Josh be in the spotlight and content to bask in the residual warmness of him. You doubt either of them are really even aware of the way Josh always seems to be the leader. It’s natural to them – something that Jake has never seemed to have a problem with before. Until you came along.

“We aren’t. Nor do we plan on it. He’s my best friend, that’s all.” You tell him honestly.

“I know that now. Josh told me I was an idiot.”

You huff softly. He smiles tentatively in return.

“He also told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and to listen to what you’ve been telling me this whole time.”

You cock your head to the side, imagining the way Josh probably said the words. You can picture it – the little glimmer that undoubtedly took up residence in his eyes. He loves to play the wise sage.

“And did you?”

He nods his head.

“I think so. That’s why I came tonight. To apologize. And to beg you to let me try again.”

You sigh heavily, closing your eyes for a moment to listen to the rain tap against the glass.

“Please.”

You open your eyes to see that he’s come closer, those brown eyes of his boring into yours in a way that makes your knees weak. You’re fairly certain that those eyes will be the death of you some day.

“You really hurt me, Jake. All those times that we spent time together… the things that I told you – things I’ve never told anyone before. And then you just-” You throw your hands up in defeat, words failing you.

“I know what I did. And I am so so sorry, angel. I’m sorry for making you think that I could ever not want everything with you.” He sinks to his knees on the floor in front of the sofa, pleading eyes turned up to you.

“Then tell me.” You demand.

“I can’t.”

“Jake…” You sigh, feeling your walls beginning to stand themselves up again. You’re so tired of waiting on him.

“Wait!” He calls out sharply, the loudness of the word shocking the both of you. “Just…” He starts again, voice quiet again. “I need you to ask me first.”

You want to deny him. To tell him to man up and just say it. But the way he’s looking at you, the way his shoulders have drooped in utter defeat… You can’t find it within your heart to deny him.

“Are you in love with me?” The question escapes your lips soft and quiet – like a secret passed between friends.

“Yes.” His answer is a prayer and you his savior – this room his confessional and you his altar.

The air punches its way out of your lungs as his words register in your brain. Those words that you’d so desperately been wanting to hear.

“I love you too.” The way your own confession slips past your lips without any thought makes his eyes light up – as if he couldn’t believe it until he heard the words from your own mouth.

“Let me love you right.” He pleads, bringing his palms up to slide over your cloth-covered thighs. “Let me do this the way I should have the first time.”

“Okay.” You whisper, reaching out for him like a small child. You want to feel him – all of him, for the first time.

“Not here.” He says, rising from his knees and lacing his fingers with yours. “Your bedroom. Let me do it right, angel. Please.”

Once again, you’re powerless to deny him so you rise to your feet and lead him into your bedroom. He presses your shoulders lightly, signaling for you to lay down. You relent, falling softly into the mattress. He climbs in after you, eyes glowing in the dim lamplight. The light spills from over the lampshade in the corner, bathing you both in warmth. It makes his hair reflect almost auburn as he hovers above you. The room is silent save for the distant rumble of thunder and the soft sound of your record player wafting in from the other room. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Keeping his eyes trained on yours, Jake hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, pausing momentarily as he waits for you to give him permission. You nod and he slides the fabric down your legs so that you can kick them off. His eyes sweep down your bare legs, lingering on your cotton panties and the ever-growing dark spot over your clothed pussy. His eyes stop at your knees, eyeing the bruises there.

“Did I do this?” He asks forlornly, delicately tracing his thumb over the marks.

You nod.

“I wanted it, though. It’s okay.”

He just shakes his head, pressing a featherlight kiss to each knee before sweeping his chocolate eyes back to yours.

“It’s not.”

There’s finality in his words. You don’t argue. Instead, you reach out for him, pulling him up towards you so that his weight settles on top of you, his knees pressed into the mattress between your legs. You unbutton his shirt slowly, reveling in each bit of tan skin it reveals. His necklace sways as he reaches back to toss his shirt to the floor. Your own shirt is next, leaving you in nothing but your panties and revealing your breasts to him and the cold air of the room. You’d opted to go braless since you got home and Jake seems more than appreciative. He stares at the hardened buds, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, palming your left breast in his calloused hand. It feels so good to have his touch on you and a whine spills out of you at the simple action.

“So are you.” You tell him, reaching out once more to unbutton his pants. He slides the denim off himself, revealing his cock straining through the fabric of his boxers. You extend your hand to palm him through the material but he stops you. You flick your eyes up to him in question.

“Not yet. I want to worship you first. The way you deserve.”

He pulls your panties down your legs and a groan slips out of him at the sight of your glistening center. He’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You guess you are.

Without warning, he dips his tongue through your folds, drawing a whiny cry from you. He dives into your aching pussy with what you can only describe as reverence, alternating between dipping the tip of his tongue into your slit and circling your swollen clit. The pace is maddening as he goes from fast to soft again, making you writhe on the bed with each pass of his talented tongue.

“Oh, Jake.” You whine, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging. “That feels so good.”

He moans at your praise and the vibration makes your legs quake and your thighs to clamp down around his head.

“Please, Jake. More.” He answers your wanton cries immediately, pulling his face away from your dripping cunt and pressing a long, talented finger into you. He curls it upwards, brushing against that special spot inside of you.

You arch your back, mouth dropping open in pleasure as he keeps his finger pumping in and out of you as he descends back down onto your pussy, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling.

“Please. Oh fuck!” You cry, thrashing your head from side to side as the pleasure inside you begins to build. “Please!”

“Shhh.” He shushes, rising from your heat momentarily. “You don’t have to beg, angel. I’ll get you there.”

He dives back in and the sound that comes out of you barely sounds human. The band in your belly tightens and tightens as your orgasm draws nearer and nearer. You’re chanting his name between each moan and your whole body begins to quiver.

“You’re so good, Jake. So good. Oh fuck!”

