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frannyzooey · 2 years

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In The Dark: 9

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, angst

a/n: Thank you to @mourningbirds1 who gave me so much help with this chapter. She is one of the most insightful readers I’ve ever met in my life, and is endlessly patient with me. The lessons she’s been giving me in writing have been invaluable, and I am forever grateful for her. Thank you also to @charnelhouse and @krissology who read pieces, or the whole of this, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch - the entire beginning of this one is for you, my love. ❤

Series Masterlist

Your ass is an obsession for him.

It has been right from the start, since the very first time you came over.

He used to fantasize about it - squeeze his aching cock in the tight fist of his own harsh hand while thinking about you; in the shower, in his bed at night.

He recalled memories of it, his eyes closed tight.

You, bending over to get something from the refrigerator.

You, crawling on all fours of his living room as you knelt and adjusted the papers around your laptop.

You, walking away from him or in front of him, or leaning over his sink in the kitchen or the bathroom.

Once, a glimpse of it when you wore an especially short skirt and reached for something in his cupboard.

That was during the days when he was still holding out, still denying his attraction to you even though he could tell you wore that skirt just for him. (You told him as much last week, and he made you put it on so he could fuck you in it.)

He still fantasizes about it, fucking his fist in search of relief when you’re not there, but now when he does it, he has the physical feeling of it imprinted on his palm.

The plush mold of it.

The lush weight in his grip.

The perfectly round globes that fill his hands just right when he squeezes you through your jeans, or through your underwear, or through nothing at all.

You know how much he likes it, and have worn special things just for him: thongs, cheeky underwear trimmed with lace, one time some extra short sleep shorts that didn’t even touch the bottom curve. All of those things drove him wild, but it was the innocent things that got him even harder.

The slow reveal of it underneath his t-shirt, when you faced away from him and stood between his spread thighs as he lounged shirtless on your couch.

The soft curve of it when you wore your more practical, innocently white underwear, the cotton almost transparent.

The rounded bend of it when you placed your foot on the edge of the mattress and smoothed lotion onto the lower half of your leg after showering.

He can never keep his hands far from it - always cradling it in his hold when he kisses you, pinching it when you walk in front of him, sliding his hands back and forth over the bare mound of it when you lay on your stomach in bed. He likes to grip it tight when he pounds into you from behind, likes to stroke himself in a slick, rapid beat until he comes in hot spurts across it. Likes to use his fingers to gather his own mess up and rub it into your tender skin like a balm after biting the bottom of it, likes to swat it just to see you jump before your mouth stretches into a grin.

He has bitten it more than once, to stake his claim with a visible mark and he feels for the spot now, in your straddle on his lap. His hand mapping your smooth skin, it slides down to cup your ass through your underwear, digging into the meat. His fingers push underneath the hem of them to touch your skin and you shift forward in his hold, spreading your legs wider as you kiss him.

He sighs into your mouth, your hand slipping down to cup him through the thin fabric of his briefs. He’s so warm down there, the juncture of his strong thighs surrounding your hand as you find the tip of his cock and circle it through the cotton, and his head falls back into the couch with a soft grunt. His hips push up, raising you slightly in your seat before he brings them back down.

“If we’re gonna do it again, I gotta eat.” His eyes flutter shut, your own fixed on his handsome face as his mouth goes slack and they drop down the line of his throat, watching his pulse beat strong under the tanned skin. You can feel it on your tongue if you try hard enough; your hand opening to gently stroke the hardening length of him and with a frown, he reaches down to pull your hand away.

He brings it to his mouth, his eyes still closed and brushing his lips against your knuckles, he gives them a kiss.

“I’m starving,” he smiles, finally looking at you.

“The usual?” you ask, and he nods.

Staying on his lap, you hold onto his arm while you bend back to pick your phone up off the coffee table and though he just told you he’s too hungry to think about fucking you again, his eyes stay on your body when you open the delivery app, his hands running appreciatively down your sides in a weighty drag.

Tapping in his usual order from the place down the street, the app says it’s been received. An email notification pops up at the top of the screen and you almost dismiss it, but when you see the subject line, you freeze.

[UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON: ADMISSIONS]

“Holy shit.”

“What’s wrong?” He watches your eyes fix intently on your phone screen, the illumination of it reflected in your pupils as they read whatever it is you’re looking at. You look so serious right now, a worried frown appears between his dark brows while he waits.

“I can’t believe it,” you say, breathless. Your hand drops down onto your thigh, your phone now forgotten. Your voice is so quiet, he almost doesn’t catch it. “I got in. I got into the program.”

An immediate grin lights up his face, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into a hug and his bare feet dance on the floor, your body jiggling in his hold as you bump on his thighs. You return the embrace with a giggle, winding your arms around his neck and you’re smiling into the warm crook of it with excitement as he peppers rapid kisses against your temple.

“Congratulations, my Birdie,” he murmurs, his voice low in your ear. You stay in place, hugging the solid breadth of his body tightly and the grin slips from your face for a moment, thinking about leaving him. You push it away, hugging him tighter.

“Thank you,” you reply, your words slightly muffled.

Guiding you back so he can see your face, he cradles it in his hands, his thumb stroking the plump of your lower lip as he smiles up at you and even though your mind is racing through so many scenarios, you can’t help but match it.

“I just can’t believe I got in. I thought for sure they were going to turn me down, with how long it was taking.”

He shakes his head, a heavy frown settling in reprimand at your doubt. “Not me,” he answers, sure of his answer. Using his hold, he brings your eyes to his. “I knew you were going to get it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the pride on his face sliding into something more solemn. It’s only there for a fraction of second before he reins it back in favor of something more resigned, yet happy, but that fraction of a second is just enough for you to see it.

“We’re gonna miss you.”

You say nothing, your chest sinking under the weight of those four words. You have to go, you’re going to go, you’ve been waiting all this time to go - but that doesn’t mean you want to, right at this moment.

No, at this moment, in your seat on his warm lap on your couch, with the pools of his expressive brown eyes looking up at you, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your tongue and the weight of his cock still felt inside you from an hour ago, you don’t want to leave.

Flakes float past your window, the sky a deceivingly bright blue for how bitterly cold it is outside and slightly embarrassed at the tremble of tears approaching, you lean forward to kiss him before they fall.

Taken aback by the fierceness of your mouth and by the need in your grip on his shoulders, he sits up straighter, gathering you in his arms.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly against your lips. “Hey.”

He kisses you, trying to slow you down and you push him back into the cushions instead, forcing yourself on him. He doesn’t have it in him to refuse you this time. Not when you so clearly need him. Not when he understands this feeling: the feeling of getting everything you want at the wrong time.

Almost trembling in his hold, you’re frantic in your touches and your mouth tastes like desperation, your tongue sliding hungrily against his. He can feel your brain working, your hands clinging on for dear life in order to anchor yourself in this moment, as if you’re trying to memorize the feeling of your bodies moving together.

The urge to protect you rises in him; something that’s laid dormant there from the start. If you want to be taken out of your head and reminded of his presence right now, he’ll do it.

A change comes over his body, one you can feel. His hand slides hungrily up your spine, burying into the hair at the nape of your neck and for a moment he splays his hand to cradle the base of your skull before his hold abruptly tightens, fisting your hair. The pull on the strands burns your scalp and his eyes flash when he uses the hold to tug you back.

“What do you want, Birdie?” His eyes fall down the stretched line of your throat, stopping at your heaving chest under the thin material of your tank top. He reaches up, palming the weight of your breast through the fabric. Just like his hold on your hair, it starts out soft, and then gets harder. He watches your face while he circles your nipple with his thumb until it beads under his touch and the ghost of a smile curls at the edge of his mouth.

Pulling on your hair in a silent reminder of who is in charge, his other hand reaches for your wrist, guiding your hand between his legs. He flattens your hold over the curve of his bulge, his cock twitching with interest as the tension between you builds and he pushes your fingers to mold around him.

“You want it in your mouth?”

You say nothing, and he flexes his hand over yours, making you rub him as he hardens.

“A mouth like yours was made to take me, did you know that?”