At your words, Jake moans loudly into your pussy and curls his finger just right – sending you crashing into your orgasm. You writhe and pant, eyes screwing shut in pleasured agony.

As your mind comes back to the present, you open your eyes to see Jake breathing heavily with a flush overtaking his bare chest.

“Can I taste you?” You beg, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve the ache that has already returned despite your climax just moments before.

“You don’t have to, baby.” He says with a lopsided smile, tracing delicate circles against the inside of your calf.

“I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

“You already did.” He says with a bashful smile and you notice now the wet patch darkening his boxers.

“Oh.” You breathe out, another wave of wetness escaping you and making your thighs slick.

“Couldn’t help it. You look so pretty like that, moaning my name and telling me how good you feel. You don’t- I wasn’t even expecting to cum tonight. I want this to be about you.” There’s only truth in his eyes.

“Come here.” You tell him.

He crawls up towards the head of the bed, settling in next to you as you toss one leg over his thighs to straddle him.

“Do you trust me?” You whisper, leaning in close to him.

“Of course.” He ghosts his lips over yours, drawing you downwards to press a sweet kiss to your lips. It’s nothing like the kiss you shared before, desperate and anger-fueled. This one is soft – almost innocent if it weren’t for the lust coursing through the two of you.

Once you pull away, licking your lips at the taste of him, you slide your body downwards and settle yourself between his legs. You mouth over his cock through the fabric of his boxers, his length already beginning to harden again. He whines softly, hands clenching in the sheets at his sides.

You use your teeth to pull his boxers down, eyes not leaving his own until his cock reveals itself to you. Everything about Jake is pretty and his cock is no exception. It’s perfect. His head is flushed red and weeping where it rests against his naval and you can’t help but to reach out and wrap your fingers around him. He hisses at the feeling. You stroke him, smearing his precum around to slick the way as you begin to pump him slowly.

Jake tosses his head back, plush lips falling open and melodic moans spilling from between them. His chest is flushed and sweat beads at his hairline, making his beautiful skin glow in the lamplight. You can’t help but to lean down and press a sweet kiss to his tip, then another down the side of him. Jake huffs a laugh.

“What?” You ask him with a smile, continuing to stroke him lazily.

“N-nothing.” He manages to get out, eyes fluttering almost shut. “You’re sweet.”

“So are you.” You tell him before sinking your mouth down around him.

He lets out a choked groan as his tip hits the back of your throat and his hips buck up off the bed.

“Oh fuck!” He cries out as you hollow your cheeks and slide your mouth up his shaft, pressing your tongue into the spot just below the head.

You bob up and down for a moment before he’s pulling himself from you and grabbing you to pull you up towards him. He crashes his lips against yours again, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You moan but he swallows the sound, delicately bringing his hands up to cup your face as he kisses you.

“I need you inside me. Like, yesterday.” You tell him, earning yourself a sweet laugh.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

He flips you over so that your back is pressed back into the mattress and you watch in rapt attention as he grips his hard cock, sliding his tip through your folds to gather your wetness. Finally, he sinks into you slowly, savoring every inch as he goes.

You moan loudly as he finally bottoms out, halting his movements as you both revel in the feeling of being close again.

“You feel so good, Y/n. I should have told you the first time how wonderful you are… how beautiful.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in closer to you and you both moan as his cock slips deeper into you.

“It’s okay.” You tell him as he begins to rock into you – long, deliberate strokes that set your whole body aflame. “Fuck Jake, you feel so fucking good.”

His hair tickles your face as he fucks into you but you can’t be bothered to move it. You’re consumed by the feeling of him – of his cock hitting you so perfectly, by the noises that fall out of him after each thrust, by the way his face twists in pleasure as your walls clench around him. It’s all too much and not enough and you reach out blindly to grip his shoulders, pulling his torso down so that you can capture his lips again.

His lips are so soft as they move against yours and you can tell that he’s close already by the way his thrusts are growing sloppy and by the tremble of his shoulders. He’s holding back – waiting for your pleasure before he allows himself his.

“You feel so good, Jake. So, so good.”

“Yeah.” He whispers, bringing his hand up to swirl his tongue around the pad of his thumb before pressing it into your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. “Tell me you’re mine, angel. Please.”

Your back arches against your will as white hot bliss spreads through you, overtaking your body from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your mouth drops open and a loud whine escapes you as you try to form the words.

“All yours, Jake. All yours.” You chant, digging your fingers into his biceps as your orgasm builds yet again. “Yours, baby.”

He lets out a sound that almost sounds pained and his eyebrows pinch together as his thrusts grow faster and faster – the sound of his skin hitting yours and the slick squelch from between your legs filling the small bedroom.

“W- fuck! Where?” He begs you, his whole body trembling.

“Inside! Fuck, Jake. Inside. Wanna feel it. Oh fuck!”

He moans loudly as he finishes, painting your walls with his release and the sound of him is what drives you over the edge. Your release gushes out of you, drenching him in your pleasure as you both ride out your orgasms together. The world around you melts away to just you and him, blanketed in your pleasure and safe from everything else that threatens to come between you. It’s everything.

When you both finally come back to yourselves, Jake slowly pulls himself from you before allowing his weight to settle on top of you completely. It’s silent. The rain outside has finally stopped.

“I love you.” He murmurs into your sweaty skin, lips tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I love you too.”

-----

If you're reading this, I love you! 💗

Taglist:

@jakeyt

@joshym

@wetkleenex-gvf

@dannys-dream

@jakesguitarsolo

@profitofthedune

@jaketlove

@brujamagik

@ohgodthefeeling-gvf

@gvfpal

@ignite-my-fire

@demolitionndann

@mybussyinchrist

@writingcold

@way-to-go-lad

@sinsofstardust

@jjwasneverhere

@wildbluesorbit

@twistedmelodies

@neverwanttofallasleep

@sunandthemoontwinflames

@mackalah

If you would like to be removed from/added to my taglist just lmk!

#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka angst #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka

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walkgojo · 2 months

Text

" JUST A BIT OF RUST. "

✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ:

✗ tags! toji fushiguro x any!reader, angst, toji fushiguro disappearance, discussion of grief.

✗ notes! this is my first fic, please don't get the pitchforks and i would highly suggest listening to someone from a warm climate by hozier on REPEAT while reading.

✗ word count: 1.8k

edit: i adjusted a few typos/missing words! sorry for any mistakes 🫧 part 2 will be coming soon.

✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ: ✧·ﾟ:✧·ﾟ:

six seasons had passed since you saw him last. for three of those, you ignored the white motorbike that was parked poorly outside your apartment. you felt the gentle crush of salt beneath your boots the first winter, you cursed the sight of it, even as your gloved hand swept the snow from its cracked leather seat.

when the kind relief of springtime came, you noticed the edges of the rear breaks had began to rust, some damage to the frame. you stood, staring with cautious eyes. if you thought about it long enough, you could remember the warmth of his back pressed to your cheek as you arms circled his waist. you shake your head. he left you, need you be reminded. you had considered calling some sort of recycling service for the vehicle, but you felt a sort of kinship with the bike. you'd both been abandoned by toji.

you knew his job was dangerous when you had met him; he would disappear for days. you didn't know what about you had made him so fond, but you always noticed when he'd lean ever so slightly into your touch. a soft palm that cupped a bloodied cheek so kindly as the other hand wiped away the dirt from his skin.

"what is it?" you whispered, cheeks growing flushed from his steady stare.

"nothing." he breathed, hands gripping your hips as he sat patiently on the dining room seat.

a fool you'd been, you thought. to think that a haphazard relationship with a man, whose work could not even be disclosed to you, could find itself successful. a fool you'd been, imagining a life where you could come home to him every night. a fool you'd been, savoring the salted taste of his lips, as if they'd ever fully belong to you.

when you finally came to terms with the idea of total loss, you felt paralyzed. knees pulled to your chest as you curled into the couch, cheeks flushed as your eyes stung with tears. while you had reluctantly allowed rage to cradle you for a year and a half, grief felt much more suffocating.

because, what if abandonment wasn't the truth? what if the reality was that your lover had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time? facedown in a gutter, purpled and stiff flesh that was once soft and warm. what if toji no longer existed, who would know to tell you?

you bite down on the inside of your cheek, not minding the taste of copper against your tongue as you try to save yourself from the cold plunge into full distress.

if he was dead, would you have felt it? would something in your body alert you? like this sudden emptiness — not absence, but the weight of nothing pressing down into your chest. the gravity of love torn forever. the violent severance of hope, the ties it had made around your heart now cut and shredded? would you have felt that?

you felt rage, you felt grief, but hope was stored somewhere below your collarbones and above your ribcage. it had cozied itself there, it had burrowed and made a home. a place for toji.

if toji was gone, if your body had not felt the cosmic loss, he would live right there. on the same spot he laid his cheek when he came home late at night. the space between your collarbones, above your ribcage, to hear your breathing and heartbeat all at once. a reminder that the love was not a fantasy, that he had it in physical form. someone who could wipe the same tears he shed as a child, someone who smiled at him, someone who asked for more of him but asked nothing of him. that had never happened before.

—

"what was your childhood like?" you whispered, curling into his side. your voice was soft and hesitant, like speaking to a wild animal that you were afraid to spook.

there's a silence that hangs in the air, you can only hear the cars outside driving over wet pavement. it's like that for a few minutes before you hear him release a breath. "why?" you feel his arm tighten around your waist slightly, almost as if he feared that any real answer might drive you away.

“because,” a pause, “i want to know you.” your fingers slowly trace over his jaw, traversing over skin before meeting his lips. he pressed a kiss to the tips of your fingers, your breath catching in your throat. it had always surprised you when he met you with such tenderness, but you didn’t want it to surprise you anymore. you wanted to expect intimacy, tenderness, soft touches and gentle stares. so, you had to ask. “so, what was it like for you?”

“no,” he responds simply. “no?” “no, it’s only going to make you upset. it’s going to ruin whatever mood this is right now.” you roll your eyes, those gentle fingers of your now pressed to his chin, forcing him to look at you. “it’s not ruining this, it’s making it something new. different.” your fingers slowly release him. there’s a flash of understanding in his eyes and he wants to take your invitation. “it wasn’t like yours. it wasn’t what people make childhood sound like.” his fingers grabbing your wrist before guiding your hand to his face once more, placing his cheek against your palm. it was dark in the room, the only light was the street lights that filtered in through the curtains. you could barely make each other out, but you could feel him relax again. “i’m sorry.” apologies were foreign to toji — well, apologies uttered when nothing wrong had been done. he was used to the sounds of apologies as final words right before the firm snap of a neck, the crush of a skull. but, this phrase from you was different; it came like honey and was free of fear. it felt like a balm — relieving the burns of what someone else had done.

he never understood how you could do that. how you could ease some of the rage in him, enough to take the edge off, to urge him into unassuming existence as he let himself feel small for the first time. small enough to cradle, small enough to be cared for. he presses a kiss to your forehead, exhaling against your skin. the same way you felt nervous on the back of his bike before relaxing into his grip was the same way he felt now. pillow talk, whispers in the night that dared to open him wide — he needed to press of your skin to feel secure, he needed to grip your waist to know he wouldn’t fall to the wayside. you’d never let him. — the soft slam of the kitchen cabinet, you look up from the kotatsu. its drawing a soft hum from you as you sipped on a cup of barley tea. “toji,” you coo, lips curled kindly, “come sit with me.” he turned to look at you, something sharp in his gaze. it struck a chord of fear in you, something unsettling stirring in the pit of your stomach. anger, disgust, something you couldn’t describe. your gaze followed the line of his arm, a bookbag in his grip with his clothing stuffed inside.

you quickly pull yourself from the warmth; it felt like ice was beginning to cut through your skin as you stood to your feet. he was leaving. he was leaving. he was leaving in a way that felt permanent. “are you, um, headed out for a job?” you whisper, fearful that your voice would strain if you spoke any louder. he turns back to the cabinet, grabbing some snacks you had purchased and shoving them in his bag before zipping it shut. “i’ll make sure i get some more of those for you,” you try to convince yourself that the silence isn’t some sort of permanent farewell, but the white-hot pit would assure you otherwise. “i’m leaving,” toji starts and finishes all in one breath.

what is this fear in your fingertips? why do you feel as if you’re trembling?