His hold on your hair pulls you closer, and he lets go of your hand. You loosen your grip on his cock, and he tilts his head in reprimand, pushing it back into place. Understanding his silent rebuke, you go back to stroking him and he lifts his hand to touch your mouth, tracing the shape of it. Two of his fingers come to rest on your bottom lip, and you instinctively open up, letting him push them inside. He strokes the wet muscle of your tongue, watching you wrap your lips around the digits and suck. Between his grip on your hair and his fingers in your mouth, you’re trapped.

“You were made to take a cock like this here,” pushing his fingers deeper. He tests you, saliva flooding your mouth the further back he gets and his cock fully hardens in your hand as he watches your throat work with a swallow.

“You’re so good at swallowing. Do you want it all, Birdie?” His fingers pull back, giving you room to breathe for a moment before he pushes them back in.

“You gonna be a good girl for me and — fuck,” he whispers in a groan, watching your lips circle the base of his fingers, feeling your throat open up. “If I give it to you, you gonna fit it all in there?”

You nod, as much as you can with his hold still tight and when he slowly slides his fingers out, you feel how wet they are. A string of drool drips down over your lip, sliding down your chin and before you can register, he quickly leans forward, a flick of his tongue lapping it up.

“Where else were you made to take it all? Hmm?” His slick soaked digits drag down the plane of your chest, catching on the neckline of your top as he pulls it down and he keeps going; your breathing picking up pace. His eyes are burning into you, watching your reaction and when you feel his knuckles brush against the damp crotch of your panties, you whimper.

“Here?” His hand flips, stroking you. “I know you can take the whole thing here, even though it’s a lot.”

His voice slides into a mock sympathy, and the tone of it shouldn’t make you as wet as it does, but a fresh wave of arousal flares under your skin. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

He waits for your nod and when you do it, he grins in wicked victory; the sight of it sinful. His eyes shift into a darker shade and he guides you closer, his mouth brushing against the length of your neck.

“You know what I think?” he whispers, ”I think you like it when it hurts. I think,” his tongue licking a line over your skin, “you like it when you’re stretched full. I think you’re partial to it, Birdie.”

Your hips shifting forward to force his hand to rub against your center, he gives in for a moment. Relief floods through your body, slick soaking the thin fabric and he rubs at the damp spot for a moment, running his tongue over his lower lip at your increasingly needy, yet distracted hold on his now fully hard cock.

His voice drops lower. “What about here, Birdie?” he asks, leaving the hollow of your entrance to push further back. His fingers follow the curve of your ass, until they rest featherlight between your cheeks.

Enough for you to feel the pressure of them.

Enough for the implication to make your face tighten with an aroused frown, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s a snake charmer, he’s a hypnotist, he’s a cat playing with a mouse, waiting to devour it. His fingers push against the ring of muscle, just a tiny bit. “Can you take it all here?”

You wait a beat, a moment of suspended time hanging heavy between the two of you when you swallow and then – you snap.

Lunging forward, he meets you halfway and your mouths meet with a crash, opening immediately for each other. His fist stays in your hair, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth with his tongue and before you can reach to pull his cock out, he twists and pushes you down into the couch.

His body falls heavy on top of yours, a weighted grind of his hips against your core when your thighs wrap high around his waist and everything is frantic; your breathing, your touches, your clothes being ripped off and tossed to the ground.

Making room for himself back between your thighs, he reaches down to line himself up and when you stop him, he frowns, looking up at you. He is half gone already, the heat of your cunt felt against the thick, rounded tip of his cock and he takes your hand and pushes it into the cushion above your head with a growl, kissing you.

He tries again, his cock catching against your entrance, so close to where you both want to be, but when you squirm underneath him, he stops.

“What? What’s –” he asks breathless, his tongue sliding along his bottom lip to catch your taste.

You flip underneath him, positioning yourself face down on the couch and you arch your back, fitting the curve of your ass against his hips.

“Like this,” you ask, bracing your hands on the edges of the cushion. “I want it like this, okay?”

He groans, pressing his cock tight against the crack of your ass.

Stuff of his fantasies, he wants to fuck you here so bad it hurts. He’s thought about it more than he would ever admit — this final act of claiming every part of you for himself.

It feels like a lot - the stiff weight of his cock resting there and he rolls his hips in a slow stroke, mimicking the act itself. His hands braced by your shoulders, his body draped over yours, you match his thrusts with a roll of your hips, meeting him. When he lifts himself off of you, you whimper in need.

His knee digs into the cushion next to yours, his hands tugging your hips higher in his hold and with his other foot on the floor for leverage, he lines up and shoves himself inside your cunt, pushing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” you cry out hoarsely, the word catching with how thick he feels sliding in so deep. His hand comes down with a crack before gripping your ass cheek so tight his knuckles turn white and he uses his hold to tug you back onto his cock, his hips pushing forward in a rapid slap against your skin.

The pace is brutal, fast, overwhelming, stroking against a spot inside you only he has ever been able to reach. You close your eyes and clench your jaw, letting out your muffled moans into the couch. He’s filling you so fucking tight in this position.

“Just like that,” you beg, your voice cracking. “Fuck – just like that. Just like that.”

Entering that blissfully empty higher plane, you know you sound desperate but you can’t seem to care. He feels so good, driving every worry you had clean out of your head with the command he has over you right now and you give yourself over to it, letting him use your body.

Don’t think about leaving. Don’t think about what this means.

A familiar tightening coils hot in your belly, the force of it pushing its way up, up, up, until the tingle of it makes your breasts tighten, your throat tense, and –

He pulls out, pulling you back from the edge.

“No,” you start to whine, and he scoots his knees forward, taking the stiff length of his cock in his hand and slapping the wet weight of it against your tight hole. His fingers replace his cock, two of them pushing snug inside your cunt with a practiced slip and you start to fuck yourself back onto his hand.

“Fucking look at you, Birdie,” he praises, a slip of awe in his low voice. “I’ll give you what you want. Just hang on and be a good girl for me, okay?”

His fingers fill you, pulling out before pushing back in. You’re so wet it’s audible; something he adds to when he slides his fingers out for a quick taste, sucking his fingers with a lewd sound before pushing them back inside your slick heat.

“Please fuck me,” you beg, your thighs tensing when he slips in a third. It’s unbearable, the way you can feel the stiff weight of his cock resting heavy against you like a promise just out of reach. Finally, he slides his fingers out and guides his cock back into place, something you almost thank him for until you’re distracted by another feeling - the pads of his slick fingers stroking the tight ring of your ass.

He doesn’t ask, but you don’t say no either and just like before, there is a beat – and then a slow push inside.

“Shhhh,” he soothes when your body tenses under his, your fingers curling around the edge of the cushion in a fierce grip when he slides his cock in all the way down to the base at the same time he eases a finger inside your ass. His knuckles are slick with you, smearing damp against your skin as he tests the depth of what you can take. “You can do it. You can take it.”

You nod, unable to form words anymore with how full you feel. He pulls them out in tandem, guiding them back in again at the same time and he does it again, again, until you’ve started to relax and your cunt pulls him deep with each clench.

“Can you take another one?” He’s the one begging now. “Oh fuck, can you take another one for me? Tell me. Tell me you can.”

“Yes,” you cry out, a sob catching in your throat when he adds a second to the first, easing them in. “Oh god, that’s – it’s a lot, Ezra. It’s a lot.”

He keeps his fingers buried, letting you adjust around them, and keeps fucking you, groaning at how wet you’re getting.

“I know honey, I know. But you look so fucking good like this,” he chants, slowly picking up his pace again. “You’re so fucking good for me. So good. You’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna make me fill this pretty pussy up until it’s leaking, and then next time –” his head tips back with a strained groan, heat building at the base of his spine, “next time I’m gonna fill your ass, okay? I wanna fuck it until I come inside it. I’ll make it feel so good.”

Please, please you chant, almost inaudible with how heavily you’re breathing and when he feels you start to come, he holds his own release back until you do. He’s never heard moans like this from you before; pleasure soaked on the verge of pleading, your cunt squeezing him so tight it almost hurts.

His fingers stay in place, buried down to the knuckle, and his cock is buried just the same, eventually making you take it all when he spills deep inside you.