“i-i see that. how long will you be gone? three days?” the most he’d ever been gone was twelve days, with short messages every four days. he shrugs, walking toward the door as you follow, feeling like a pathetic puppy. so much so, you almost whimper as his fingers grip the door knob but don’t dare reach for his keys. “four?” he doesn’t meet your gaze. he simply turns, hand releasing the door before pulling you hard into him once more. a kiss to the top of your head, a squeeze to your arm before he made out the door a final time.

—

you stand in front of the bike, gripping the keys between your fingers and palm, taking a deep breath. you placed your hands against the seat, unsure of what you wanted to do. to mount, to leave, to ride, to walk. you just knew you needed to leave the apartment soon but the longer you thought, the more you felt pins and needles pressed into the small of your back. beads of sweat starting to pool, eyes shutting for a moment. the summer heat had been pressing down on your chest, gripping your shoulders unkindly, your hair stuck to the back of your neck. you remembered the relief of cool wind that last summer when he’d pick you up from work, the air cooling you down as you let him take you home. you couldn’t tell what you were craving now but maybe you’d get it the moment you got on the bike.

“what do you think you’re doing?"

the voice is cool and low as you were just about to lift your foot from the ground. your breath catches, a biting chill striking you. you're frozen in place, eyes widening as your stare bores into the convenience store across the street. the sound came from behind you. you do nothing, you say nothing. you wait, thinking that maybe this was just an old memory that was echoing, a near hallucination of something that was. until it comes again. "i said, what do you think you're doing?"

a hand on your shoulder, it's firm as it turns you around. your body is reluctant, fearful to know who is behind you. it's as if all sensation leaves your flesh, as if you've been thrown into a dream. body nearly numb, ice cold in this hot summer. it takes time, but you turn, eyes meeting the expanse of his chest. you can't look up, but you know. there it is, that white hot pit now searing through your stomach and crawling up your throat. "i was going for a ride." your voice is something you cannot recognize, it's so fragile it could shatter. fingers trembling once more, like the last time. muscle memory. "you're not going anywhere, sweetheart."

#jjk x reader #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji

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ohforficsake · 4 days

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Talk Refined

main masterlist

Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.

This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!

Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI

A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.

Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.

I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.

Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!

Dividers by @cafekitsune!

Part I: The Darkness of the Night

He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue.

No way of knowing he forever will be.

A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye.

A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.

And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.

But you are a rich distraction indeed.

A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch.

The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams.

Molding gossamer to your form.

A promise of something just for him.

Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.

You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.

It sends sparks racing across your skin.

He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.

His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.

The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares.

Again revealed to him now.

He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.

“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.

“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.

And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.

“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”

“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.

"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.

"They have our desires."

"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin.

"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."

The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.

"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."

He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.

"For you see, they don’t care."

And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.

You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.

Unsure if begging forgiveness.

Or reveling in their jealousy.

But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form.

The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.

Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.

Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.

Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.

Lead to Orpheus’ torment.

They say there are ways to speak with the dead.

But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.

A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.

The way you welcome the thick weight of him.

All of him.

Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.

And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.

“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”

“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”

And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.

“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”

A prayer for relief.

“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”

Through vulpine teeth.

“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”

And it moves the hound to cease its lashing.

Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone.

Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.

And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears.

And Orpheus begins to move.

Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.

As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.

The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.

And his cock throbs with the thought of you.

His wife.

His muse.

But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.

Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.

And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.

And he turns.

And you reach for him.

Before disappearing for the final time.

With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.

Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer

He’s called Doran in this lifetime.

A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips.

“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.

Round brown eyes where you expected green.

“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”

“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”

His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize.

“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.

And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.

“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”

And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.

“May I help you with something, dove?”

You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”

And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.

Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.

“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.

Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.

“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”

He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch.

He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.

“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”

“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”

“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.

And takes his eyes over you instead.

“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?”

“I am.”

“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”

“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.”

His smirk dimples one cheek now.

“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”

“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”

“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”

And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall.

But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.

A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.

You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”

“Meet me here. In the morrow?”

And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.

But you arrive on foot the next morning.

_____

You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons.

On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore.

On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.

On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.

Your head spins from something other than the height.

On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own.

Warm and worn.

“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.

“Is that wise?”

“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”

And you scoff but press into his touch all the same.

“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”

“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”

“But,” he purrs, “do you?”

And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.

Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected.

“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.

“I must.”

“But what of my payment,” he hums.

“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”

“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”

You steal the words from his lips with your own.

And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.

You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.

He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.

“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”

“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him.

“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”

“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”

And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.

“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”

And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.

“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight.

And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.

For you are a gentle lady with a good name.

“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.

To the hard line of his length underneath them.

Your breath skips.

You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much.

“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”

“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.

The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.

He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first.

You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.

Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.

“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”

A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand.

“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”

His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed.

“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.

“Never before is a long time indeed.”

He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.

“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.”

You hear only half of his babbling.

The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out.

“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”

He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.

There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.

“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”

“Now, Doran, I need—”

He doesn’t make you wait.

And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.

Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him.

He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.

He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.

You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.

Kisses softer now.

Grateful.

“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck.

He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes.

Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.

Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there.

“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.

You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning.

Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.

Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.

“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.

“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.

His smile dimples his cheek.

“Are you—”

For once he hesitates to speak.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.

“None but myself. And my duty.”

He hums in acknowledgment.

You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl.

“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”

“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”

He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves.

“Dove?”

And you frown at the nickname.

“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”

“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach.

And something about it makes your heart preen.

“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?”

It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.

“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.

“No,” you gasp.

“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”

And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last.

The only.

_____

Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.

Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.

Your father.

Was your mother’s concern.

And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.

Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.

“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one?”

“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”

You can tell there is more to the sentiment.

“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Rakish.”

“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes.

“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.”

This draws a smile across your lips.

“He treats you well?”

“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.”

And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.

_____

The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land.

Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.

And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate.

The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall.

A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.

“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”

“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”

“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.

“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.

“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”

“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.

“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.

He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you.

A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.

“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”

“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”

You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep.

Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts.

“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”

“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”

“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.

Holding you against his heart.

And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.

“What of my safety?” He asks.

A plea to keep you here.

“What shall I do?”

“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed.

“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”

_____

A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.

And you offer the customary wave and nod.

But your heart hammers against chainmail.

Eyes darting through the crowd.

Willing a shock a white to appear.

And as you near the gates he greets you.

Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other.

You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.

Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.

You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.

Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates.

And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.

But they matter not.

For you do not return home under your own power.

You return home under a shroud.

Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.

“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”

And the blacksmith.

Wrought with grief.

Is never seen again.

Part III: The Helper. The Protector.

He’s called Ezra in this lifetime.

Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon.

And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.

He was an associate once too.

But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks.

Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.

He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.

“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.

“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.

“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.

Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar.

“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse.

Fuck.

“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”

“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.

But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.

And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name.

“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home.

“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”

And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.

Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time.

“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.

“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.

He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.

“Apologies, may I?”

And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt.

Just over your heart.

“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast.

He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate.

He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.

“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”

“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine.

Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.

“How…did you know that?”

“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”

“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip.

Everything he does is briefly fascinating.

“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”

“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”

“Alexander McQueen, I know.”

You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now.

And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.

“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile.

“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”

“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling.

“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”

And he echoes your grin.

“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”

“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?”

“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”

“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”

“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”

He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”

And you nod, amusement playing across your features.

“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”

“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.

“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.

He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”

“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”

And this is the moment.

That Ezra falls in love.

And you’re not far behind.

Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.

The world spins around the pair of you.

Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab.

And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour.

“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”

He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”

“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Keep it.” He smiles.

And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.

But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks.

You turn around.

And look back.

Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.

He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.

And you both move.

Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.

Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.

Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes.

Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.

Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other.

And this lifetime. Having found each other again.

Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!

@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot

@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord

Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.

Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.

This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.

Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.

"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.

#prospect ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #hozier drabble challenge #ohforficsake #talk refined

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psyches-love-nest · 2 years

Text

(+𝟙𝟠) 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭'𝓼 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾?

1 → 2

3 → 4

Hello! Welcome to my first post on this blog. My content is mean to cover the sensual and most empowering side to sex, without leaving the juicy stuff aside of course. Since I cannot control what could be triggering or not to others, I would ask you to interact with the following information with discretion and take my words with a grain of salt, please. I did my best to convey all messages with utmost respect and sincerity, so now pick one pile or two? and enjoy your reading!

I'm open to receive tips or feedback on the replies/ask box.

English is not my mother language, so please be tolerant of my typos and odd grammar♡

✧𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 1✧

Oh dear, your next boyfriend has such a heart of gold! He would be worry of not hurting your feelings and he wants you to feel comfortable around him before having your first night together. He’s highly intuitive and can sense you are hiding something important from him, though. Some of you have remained chaste so far and you could feel a little bit embarrassed because of that, but let me tell you something really quick; there’s no law stating you should have your first sexual encounter before some age. I’m proud of you for not succumbing under social pressure or giving up on the idea of having your first time with a meaningful person. For some of you the time to have sex has arrived, but for others I see delay as you must confront your fears before that can happen. This later group might’ve been taken advantage of or faced one leech after another and that left you trusting no man.

This is not a dumb or insensitive person you would be dating. He’s willing to wait until you open up to him about what’s haunting you, then you would have a round of trash talking your exes, social beliefs, and end up bonding over each other’s traumas. He'd still want to have intimacy with you afterwards but would pass the choice on when it’s happening to you. He might ask you what’s off limits or unappealing to you while he’s still thinking straight, since you would be meeting the wolf that remained asleep until you hit the mattress. Under his stare you would be shaking out of excitement and his hot big hands would get you to melt into a pond with their sensual caresses. He would search for your face and eyes to check if he’s pressing or rubbing you on the right spots.

His solely fantasy of you was fucking you senseless. Despite of his kindness and patient, he is a concrete and to the point man. He goes without a plan and relays on his instincts, yet he would never go for unprotected sex or putting self-pleasure under yours. Yours comes first actually. He would like to see you in all fours and enter you from behind with short and quick thrusts to torture you, and then fully penetrate you at once. He would surprise you by pulling you back from your hair and your ear would be close to his mouth hearing his heavy breathing. If you got a derogating kink, he would call you “a slut” or accuse you of enjoying yourself way too much for a former celibate. He might intentionally forget to draw the bedroom's curtains to preserve some light as he would go for a check-up on you later. He’s a methodical person, so he would use his two thumbs to open your vulva and check on the color, taste and search for your weak points. The more restless and awkward you get during the inspection, the more aroused he would be.

This man is slightly mean to his lover, but knows when to stop the teasing (after you've gotten frustrated and wet) and go for the real fun instead.