You are limp, boneless, sated in a way you’ve never been before and he eases everything out, stretching to lay down next to you on the couch. Making room for him, you rest your cheek on his chest, his heart thundering underneath it.

It’s quiet again.

The solidness of his body. His scent. The timbre of his voice. The depth of his dimple. His smile. His laugh. The way you fit just right when you lay with him like this.

You don’t know it, but he’s cataloging the same for you.

The buzzer rings loud, startling you both from your thoughts as the moment breaks and you move to sit up, laughing at how very naked you both are.

“Thank god,” he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. He smiles, the lower half of his whiskered face stretching with it. He’s so tired and worn out, he can’t even move. “I’m starving.”

–

Carefully holding the apple on the cutting board, you quarter it and then slice those chunks, setting aside crisp wedges. Cee studying at your place today, your writing has devolved into chatting about your professors and you can hear her talking through the crack in the bathroom door as she washes her hands.

The goat cheese out, a butter knife sits ready to smear some on each piece and as you cut off another slice, you arrange them on a plate.

“Care to explain this?” she says, exiting the bathroom with a grin. She drops an opened black condom wrapper on the counter right next to the cutting board and when you glance at it, your hand slips, the knife cutting your finger.

“Shit!” You drop the knife, walking over to the sink to rinse the cut out.

“Oh damn, hang on.” She leaves the room, going to find your box of bandaids and you can hear distant rummaging while you inspect the cut with a hiss. It’s not deep, thank god for that, but christ it stings. Your heart pounds in your chest, your eyes looking over at the wrapper.

“Here you go,” Cee says, walking over with the box and setting it down on the counter. She helps you dry the cut with a paper towel, unwrapping a bandage for your hand and when you’re winding it carefully around the digit, she leans her hip against the counter and watches.

“So you gonna tell me who's been coming over here?” She looks excited at the prospect of a secret, turning to glance at the wrapper before bringing her gaze back to you. “Giving you something good, by the looks of that wrapper. Aren’t the black ones, like, extra large or something?”

She reaches for it, picking it up and your stomach drops.

“Yea,” she reads, “Magnum.” Her eyebrows do a little wiggle. “Spill it.”

“I am not talking about this with you,” you reply without thinking and she looks momentarily hurt, falling silent. You try to back pedal. “I mean, it’s just — it’s kinda new? Or I’m….”

“Are you embarrassed or something?” Her face lights up in revelation, her eyes growing wide. “Oh my god, it’s totally someone you don’t want anyone to know you’re fucking. I bet he’s super embarrassing. Is it that guy from our study group? No wait — the one from our Thursday class?” Her eyes daze far away, her finger tapping on the wrapper. “I can’t believe he has a big dick. Now that’s all I’m gonna picture when I see him.”

“It’s not him,” you laugh, picking up the wrapper. You throw it in your kitchen garbage can, trying not to think about a very naked Ezra walking to the sink you’re standing by last week, to get a glass of post sex water. Your mouth goes dry, and you clear the thought from your head. “It’s someone else, but it was like, a one time thing. He’s not anyone you know.”

You try to keep your voice steady, hoping she doesn’t pick up on how fast you feel like you’re talking. If you dismiss it too easily, she won’t drop it. But if you try to come up with more details, you’re only burying yourself deeper in a lie. You try to keep it as minimal as possible, acting casual.

“It wasn’t that great,” you confide, wrinkling your nose. “I thought maybe it would be, when he pulled that out,” you gesture at the wrapper, “but it wasn’t. Won’t happen again.”

The lie seems like a betrayal to speak aloud, even more so given the way he does fuck.

“Damn. That’s too bad. I got excited there for a moment.”

She grabs the plate of apples while you take the cheese, and she leads you into the living room.

The first time he came over to your house, you couldn’t help but think about that spot on your couch being Cee’s spot. She always sits by the window, her body in the same lithe compacted curl of limbs and when he had sat there, it felt……strange.

Now, it's the reverse. The spot is still hers, but the room belongs to him. You’ve lain tangled on this couch, fucked him on this couch, watched him sleep on this couch - it’s just as much his as it is yours at this point, with how much looking at it makes you think of him.

He’s woven himself in the very fabric of it, and now she sits there, joining him.

“What about you?“ you ask, distracting her. “How’s it going with the guy from the party?”

She grins, holding a piece of apple aloft.

“Well, lemme tell ya.”

–

Ezra holds the worn, smeared cloth in his hand, bringing the brass hardware close to his face. He inspects it for a moment, turning it to look for imperfections and with a steady hand, starts to rub small circles into the hard surface, stripping away the dirt layer by layer.

Anything too abrasive, and he’ll wreck it. A touch too light, and it’ll do nothing. Years of practice come in handy, his motions almost second nature as he sits in his workroom by the window and the original surface comes forth slowly, glimmering gold peeking through the milky swirls of mixture. Usually, he appreciates this part of the process the most but today, it doesn’t even register with him.

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac plays on his stereo, the album on repeat since this morning. He heard Cee come home a while ago, the sound of the front door shutting underneath the music and an image of you dancing with him drifts into his mind, another of your thumb tapping along the side of his hand to the beat as you held it in his car.

He had introduced you to the album, delighting in your discovery of it over the last few weeks. He used to play it for Cee all the time, her tawny head swaying to the music while she did her homework and he made dinner, or her lips moving with the words in the backseat as he drove her to school. She used to like to sleep in one of his t-shirts for the band, always stealing the lightened with age black tee until she washed it so many times it began to fray around the neck. She gave it back long ago, and he wore it now - and so did you.

You, wearing it on your couch, bare underneath.

You, slipping it on before padding over to the kitchen to start some lunch.

You, sleeping in it as you dozed the afternoon away; the marks of his love peeking through a hole in the collar.

Maybe he should give it to you when you leave, as a parting gift. It’s one of his favorites, but it seems fitting to give it to you, since you are too.

His thumb rubs out the rest of the polish; his foot tapping to the beat.

Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

“Hey,” Cee enters the room, peeking her head through the doorway and Ezra moves to turn the music down. “You wanna order dinner in? It’s brutal out there.”

“Yea,” he replies, setting the piece he was working on down next to the others in the row. He grabs another one, narrowing his eyes in search. “You can pick. Whatever you want.”

“My phone died on the way home, I’m gonna use yours, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for his answer, padding into the kitchen to grab it off the table where she saw it. She sinks down into the couch, one thumb typing in his passcode while the other hand rubs her cold toes and she makes a mental note to grab a new pair of socks after ordering food. Actually, maybe a hot shower to warm up.

Flipping through his home screen icons, she searches for the food delivery app.

Her eyes stop on a yellow icon. Snapchat? When did he download that?

She swipes the screen again, his photo roll accidentally popping up and she nearly closes it before she spots something familiar. Tapping it with her thumb, a small frown appears delicately on her face. She brings the screen closer.

A selfie, of you and Ezra, outside somewhere. She tries to remember when you would have taken this, her mind running through all the places you’ve gone together in the last couple weeks but when she comes up short, she glances at the date.

February 21

Hang on - wasn’t that the weekend of her retreat?

Maybe the two of you went out to lunch or something, or ran into each other while running errands? She makes automatic allowances in her brain, knowing full well that while you live close, but you don’t live that close - not close enough to frequent the same places for errands. Biting her lip and peering down the hallway towards his work room, she swipes the screen again.

You, smiling, clearly at dinner. Same date.

She swipes again.

You, tucked into the crook of his arm, and she recognizes their couch behind you.

She swipes again, and this time, her eyes narrow.

“What the fuck.”

You, clearly in Ezra’s bed. Your nude body languidly stretched out, your ass on display as you rest your cheek in the cradle of your arms and smile at him. The date at the top states the next day - you clearly spent the weekend together.

A hot wave of nausea rolls through her, an undercurrent of hurt rippling below the surface and she fights the urge to keep swiping, setting his phone down on the couch. What she really wants to do is throw it, anger demanding the satisfaction of hearing the screen break, her body filled with the urge to destroy something - but she holds it all tightly in, her face eerily calm.

Getting off the couch, she grabs her coat and boots, snatching her keys from the hook.

Ezra yells out her name when he hears the front door slam, but she doesn’t hear it, already running down their front steps.

It’s piercingly cold again today, the wind biting into her exposed face as she makes her way to the train station, but she can barely feel it. Not with how hard she’s mentally working to think of everything she’s missed.

To anyone really looking, they would see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes, or the screwed twist of her features as she tries to think about what she is going to say to you. No one is looking though. No one ever really is, not in this city and certainly not on a day like today when everyone has their heads down as they try to brace against the wind. She makes it onto the train before the first tear falls, but she doesn’t let any follow it. Her thumb smears it away, and she reaches into her bag for her headphones, shutting the world out.

How long? How long have you been seeing him? Been fucking him? She thinks about your schedule and his, all the times you’ve been over to their house. Did you do it there when she was gone? When she wasn’t? Her eyes close when she thinks about the condom wrapper she found in your trash and disgust pulls at her face, embarrassment coursing through her.

She’s such a fucking idiot.

Suddenly all those times you asked about him sound different, the subtext popping out clear as day. Seeing as how that started after the first time she brought you home, memories of every time after flip rapidly through her mind.

Was it always just to see him?

Another tear threatens to escape, but she pushes it down. She is determined not to be another person crying on the subway; one of countless in a day, or in a week, or this year. The pitch black of the tunnel beyond the window reflects her own face back at her, but she doesn’t see it. Her eyes glazed, her mind working; the conductor’s muffled, staticky voice breaking through to announce the next stop.

How long?

–

Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain plays in your living room, Stevie Nick’s voice carrying through into the kitchen. Your hips sway at the sink, your mouth moving with the words and when you rinse the plate you’re washing and put it in the rack, your foot taps with the steady beat of the drums.

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

A memory of Ezra dancing in your kitchen last week to the song makes you smile, his hands reaching to pull you into his arms as he shuffled across your scuffed wood floors in just his black briefs and one of the five band t-shirts he owned. He looked so endearing, so happy and when he turned you to wrap his arms around your body while curling his own around your back, you laughed at his voice crooning in your ear.

He was so warm, crowding against you: your back a neat fit to his broad front, his hips tight against the give of your ass, his whiskered chin scraped delicately along the column of your neck when you leaned back into him and swayed with the music. You get lost deeper into the memory, picturing the way the sun from the kitchen window struck the white spot in his hair. Like a beacon, it called out for your touch, and when you threaded your fingers through the patch, he had nuzzled his face against your wrist and gave you a kiss there.

“Birdie, you taste good enough to eat.”

Your phone stops playing, ringing instead and you wipe your hands on a towel, picking it up. Before you can answer it, you spot two messages from Cee - but before you can read them, you see she’s the one calling.

“Hey,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“‘I’m out front. Can you let me in?”

“Sure,” you answer, pressing the buzzer. “Come on up.”

Hanging up the phone and pausing your music, you unlock the front door. In the kitchen when she walks in, you glance at her over your shoulder with a smile.

“Hey,” you greet her warmly.

“So I saw something today,” she begins, ignoring your hello and there is clear agitation in her movements, but you miss it, draining the sink.

“Oh yea?” you reply, turning to face her.

“Yea, I was looking at Ezra’s phone for a second, he asked me to order food or something, and I saw some pictures.”

You pause, holding her gaze and you wonder if it’s already too late to pretend like you don’t know what she’s talking about or if your face has already given you away.

“They were of you.” She looks down at the floor for a second before she brings her eyes back up to yours. “You were naked.”

You see a flash of hurt cross her features, a slip of vulnerability before the impenetrable wall comes down and closes her off. It’s the same look she had on her face the first time you met her on the subway, the same one she wears while navigating the city and while you’ve always admired it, it hurts to be the recipient on the other side of that blank stare. You’re supposed to be next to her, not pushed away. But what did you expect?

Your mouth dries, and you don’t know what to say. So you say nothing; your gut churning.

Her jaw clenches at your silence, her eyes turning to steel.

“So you fuck people’s dads now? That your thing?”

“Cee,” you hold your hands out, taking a step closer, “it’s not like that. I just – I don’t know. It just happened one night, but –”

You start to say that it’s become something more than that, but it doesn’t feel right voicing something to her that you’ve never even told him. Those words are meant for him first - which is part of the problem. The idea that you have words just meant for him now, and not her.

“When? When did it happen?”

You waver for a moment between a lie that would make her feel better, and the truth. Deciding that you’ve lied enough, you answer. “A couple months ago. I don’t know exactly when, but it’s been…..awhile. It’s been going on for a while.”

“That condom wrapper in the trash the other day?”

This question, you don’t answer and her face visibly pales. “That’s so fucking gross. I can’t believe you let me touch that.”

“I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Rip it out of your hand? Tell you –”

“How about not fuck him? Like everyone else? Why couldn’t you just do that?”

The remark is so cutting, so abrupt, you feel immediately chastened.

“I told you everyone throws themselves at him. I told you how I felt about it. I can’t believe I was so dumb and brought you around and let you spend the night and ignored all the times you asked about him and where he was – did you even want to be at my house because of me? Or was it just him?”

“Cee, no. No. You know that’s not true. I met you first, I liked you first, I wanted to – I still want to be your friend. He just came……..later.” You look away, ashamed, your hand shaking as it grips the kitchen counter.

On the verge of tears, you meet her eye, and when she sees your expression her face softens into sympathy just for a second, before disgust takes over again. Her arms cross tight around her body, and she studies you as if steeling herself against your pain and against her own.

“This is really fucked up, you know?” A tear slips from the corner of her eye and she angrily wipes it away. “I gotta go. I gotta — I gotta think about this.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “I’m really sorry, Cee. I really am.”

She looks at you for a moment, her shrewd eyes assessing your face. Saying nothing, she pushes off the table and walks out the door.

The second she does, you reach for your phone. Hands shaking, you call Ezra.

“Hello, Birdie. I was just thinking about you.”

The smile in his greeting makes you close your eyes, the sound of his voice comforting.

“Hey.” Your voice is tight with the adrenaline pulsing through your body, your stomach twisting with it. “Cee found out and she’s — oh god, she’s really upset.” Your voice cracks into the beginnings of a sob, but you reign it in with a deep breath.

“Wait,” he begins, sounding a lot more serious than when he answered. “How? Wait. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at home.” You let out another heavy breath, sitting down on your kitchen chair. “She said she found some pictures of me on your phone? She was just here, but she left already. I’m not sure if she’s coming home, or –”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find her and talk to her. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?”

You don’t answer right away; his stomach sinking on the other end of the line.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea right now. Not when she’s this upset.” You bite your lip, wiping away a tear tracking down the curve of your cheek. “Don’t you think?”

He lets out a sign on his end. “Yea, you’re probably right.” His tone shifts into something more earnest, more fierce. “But I will if you want me to. I want to.”

Your eyes close, and you put your head down on the table into the cradle of your arm. He keeps talking, your hand pressing the phone closer to your ear.

“I’ll fix it, Birdie. I’ll talk to her, okay? This is my fault, and she’s mad at me, not you. Are you listening?”

“Yea,” you reply softly.

“Are you okay?”

You sniffle, your voice shaking in your whisper. “She’s so mad, Ez. And it’s like, she’s not even angry, she’s just so…..hurt. She looked so disappointed. Like she didn’t even wanna know me anymore.”

“Hey,” he soothes, “hey. She does. She’ll come around. I’ll talk to her. I’ll figure it out and then I’ll give you a call, okay?”

You nod, wishing he was here to pull you into his lap, or wrap his arms around you, or murmur these words directly into your ear without the barrier of the phone between you. A fresh wave of tears fall, wetting the sleeve of your shirt. There was once a point in which you would turn to her for that comfort, being the first person you’d call when you wanted reassurance, but that’s changed now. You don’t even know when it did, but it did and the idea that you might lose both of them overwhelms you, crushing your chest.

“Are you there, sweetheart?”

The endearment makes it hurt worse, and you take a steadying breath in, answering him.

“Yea. I’m here. I’ll be here.”

He says goodbye and so do you; your hand placing the phone face down on the table before you hide your face in the crook of your arms and cry.