I do paid +18 readings. My approach to the subject can be either therapeutic or recreational according to your needs and demand. Feel free to contact me for more information♡

✧𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 2✧

The desire and affection you would have for each other would be strong. I’m getting his sexual fantasies of you and yours of him at the same time, so I hope I’m not mixing anything up here. While he’s not an overly imaginative person, he would want you to be the main character in bed. It’s something about your personality demanding it. You might be bubbly and talkative in comparison to his introspective and steady personality. He assumes you would start babbling as soon as he focusses on stroking your beautiful legs and leans to press his lips on your calf, tracing a path of wet kisses up to your inner thigh. He would take your hand and first place a kiss on your wrist, then under your attentive watch he would put your index and middle fingers into his mouth and suck on. He’s certain you will make a comment on his dick, he’s proud of his length and skills in the bedroom.

He might have square hands with short and thick fingers. You could’ve wondered how they would fit inside your vagina the first time you saw them. You might fantasy of how your boyfriend’s fingers could shape you inside, their thickness’s sensation, and how deep they could reach and operate delicately since THEY’RE HUGE. Your boyfriend was right on assuming you would react at the sight of his penis, you would be staring him down there a lot until you could grip it in your hand. You two might be attracted to oral sex, but your boyfriend fantasies of you giving him a hand job and his cum dripping down your hand and splashed on your clothes.

He has a good stamina and would go for several rounds before you passed out. He'd want to see you exhausted yet satisfied after multiple orgasms. I’m getting he does not care about being a dom or sub and might be open to try unorthodox practices as long as you’re happy and both get satisfied. This is a quiet yet romantic person at heart. There’s a cute side to his sexual fantasies, too. After he had made love to you, he would check how emotional fulfilled you are with each other.

I do paid +18 readings. My approach to the subject can be either therapeutic or recreational according to your needs and demand. Feel free to contact me for more information♡

✧𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 3✧

This man could be your sugar daddy and/or he’s older and has plenty more sexual experience than you. He could take you out for dinner and give you presents as part of a ritual that ends in you two having sex in a hotel room. The fantasy starts with him having control over the relationship and your adoration and total submission to him are granted. He would like to see you wearing a chocker with a gold medal with the engraving of your first name’s initial and his together, but he wouldn’t be satisfied with that alone. He would expect you to wear the jewelry and clothing he gifted you in your next date. I’m getting he likes when you take the initiative and do things for him like wearing nail polish of his favorite color.

He's aware some of the practices he’s into are not for the faint of heart, so he would ask for your consent and you’d likely agree to participate in whatever he proposes out of curiosity. That’s how your journey within the BDSM world would begin, darling. His fantasies include a lot of roleplaying, he would imagine you wearing a harness and sitting on your knees waiting for his command. He would start off with playfulness and giving you simple orders but his mood would turn progressively darker and would command you to take his penis fully in your mouth. If you do well, he might “reward” you letting you swallow his cum. Some of your games would be afoot even before you make it to the bedroom, like he could ask you to wear a chastity belt from morning to your night meeting, so he can remove it from you only before penetrating you.

He would fantasy of you wearing that sexy lingerie with slits on the cups that caught his attention online before purchasing it for you. I see he has a collection of sex toys and he would like to try one by one on you. He might blindfold you with your hands tied to the headboard and whisper soothing words to your ear before proceeding to fuck you. He might patiently wait for the day the trust between you had strengthened enough to ask you to switch. From then on his fantasies would focus on you making a mess out of his asshole with a dildo as he’s kneeling and making noises through a gag. He could have a derogating kink that he hid so well ‘till that moment, but there would come your turn to treat him like your pet and seeing him getting aroused by your taming.

I do paid +18 readings. My approach to the subject can be either therapeutic or recreational according to your needs and demand. Feel free to contact me for more information♡

✧𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 4✧

Let’s begin saying your next boyfriend promises fun, laughter, and his lively personality is very contagious. Regardless of his real age, he got both the energy and stamia of a teenage boy. He’s restless, adventurer and permanently horny. He would want you to get loose on your outings (you might have a stressing work, debts or a tough family situation at that time) and he would be waiting for the occasion to pounce on you. He is more like a puppy to a scaring depredator, though. He’d see you like a nymph or high priestess, seductive yet demanding of respect. He would worship you as craving the seemly unattainable. I’m getting you two are polar opposite and your personality could be calmer, mature, and you’re seemed as elegant/lady-like. He frequently fantasies with kissing you, leaving you disheveled and a loss of words by his tongue technique and caresses. He could not help but teasing you publicly, like sneaking a hand under your skirt at dinner with friends or grouping your ass when no one is watching as a warm-up for what’s awaiting you at home.

If you’re dealing with body dysmorphia, this person would help you to dispel those intrusive thoughts and to love your body as much as he does it. He doesn't see chubby arms, stretch marks, a plain face or flat chest (or whatever you’re worrying about), but a stunning woman. You would’ve never suspected that total surrender to a man meant getting the best sex of your life. On the other hand, while he was waiting patiently for the day you could have sex, he spent his time fantasying of looking at your ass and teasing your asshole while fingerfucking your vagina. I see this fantasy repeating over and over on his mind, but with alternative endings. In one he turned to hold your hips with both hands and was entering you from behind, the other shows as he leaned and went for stimulating your anus with his tongue.

You’re mutually intellectual and curious people, so this connection would open a door for exploring both’s general sexual fantasies and trying new things. Your person doesn’t get scared or disgusted easily, he’s a tremendous freak in the sheets and would get to know every inch of your body. There would be trust and no secrets between you. And while he might seem imprudent and unconcerned with trivial matters, this person would not go for unprotected sex (unless mutual agreement) and he knows of respecting boundaries.

I do paid +18 readings. My approach to the subject can be either therapeutic or recreational according to your needs and demand. Feel free to contact me for more information♡

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olayaxnangyaite · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 (I), 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

NETEYAM SULLY x O'LAYA NANGYA'ITE!METKAYINA!OC!