–

Cee’s phone buzzes with another phone call, and without even looking, she silences it. Her hand holding onto it inside of her coat pocket, she turns up the volume on her headphones and resumes staring out the window.

Leaving your house, she didn’t even know where she was going. Eventually she found herself walking up the freshly shoveled steps of the public library, wiping her boots on the mat before heading to her favorite table.

A four top, hidden in the East Wing and aged with the touch of countless hands and books, she’s spent hours here. The endless shelves of books surrounding her have been her refuge for years: they’ve seen her head bent over algebra homework in high school, silently observed her smile as she texted her friends in college, faded into the background as she shut the world out with her music and wrote. The spot set just by the window, it has an unobstructed view of Bryant Park just outside the old wooden frame and she lets her head rest there, against the cold glass.

Her phone buzzes again, the call going unanswered.

She watches people walk through the park paths, their figures standing out against the snow. The field is covered in snow now, but she can see the spot where the two of you sat one afternoon; hard boiled egg and cucumber sandwiches from a stand nearby, the paperback you were each reading face down with a bent spine on the blanket she had packed. You had spent hours under the shade of the green trees that afternoon, eventually moving inside to the very table she was sitting at when it was time to really get to work.

She looks at the chair across from her, thinking. She had asked you over for dinner that day, and she can still see the way you bit your lip and looked away from her. It was now apparent that you were trying to act casual.

“Will Ezra be there?”

At the time, she had thought that you were asking in hopes that you’d be alone, the dynamic always changing when you introduce a third person to a set of two. But now she knows the truth. You were hoping he would be there. You used to ask that question so much, peppering your curiosity about him into the conversation and she closes her eyes, focusing on her music.

She’s an idiot.

Of course you liked him. Everyone does. Instant friends with anyone he meets, outgoing and charming and handsome, she should have seen it from a mile away. She wonders how serious he is about you, never having seen him actually date anyone for long. She can’t decide which would be worse: him using you, or him wanting something more.

Her phone buzzes again, and waits a moment before pulling it out of her pocket, looking down at the screen.

Ezra: where are you

Ezra: answer the phone, Cee

He doesn’t text. When did he start texting? Was it when he downloaded Snapchat? Obviously to communicate with you in secret, so she wouldn’t hear any conversation with you. The premeditated secrecy of it all digs deep, and she ignores his messages, putting her phone back in her pocket.

The shadow of dusk starts to slip between the high rise buildings, the number of people in the park fading from a crowd to singles here and there, making their way home. Vendors start to close their stands; her reflection in the window becoming more pronounced against the darkness outside; the intercom system in the library crackling out an announcement to close.

Still, she sits, her forehead against the glass.

–

Ezra’s pacing in the living room stops the second he hears the key turn in the lock, and he stands still, watching Cee come inside. For a moment, she looks so small: her cheeks and nose pink with cold, her hat pulled low over her head, the headphones she’s never seen without over the top of it. She slips them down around her neck, toeing off her wet boots.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you.”

“Out. Obviously.”

Ezra fights the urge to roll his eyes, and he slips his hands in his pockets, staring at her.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.”

He keeps his eyes on her, his jaw shifting. “I know you don’t, but we need to talk about it.”

His parental tone irritates her, and she brushes past him, walking into the kitchen.

“Don’t bother. Didn’t seem that important when you started this whole thing, so I don’t know why you wanna do it now.”

“Cee –”, he begins, and she cuts him off.

“Don’t feed me some kinda bullshit, okay? Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Well, that’s not true. Seems like you care a lot. Care enough to go over there and –”

Cee huffs in disgusted amusement, crossing her arms.

“Already talked to her about it, huh?”

“Of course I have.”

“How many times have you guys had secret talks behind my back? Have you talked about me?”

“What?” he asks, confused. “Why would we do that? Of course not.” He shakes his head, looking down at the floor. “This is between me and her. It’s something that just….happened.”

“You fucked her.” Her blunt words make his head snap up, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been fucking her. You’re telling me that “just happened?” And it’s been “just happening” for months?”

Her face is cold, a mask of indifference disguising her hurt and he’s momentarily thrown back into her years as a teenager.

“I did. You’re right. But I’m also an adult and so is she. She wanted –”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes, trying to back out of the conversation, but he keeps going.

“Cee, it was between her and me. It had nothing to do with you. Has nothing to do with you–”

She looks away, her eyes fixed on a point in the corner of the kitchen and it’s like she’s thinking; her jaw shifting for a moment. When she stares back at him, it’s with a look of decision.

“You can’t keep seeing her.”

“I can.” His gaze pins her in place. “And I will.”

“Of all the people, all the women who throw themselves at you, of all the friends you have and the people you know, of all the people in this fucking city, you had to pick her. The one person who was mine.”

“What do you mean, was?” he frowns, exasperated. “You aren’t going to be her friend anymore?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she yells. “How can I be her friend? How can I invite her over here anymore, knowing that you probably had sex on that couch and are gonna do it when I’m asleep or something? Knowing that she just wants to see you and not me? I don’t want to be a third wheel in my own goddamn house. And how can I trust her anymore?” She shakes her head, confident in her decision. “She lied. She hid this and so did you. She’s a liar and a fucking –”

“Hey.” His voice deepens into an authoritative clip, his face stern. “Don’t talk about her that way. She doesn’t deserve it. She lied to protect your feelings. This fight here is between you and me, and you know it.”

“You should have just fucking told me.”

Her anger at being treated like a child flares bright, and for a moment, he sees his mistake. Still, she’s acting more like a child than an adult right now.

“Yea, I can see you would have taken it real well.”

“Fuck you, Ezra. Of all the fucking people,” she shakes her head, as if trying to shake out the thought of the two of you. “It’s fucking pathetic, sleeping with someone half your age. Do you even care about her, or were you just gonna fuck around until she leaves? Does she know you never stay with anyone for long?”

“Because of you!” his voice rises. “Look at how you’re fucking acting right now! I’ve been taking care of you since you were little and I’ve always put you first. Always!” He turns, running his hand through his hair. “The one fucking time I think of myself first, this is how you act? Yea, I fucked her. I’ve been going over to her house when you’re at school and we’ve been hanging out every week and I talk to her on the phone in my room at night and last weekend when you went out of town, we spent the weekend together and –”

Cee puts her hands over her ears, stomping from the room, but he grabs her elbow, dragging her back.

“And when she said she was leaving,” he speaks louder, holding onto her, “I was fucking sad, because I don’t want her to go, okay?”

Cee stills, her hands dropping.

“What?”

“I don’t want her to go.” He didn’t even tell you that, and it feels wrong to say it to Cee now. Those words are meant for you — but he can’t. You’d feel like you should stay, and that’s not right.

“Well, she’s going,” she says flatly, almost defiant in her tone.

“I know she is. She should.”

“Yea, she should.” Cee’s words are harder than his, laced with resigned anger and he looks disappointed at her, letting her go.

The tension that had been rising in the small room dissipates, and they both slump at the loss of it, defeated.

Cee walks out of the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Ezra flinches at the sound, leaving the kitchen to go to his work room. Fleetwood Mac is still playing softly in the corner, your face floating into his mind and at the memory of your broken voice on the phone earlier, he picks up a piece of hardware and whips it at the wall.

Sinking down into a chair covered in a drop cloth, he puts his head in his hands.

#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra/you #ezra/reader #ezra smut #pedro pascal

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freshlyrage · 1 month

Text

Running Like Water

Chapter 23

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I’m bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.1k

a/n: This is a double update, read the previous chapter here!

You found a routine by yourself that week. You spent sun up rearranging the wedding seating in the backyard. That was the only time you and your mother spoke – when it came to setting up for the big day. 3 days until the entirety of Laredo would gather at the backyard your mom left neglected for years. You better believe she hired the best gardeners to trim that monstrosity you all called a backyard. But it was beautiful, you found yourself daydreaming at the altar while you sorted through seating arrangements.

When you were alone in bed you called Javier. He had been working a lot since he took off with you last weekend. Driving back and forth from the DEA’s office. He’d be exhausted by the time he got home, he’d still groan and sigh, removing his shoes with his cheek pressed to the receiver. He was embarrassed by it but there was nothing cuter in this world than his little old man noises. You, on the other hand, felt aimless. The communication between you and your mother had fallen straight to none. Not even her husband sparked a conversation like he usually did in his corny step-dad way.

On Wednesday your brother comes to visit the backyard. It was the first day you decided to not tamper with the backyard equipment. The sun was exceptionally high and splitting that day. Instead, You lie on a blanket, basking in any tan you can before you sport that light yellow bridesmaid dress when the sun was blocked by your idiot brother. A bowl of grapes sat by your head.

You took in a deep breath before speaking. The few days you spent alone, alone reflecting —you decided not to bicker with him for the next three weeks, you knew the wedding had nerves high—you hadn’t brought up your father. Frankly, you’d like to never have that talk again with Frankie. Well actually, you never wanted to talk of that man… ever again.

“Do you mind?” You squint your eyes up at the curly haired boy. God your mother prayed to the lord every night he’d cut that shag off, dios por favor, haz que ese chico se corte el pelo antes de la boda. You sit up and pout as he stands with a shit eating grin. You wanted to kick his ankles out.

He bends down to grab a grape. “I’m not mad at you for all the Javier shit in high school-“

“Ugh!” You groan loudly, ridiculously tired of this topic. You just wished he’d forget it, move on, let it flow or whatever the fuck. God knows you had to, you dwelled so hard on the past you drove yourself away from Javi.

“No-I’m not mad about anything-I’m tired of being a bad brother, i’m tired of letting us drift apart because of mom. So will you get up and ride your bike with me?” He spits, extending his palm out to you. Your heart swells wide in your chest and your eyes double in size. You feel embarrassed to be choked up by your brother being nice for once. Overcome by the urge of hugging your brother and telling him he’s the best brother like you did when you were little (only when he paid for ice cream). Your grin grows wide and you take his palm.

You giggle and hop to your feet. “Let me change.” You look down at your clothing. A bikini with some small shorts covering you, You wouldn’t dare biking around town with your breasts out, no shot. That is something you most certainly cannot do when Melissa Dios Diaz is your mother.

Your brother laughs, running his sunglasses up his hair. You follow him around the side of the house. “No need, we’re all heading to the lake.”

You speed up your steps to keep up like you did as a little girl, your brows furrowing.

“Who’s we all—“

There’s Genie, in a big t-shirt and shorts. Sat up on the same white bike, her hair down in big blowout waves like you remembered. Grinning with the glow of a pregnant woman. How many things have changed, how much has stayed the same. With the sun basking behind her you nearly miss Javier sitting next to her, right on his bike. Cigarette dangling from his lips with a shirt unbuttoned showing the tan mass that was his chest. His lips curled at the sight of you.

Your heart catches in your throat.

You tried so hard not to burst into tears the second the four of you dropped your bikes by the dock. You hadn’t swam at your lake in nearly a decade and here it was, glistening the way it did. There were two small lakes in town, one simply titled our lake, which was… well. Then there was 4 Corners Lake, the lake people like Lorraine went to throw back beers– that one dried up in 1984. Your lake, the lake you splashed around on every sticky summer day of 1978. The place where Javier would stare at your sun freckles.

Genie did not waste a moment before pulling her shirt over her head and jumping in with her fiance's yell of, “Be careful!” You cringe at the sight of a pregnant Genevieve plunging into water the way she did but she comes right back up without a smile.

She whoops, “She’s fine! The water is so refreshing baby, come in!” Frankie laughs and pulls off his shirt as well. Your brows screw together. He hops right in after.

“She?” There was no way, she was far too early in her pregnancy, not even three months. You look at Javier who was unbuttoning, removing his shirt from his shoulders, you do a double take at the expanse of his chest. You never see him like this in daylight, good god, Javier Peña was hot.

My boyfriend is hot.

Your brother emerges from the water, stumbling on his words and shivering. Wiping his eyes and flipping his long locks, water splashing his fiancée in the face. She shrieks and hops on his back. He yelps just as loud and it was like a mirror facing back into your childhood. You never want to be upset with your brother ever again. “Jesus-“ He swears, Genie crawling her neck to kiss his cheek while she clings to him, “She has some weird mommy intuition that she’s carrying a girl” He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something else but Genie tickles him and your brother has now long forgotten your conversation. He play fights in the water instead.

You smile to yourself, fumbling with your shorts. Sliding them off with a quick glance at Javier. Truthfully, you haven’t hung out all together with your new… circumstance. You can’t help but be ridiculously awkward. You didn’t even spare a glance at him while the four of you biked. He was behind you and when you were kids you would look over at him so often you would lose your footing and steer off.

Javier though, doesn’t seem to be too concerned. Who stands next to you and shoots a glance at your bare legs before leaning into your ear.

“Last one in the water owes the other a sexual favor.” In a flash of an eye he slaps your behind and he’s running down the dock.

“No!” You shout in true desperation, it wasn’t because of the idea of possibly getting him off—more so the idea of him beating you in a race. You run right after him. “What are you?! Fourteen!”

Your bare feet slap against the wood and you’re nearly caught up to him—years of lacrosse was nearly on your side, until he jumps in with a yell of “You wish I asked you that at fourteen!”

You shriek and jump in right after him. The cold water shocking your system, you’d attack Genie if she wasn’t pregnant for saying that this shit felt nice. You stay under for a second longer afraid of realizing just how cold it is once you reach the surface. You feel Javier’s calloused hands grope you under the water and you’re delighted to feel him.

You break surface and he parts from you. You wipe your eyes and scowl at him which causes him to grin like an idiot. Shaking your head you splash him, “Jodón”

Your eyes finally adjust and you giggle to yourself as Genie creeps up behind Javi, jumping on his back as well. This is how you remembered her, the sea-monkey that was your best girl friend. Always climbing up someone’s back at the lake. Javi laughs and supports her weightless body. “You two are so cute.” She smiles, resting her chin on

Javier’s shoulder. Frankie groans like always.

This had always been the dynamic, Genie egging on the idea of you and Javier, and Frankie making zombie like noises of disapproval.

“Enough…” Frankie called before swimming slowly to catch up with the small circle you created by the dock. Genie hops off Javier’s back and dips back under water to re-wet her hair.

She shakes off the water on her face. “Grow up, it’s been years we should talk about this. Where better than in the place it all started?”

The sun beams hard so your left eye shuts in defiance, it also shuts because you don’t want this moment ruined by being forced to lie even more to your brother. Javi watches you with concern, his own brows screwed together. He clears his throat, “Talk about what?” His graveling voice cuts.

“About how the two of you were making us all suffer for the past 6 years of will they won’t they.”

You shake your head with a smile, to your shock Frankie chips in with a lighthearted voice, “Well yeah, me and Genie had a bet on who would call the other first.”

It’s silent for a moment, all that is heard is the sound of running water, birds and bugs. Javier nods, his lips in a tight line. “I don’t want to talk about that. If you want to talk about me and Andrea, talk about before I left. I’ve done enough explaining about why I was gone.” There it was, Javier’s typical grumpiness coming through—you couldn’t help but agree. High school, middle school, all the time that he was here, all the time Genie and Frankie were around, they could know about that. Houston, Miami, that was just for the two of you. It was your business, your time, your miscommunication. You weren’t eager to share you and Javier’s six year long cowardice.

“To who?” Frankie asks flatly, it isn’t an attitude yet so you let him slide. If he shows one ounce of attitude about this, you’re ready to drown him.

“To Andrea. Because she was the only person I wronged when I left.” He looks over at you, with a pained crease between his brow. You harbor no more resentment, you just nod, and he knows. Frankie looks between the two of you and his face softens. It’s rare and you nearly smile at it.

“That’s fair.” Is all he says, creating another silence. You feel light as a feather and it isn’t just the water, it’s the fact that for the first time in your life, your brother doesn’t put up a fight.

You smile at Frankie and Genie, “Well! I’ve always wanted you two to just date.” Genevieve beams before flicking some water at Javi.