SUMMARY - THEY DO NOT KNOW IT YET, BUT IT WAS LIKE EYWA MADE THEM FOR EACH OTHER AND THE SEA LED HIM TO HER. THE WATER CONNECTED TWO HEARTS THAT LONGED BUT ONLY GAVE THEM BORROWED TIME.

WORD COUNT: 1.9K ( I AM SO SORRY)

TRACK #1 : SOMEONE NEW by HOZIER

A/N: NO ONE ASKED FOR T BUT HERE I AM FINALLY WRITING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE SERIES THAT HAS BEEN HAUNTING ME FOR WEEKS.

YOU CAN SEE THAT THERE ARE FEW REPRESENTATIONS OF REAL-LIFE CULTURES IN THIS FANFICTION, I FOUND THAT TAKING INSPIRATION FROM THAT VERY BEAUTIFUL CULTURE SOUND JUST RIGHT AND PERFECT TO REPRESENT THE METKAYINA CLAN! JUST TAKE NOTE THAT THOSE MENTIONED ARE FROM A REAL CULTURE! THAT'S ALL :)

I REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING THIS ONE, THE TRACK THAT YOU SEE THERE IS THE THEME SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER ( I recommend listening to it while you read). ANYWAYS, IF YOU EVER RAN INTO AN ERROR OR A TYPO, PLEASE DON'T MIND IT HUHUH JUST KNOW THAT ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. ENJOY READING!

“Just breathe…” Ao’nung whispered into her ear as he guided her arms upon shooting the arrow, he held her arms straight and adjusted her posture.

“Focus. Only look at the target” He let go of her and motioned for her to shoot it, she took one more deep breath and closed one eye, she stretched her arms and gracefully let go of the nock. You can see how swiftly the bolt flew and perfectly pierced the bright red target. O’laya lowered her bow and took a good look at her masterpiece, she grinned and looked back to Ao’nung to see his reaction. He had a proud smile on his face but was soon replaced by a boastful smirk.

“That’s good, but of course, not as good as me” He mocked as smugness filled his ego.

O’laya rolled her eyes and swung her bow up trying to playfully hit him, “Oh yeah? Then what if I-” Before she could take a swing at him a loud longhorn roared throughout the village, stopping everyone in their tracks.

“Maybe next time, O’laya–when you can actually hit me” She scrunched her nose in annoyance and dropped her weapon on its rack.

On their way, they stumbled upon Roxto who was also walking his way to the front. He seemed to have heard of the announcement too.

“What’s going on?” Roxto asked as he walked with them, “Maybe it’s a drill? Or the sky people? I think we need to get our things. At last, after years of training we can finally fight” Ao’nung’s expression was filled with determination, he’s been meaning to make his father proud after all that training the two of them endured.

“Skxawng.” She lightly patted the back of his head which caught him off guard. “Us Metkayinas are not at war, and it will never be. Don’t ever wish that upon the people.” she was grave, with her detested towards the vision of war.

The trio arrived at the shore, where the people gather around something or someone. They walked closer and were surprised to see Na’vis, but distinct.

They approached compelling the crowd to make way. Ao’nung eyed the two kids who seemed to be the same age as them. And of course, the visitors did the same.

As Neteyam paid his respects and also observed the features of this new clan. “Oel ngati kameie” O’laya responded to them and showed hospitality towards the newcomers as she stood beside Roxto and Ao’nung. But Neteyam’s sight lingered on the girl, he couldn't seem to spell it out but he was drawn to her.

Her eyes were as blue as the ocean, her hair was like waves filled with sea shells, and her light skin shimmered against the sun.

Roxto was here throwing questions that seemed to mock the Neteyam and Lo’ak, but Neteyam couldn't care less. Usually, he would defend himself, but this time he couldn't seem to move–it was like he was caught in a trance. It was like he had seen the most beautiful creature there is.

“Ao’nung, Roxto. Enough” She scolded bashing their hands away from them. Tsireya who just arrived, also greeted the visitors. O’laya noticed how her eyes casually glanced at Lo’ak, she let out a titter upon realizing that this is going to be a situation in the future.

O’laya, Tsireya, Roxto and Ao’nung had been friends since the day they all reached the age where they could walk out of their pods and run along the shores and dive with the creatures under the water, so in short, they have known each other since they were kids.

O’laya and Ao’nung usually train together as an order from their fathers, Tisreya and her would practice medicine and healing as a time killer–sometimes they would also teach children to follow their steps as they often look up to them.

After a long process of accepting the Sully family, with Ronal and her critical opinions towards the infamous ‘Toruk Makto’, it was decided. The children of the Metkayina were required to teach them how the reef people work as one. And of course, the two girls were delighted to welcome the Sullys to a new home–Ao’nung on the other hand was forced and demanded to follow his father’s orders.

“Come. I and O’laya will show you the village” Tsireya hovered over the family with delight and a welcoming demeanour. They helped carry the baggage and briefly showed them around the village before leading them to their new home.

“This will be your Marui pod, your new home,” O’laya displayed, carefully placing the baggage down near the entrance. Tsireya gaily accommodated the family while O’laya wait for her at the corner.

Nightfall emphasized the luminous beauty of Awa’atlu. The skies were dark, but the village was alive, the ocean was like fireworks and corals had their different colours. The people were preparing for their supper, it was an annual festival that the Metkayinas perform. It was a way to keep culture humming and alive, it pays respect to the ancestors, and it showcase joy and appreciation towards the gifts and blessings. Looks like the Sullys were just in time, this somewhat serves as a welcoming ceremony. It just so happens that it was also a welcoming ceremony that the Chief arranged.

Roxto, who insisted to invite the Sullys, came to the ceremony with them. The family came and was surprised with the feast and the majestic harmony of the instruments, the solemn pound of the drum and the exquisite flow of the Pūkāea.