He shakes his head hiding a smile, “Did you really? You’re still close with Lorraine I mean that’s kind of—“

“Oh please! Lorraine is my friend, you guys are my family. I never thought you and her were compatible—no offense!” The four of you laughed together because it was true, Frankie knew it the most. He’d make a face every time Genie offered to bring her along. At the time you thought he was being a prick, and well, he was, because that’s just Frankie, but she really was only nice when she was drunk. “And… think of it this way, you already trust and know Javier and his family. Imagine having to learn a new fuckface with a new family, and god forbid he could even be a northerner. And the sicko wants to date your sister! I’m not—like pressuring you two to date or anything but, you know, Javier and Andrea are practically best case scenario.”

Frankie narrows his eyes at his wife to be, “I guess you’re right.”

You gasp audibly, covering your mouth. “Who are you!?” You shriek, splashing him.

Javier says simultaneously, “I swear I just saw the clouds part and heaven shine down on me.”

“Oh fuck you guys!” Frankie laughs and splashes the two of you. And so the water fight begins, for miles into the surrounding forest all you hear is the laughs of four childhood.

You hoped that if you ever get the chance to be pregnant, that you would look as beautiful as Genevieve did.

She lies on a blanket right in the center of the dock, basking in the sun in a bikini. Starting right above her belly button is the tiniest bump of life. And boy does your brother annoy you, but there was truly nothing sweeter than the sight of him just staring at her while she rests. His hands rubbing her tummy, she squints at him and smiles, they laugh together.

For a few hours, you and Javier are like fish, swimming around each other, throwing each other, splashing and disturbing the peace with your loud cackles. You decide to take the last 3 hours of sun beams to sit at the dock, back facing the couple. They talk and you can’t hear, so you and Javier converse freely. Hoping they are also in their own little world.

“I hated August, I still do.” You say looking over your shoulder at him. He’s looking at you with those big brown eyes and god you wished you were alone right now. His mustache is still dripping and heavy from the water. He doesn’t respond, instead shifts closer to let you ramble. “I hated going back to school and seeing you like four times during the year.”

He nods. It’s weird to think that before 1980 they hadn't really been at the same school, the summer would end and it was like you ceased to exist for Javier. It wasn’t anything you really thought of until now, for so long your mind could only circle the details of your freshman year in high school. Being at the lake reminds you of middle school and your heart race picking up when you would run into Javier at a game or at church. He lived a different life not made for you every September through May. You can’t find yourself being upset about it but god were you curious what those months were like for him. He could figure what they were for you, they were lonely, isolating times. Sitting at lunch with your English teacher, walking home, reading, and repeating. You cant but ask now,

“How was your freshman year?”

He’s staring at the patch of freckles at the slope of your shoulder, dozing in them like a constellation, figuring out how to answer that question. He clears his throat and sits up straight. “Do you want me to be honest?” You give him a blank face and he catches the wave. “Alright, I got really popular out of nowhere. I made all these new friends, I was kind of shitty.”

“Shitty how?” You tilt your head, you sensed something shifted in Javier’s junior year, your classmates still whispered of him and you know people did double takes when you walked with him the halls.

This topic was like pulling teeth it seemed. “You know how Laredo high school can be really cliquey… like when you accidentally sat at the theater table and the entire cast of Chicago gave you dirty looks all year.”

You laugh at the memory, you didn’t really make enemies in high school of course unless it was with the thespians. “Yes…”

Javier cringed, “I made a joke with my friend that I could hook up with every girl from each clique.” He says it in a hushed tone and looked over his shoulder immediately, hoping your brother doesn't hear, he was just as distracted as he was fifteen minutes ago. Your eyes widen and you stare out into the lake. A weird sting of jealousy coursing through your blood. You weren’t jealous now, no, you felt sad for the fourteen year old you that stayed up daydreaming about Javier all of seventh and eight grade while he was doing… that. You face relaxes for a moment when you’re reminded to relax, to let go.

You smile a bit and look back at him, you see it in his brow he began to panic internally at your silence. “So…”

He laughs, shaking his head, “I feel like this is a trap.”

“No! It's not, I was practically obsessed with you back then– I need to know everything for…” You make a motion of a small person standing in front of you. “That Andrea.”

He looks at you skeptically, his eyes roving around your grinning face trying to detect possible dishonesty.

“I only had actual sex with Harietta on the cheer team and Clara from science research. But you know I hooked up… with a theater girl, a soccer girl, two girls from band, a lacrosse girl –”

“Oh god please don’t tell me you hooked up with Priscilla Villa!” You shriek and he cackles with a guilty face. “No! My god, she was my trainer… okay so that's what you were doing… okay.” You turn away from him and back at the reflecting of the sun that is just an hour away from making the sky go pink, you've spent so many days watching the sunset here as a teen back then you never thought you’d be emotional over something like your lake. Javier is no longer laughing, he sat up straight again with a clenched jaw and a frown.

His own freckled chest expanding and falling slowly, “Do you see me differently?” Its quiet, it’s insecure, like maybe you shouldn’t have asked about this. Like he was embarrassed by your sick prodding, your own chest fills with panic.

You look behind you once more and your brother is cackling at a joke Genie made down the dock. You were safe to touch him.

You hook your finger in the bracelet around his wrist, loosening the piece of string to slip your wrist in between, cuffing–tying the two of you to each other. You fingers slipping into his hand that still dwarfs you after all these years. “No… never. You were so young.”

He nods, “Yeah…” His voice gravels and he clears himself again. “By the time I was seventeen I had been tired out. Probably why I was so committed to the first real relationship I got into.” You never made the link but you knew Javier had been sexually active far too young, you suppose you still had some shit to work out because you never considered the effect that would have on a young boy. “I think about all of our parents, how they married so young. When I was younger I couldn’t imagine giving up my freedom so young, I thought about my dad getting married in his early twenties and used to think, what an idiot. But I don’t know now, I feel like I've done it all. I’m not sure I want to do any more of that.”

Your skin goes hot at his words, but you can’t speak. You can’t, you’re afraid you’ll ask him to just marry you–afraid of being irrational but when he talks like that you don’t think you’ve ever been so sure.

“And I don’t want to start over either, I think doing this with someone else will break my spirit. Starting over, watching you start over, watching you settle down.” He whispers the last part and you squeeze his hand tighter, leaning into his shoulder. “I guess I’m saying that… come November, I don’t think I can bear just going our separate ways.” His voice is the way it always was, almost grumpy sounding, deep but instead with a hint of shakiness. How it sounds whenever he speaks of his mother, or of Houston.

“I’ll write to you all the time.” Is all you can say.

“I’ll pay for your international calls.”

“I’ll send you pictures in the mail.” You beam, lips twisting with mischief. “All sorts of pictures.” His brows shoot high and he looks over his shoulder again.

“I’ll wait for you, I don’t care how long.” He says while looking at Frankie and Genevieve who’s backs were now facing the two of you, the light captured him so perfectly like this. His eyes a warmer honey color and his nose casting the shadow that made him look carved by a higher power. You wanted to frame the moment. He looked back at you, less than an inch away from your face. His eyes fan, eyes looking straight down to your shoulder and he kisses the patch of freckles. Small kisses on salty skin.

You frown, running your fingernails through his hair, your left hand still tied to his. “I’ll always wait.”

You want to say, I’m always waiting.

You untangle a moment after and reminisce on different times, on happier times. Uninterrupted for a bit until you hear the sound of standing and shuffling. You and Javier both turn to see Genie and Frankie standing hand in hand.

“Hey! We’re gonna uh—“ Frankie turns red mid sentence, they’re standing at the doc Genevieve has a blush on her face as well, and she shakes her head.

“We’re going to take a walk. We’ll be back in an hour.” She beams and grabs ahold of your brother's hand and they make their way being painfully obvious.

You and Javier slowly look at each other with a smirk.

“They’re about to bone.”

“Ew.” You groan, looking at the backs of their heads as they slowly disappear.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Javier’s eyes hot on your chest. You suck in a breath, your breasts moving against your tiny bikini top. Javier looks absolutely starved and truthfully, so are you. He clears his throat.

“Should we-”

“Yes.” He blurts, standing and pulling you with him. You laugh and check your surroundings and hold his hand.

“They went that way, we can go over here.”