Neteyam and the other kids were surely amazed to be awakened to another culture and to open their eyes to a fresh start. They sang with apparent joy on their faces and danced with the wind barefoot on the sand.

The Chief and the Tsahik had arrived not long after, the people announced with lilting to respect their entrance. Behind them were the reef children and followed by O’laya who was at the very back.

Tsireya as the Tsakarem, wore a unique loincloth that was covered with pearls and corals. Ao’nung wore a bright shoulder and waist garment just like his father.

O’laya on the other hand, wore a kelp-like loincloth with braided ends. Hanging pearls and shiny shells would lightly clang as she walked, her hair moderately designed by specifically purple shells. She wore very faint tattoos on her shoulder blades and her neck.

And of course, Neteyam’s focus would soon be on the girl once again. His mouth narrowly agape from the sight, he was denying it in his mind and was trying his best to keep his head away from her. But he just can’t and I don’t think he won’t anytime soon. All the reef people had their unique designs, but for Neteyam, O’laya was simply different. And at this moment, even if Neteyam would restrict himself, he knew, that that girl across the shore would be the end of him.

The ceremony continued and the people feasted on the food that was handmade by the best culinarian in the village. The ceremony was just splendid, it was a night of colours and signing. Tsireya performed as a majestic dancer, side-by-side with O’laya, who sang with her. The men of Metayina, including Ao’nung and Roxto, had performed a very strong and emotional war dance that represented the tribe’s pride.

“Ah…Jake Sully!” Tonowari greeted with enticement, “I see you have met the people. This right here, is Pōwhiri. A welcoming ceremony” he explained with pride for his culture.

“Irayo, Tonowari. This is well appreciated by me–by us family. Thank you” He beamed, with Tuk by his side–who was also amazed by the dancing children.

“zola‘u nìprrte’, Jake Sully.” it was a fatherly conversation that no one intend to listen to, we all know how fathers talk. “Come. I will introduce you to my people.”

After the main event, The people subdued and enjoyed the party to themselves. Tsireya and O’laya parted ways and strolled through the ceremony by themselves. The music was still there, but it was now in a calm that would recreate the relaxing sound of the sea. The background filled with laughter and faint chatter, the people drinking booze and enjoying themselves.

“You should talk to her..” Kiri suggested, eyeing her brother the whole ceremony and noticing how he would constantly look for her. “Huh?” Proving that he was lost in her once again, not even hearing what Kiri had said. “You are no better than Lo’ak” she teased.

“Just look at her, Kiri” His eyes soften at her, and his expression grew calmer. It was like there are visible hearts in his eyes. “Nothing will happen if you just look at her. Talk to her, brother.” Kriri was right, she knew how much head over heels Neteyam was. And it was rare, she had never seen him so focused and so determined to someone.

The boy sighed and grabbed all his courage to follow his sister’s wishes. He pushed himself into the crowd and tried his best to excuse himself to walk to her. And finally, he was now a few feet away from her. She turned in his direction and noticed that he was lingering. O’laya smiled at him and didn't want him to think of her as a snob. Neteyam soon proceeded to her and finally, the two met. “Hey,” Neteyam smiled and stood just beside her.

“Did Ao’nung insist you drink it?” She assumed it was like she already knew what they were up to this whole time. “Yeah, he said ‘To be true Metkayina, you must drink the waipai’” He mimicked the way he talked. O’laya found it hilarious and crackled at his mockery, Neteyam’s tail swang joyfully and was proud to make her laugh effortlessly.

“Neteyam Sully?” She guessed, still not knowing which is which between him and his brother. And he nodded with acknowledgement. “Enjoying the ceremony, I see”

“Yeah. The food is great, Thank you” Neteyam replied, there was a pause after his reply. Rather an awkward silence between them as both didn't know what to talk about. “ did not like the waipai though…” He mentioned,

“I see, I can smell the Waipai on you. When you drink it, everybody could smell it. “ She managed to blurt out. “ yeah, it was too late when I realized he was tricking me.”

During the whole ceremony, Neteyam and O’laya would talk and laugh, sometimes O’laya would almost run out of breath from too much laughter. He would crack jokes and tell stories back from home, some were not even worth laughing at but she did.

The two were lost in their little world, talking about everything, It was the first words they shared but seemed like they have known eachother for too long. A bond of friendship was formed in a matter of just two conversations about how they would train and how important their roles were to their clans.

They were strangers to eachother, someone new. But Neteyam found something in her that he didn’t know that he needed, and that night for him could last forever until- “Neteyam!” a small and childlike voice called out for th boy, cutting off their connection. “Let’s go home” Tuk, who was a few feet away was calling out with the rest of his family.

He looked back at O’laya not wanting to leave her side, waiting for an assurance for him to leave. “Go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She confirmed. He grinned at the thought of seeing her again and soon followed his family.

A/N : OMG THIS WAS FUCKING LONG FOR A FIRST CHAPTER. I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE IF YOU FOUND THIS CHAPTER EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG. I AM ASLSO APOLOGIZING FOR THE TERRIBLE WRITING SKILLS, I AM STILL STARTING ANG I WOULD LOVE TO LEARN AND NOT TO MENTION, THIS CHAPTER IS SLOW BURN AT IT'S SLOWEST. ANYWAYS, I WILL BE POSTING THE CHAPTER TWO VERY SOON, IM ACTUALLY WRITING IT AT THIS VERY MOMENT. IF YOU EVER RAN INTO ANY ERRORS OR TYPOS, DO NOT BE AFRAID TO DM OR MENTION IT TO ME, I WILL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO CORRECT IT. AND OFC SUGGESTIONS AND REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE OPEN. MY DMs ARE OPEN SO CHAT ME UP, LETS BE BFFS GUYS MUAH <333333

IF YOU EVER WANT TO BE IN A TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES, PLEASE, PLEASE MY DMS IS ALWAYS OPEN 24/7

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