The sky is almost pink, hopefully you could see the sunset from where you drag him. You walk in front of him with your arm folded behind you, you guide him this time and to be fair you did lose the race to the water earlier. There’s nothing more fitting than a hookup amongst the trees of your lake. Your sandals crunch through leaves as you inch farther into the greenery, no carved out path but you make sure not to go too far. In silence the two of you find a tree out of sight and close enough to home base.

You drop his hand and turn to face him, “So-” He’s already got you pinned against the tree, attacking at your mouth. Kissing so roughly you stumble and hold his shoulders for support. He breaks away and you’re left panting. “Javi-”

But he’s licking a stripe from your shoulder and up your neck, sucking just below your ear. “Taste like salt and coconut, so sweet.” He grunts and drops to his knees. You gape at the sight of Javier on his knees, in the dirt, his nose skimming your bikini bottom that had that unwashable scent of sunscreen and chlorine from a pool trip last summer. You lean forward and nails digging into his tanned shoulder blades. His hands engulf the back of your thighs while his soft face rubs along your clothed mound, inhaling and kissing you. Worshiping you. “Always wanted to see you in a tiny bikini, want to slide it to the side and make you come on my tongue.” He looks up at you, and drags his pointer finger at your folds as they show through your daisy printed bikini bottoms.

You shut your eyes tightly and take in a deep breath.

“I was the last to the water. Stand up.” You say as demanding as possible but truly you were about to crumble. He furrows his brow in protest but you keep your distance, and you switch positions. Dropping down to your knees, your back faces the tree and he cages you in. Your heart races every time it’s up to you and purely your skill to get him off. Even though you have done far less to get him to come in his pants, putting your mouth on him still makes you nervous.

You suppose that’s why it also still makes you so wet. Your knees crunch against leaves, you waste no time palming him like you usually do, he’s hard—he’s been hard all day. Fingernails hook in the waistband of his swim trunks and his throbbing cock sprang out, hitting his bare chest before settling. It’s so red it’s nearly purple. You pout, “Oh Javi-I’m sorry I made you wait so long. Will you let me take care of this?” You widen your eyes like he needs any convincing, brown, wide and glossy.

His throat bobs and he nods, running one hand down the back of your head. “Yeah querida, please-oh fuck.” You give him no time to think straight before you’re dragging the tip of his cock against your sticky lips. Just teasing the entrance you’ll let him fuck for a bit. Your brows screw together and you reach your unused hand down to your breasts. Pinching and squeezing, Javier isn’t sure what to focus on. Javier crowds your hand with his, guiding himself on your lips. “Please Andrea, open up–you're killing me.”

You sit perfectly on your heels, attempting to release any tension he caused when he was on his knees just a minute ago. You’re about to open your mouth when Javier roughly grabs your chin and your mouth pops open by force. You feel your bikini bottoms soaking more at the new harshness in his hold, and your mouth is finally crowded by his length. “Mnmm-” He thrusts the blunt head at the back of your throat. He continues rolling his hips while you attempt to catch up with your tongue, your eyes flash up at him in utmost desire. Being used, letting him use you makes you feel the most in control you’ve ever experienced. You move your hand from your breasts to cup his balls. “Don’t you dare-fuck–keep touching yourself.” He gravels out.

You nod and make a sobbing noise around him. Letting him go you slip your hands back down your body. He gravels out.

You nod and make a sobbing noise around him. Letting him go you slip your hands back down your body. Rubbing yourself through your nylon clad cunt, digging your nails into his thigh while you touch yourself through your bikini. His eyes were screwed shut while he rolls his hips against your face until your lips are close to the base of him, you gag. His hand grabs the back of your hair and separates you from his cock with a gasp and a string of spit connecting the two of you. Your cheeks are stained with tears and you look up at his face. His face concerned while he runs his hand from his hair down to your cheek, wiping your lip free of spit. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles.

He’s being so gentle and your brows furrow. You didn’t want gentle, with a frown you grab his hand and guide it to the back of your head once more, taking him back into your mouth. “Fuck— baby-baby I’m gonna come.” His hips stutter and you relax your throat to take him farther once more. He comes with a moan of your name and a tight grip at your hair that stings. He fills your mouth and all you could do is breathe through your nose while he folds over with both hands gripping the tree behind you.

He softens in your mouth and you decide to part. Swallowing and licking your lips you wipe your eyes free of tears. During your self recovery Javier exhales and tucks himself away. Head blurry, Javier reaches down to stand you up right from under your arms. He wipes dirt from your knees and kisses your hip bone while he’s down there. “Thank you. You’re always so good.” Your cheeks warm.

“I know.”

He shakes his head at your comment and kisses you roughly, pinning you against the tree. You stand on your tip-toes and hold his shoulders to push back into the kiss. His large calloused hands cover your entire waistline, sliding slowly to your lower back—goosebumps rising like it’s the first time. He takes an entire handful of your ass, kneading and rolling. You didn’t have the biggest behind and you surely didn’t have the biggest breasts but he still touched you like you were carved by Michelangelo.

There’s no breeze in this heat, but branches rustle as if footsteps approach. “Mmm—I love you.” He whispers against your lips. A sun sets in your heart, in complete bliss you smile against him.

“I love you too.”

“I fucking knew it!”

You and Javier jump from each other with a gasp. Genie stands five feet away with a thrilled look.

“We-“ You begin, your heart beats out of your chest. “How long were you there for!”

She cackles, “I only saw minor groping and I love you— you guys I’m so excited right now—“

“It’s um-“ Javier begins and his voice dies before rubbing his head.

“No-no don’t explain it to me. I won’t tell Frankie or anything but if you two are serious which you just said I love you so… well Frankie will get over it just you should tell him. Tell him after the honeymoon he’d be too busy being my husband to care.” She rambles as she usually does when she’s thrilled.

“We’re dating.” Javier states and you could burst into flames.

You smile and nod, “We were planning on waiting until after the wedding to tell anyone.”

He looks to you with a smile and Genie squeals running between the two of you and hooking arms.

“Okay, tell me everything. I’ve been waiting years for this.”

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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lullaebies · 2 months

Text

red leaves (1k words, jaehaegon au, no warnings)

summary: jaehaera watches her daughters play in the godswood, and laments over concerns of a lack of son. aegon iii is quick to dispell them.

notes: based on a requested prompt i misread. will do the actual prompt later on, but for now, bringing forth this piece. context - req also asked for alicent being alive and jaehaera and aegon iii's children to be playing in the godswood <3

Jaehaera sits the godwood’s stone bench, watching.

All three of her daughters are playing with the fallen red leaves of the weirdwood. Her eldest, Rhaella, shows her twin sisters how the red leaves crumple, and showers the girls with the red specks remaining of it. Rhaenyra and Helaena are ever excited, despite the broken off pieces catching in their hair.

Her grandmother would chastise her for letting her girls gather twigs and dirt on their hair and dresses later, but Jaehaera can’t bring herself to tell them to stop. Such peaceful pastimes can be so fleeting. Red, swivelling leaves in the air can become the red trickles of blood in moments few.

Jaehaera chases that thought away. This is why all of court calls me morbid. Her fingers fidget with her dress. Grand is the Queen’s wardrobe and material luxuries, but there is no sum in the world that could buy her peace at this state. Grandmother had known royal concerns, and advised her on as much, but while Queen Alicent had three sons ignored, Jaehaera had not even one.

The pit in her stomach grows larger each day. Her daughters are the very world, but after all the realm had been through in wars’ past, would they ever be considered enough?

“Papa!” The rustle of leaves and exclamations of girls mark the arrival of another figure.

Aegon takes long steps into the godswood. His tall frame cannot be ignored, for he keeps himself as poised as one may assume his mouth remains lined. Still, he bends for his daughters, lowering himself to his knees and twisting his lips into an upturn as he greets them.

The twins run to him first, clinging with giggles. He brushes a hand through their hair, taking out some of the leaf crumples that decorated their hair. “Have my daughters spent a day rolling in the woods, or just decided nature is to be worn?” Aegon asks them softly. Both twins point to Rhaella.

“Big sister put it on me!” They say in nearby eerie unison. Jaehaera can’t recall if she and Jaehaerys ever had such synchronized speech. She breathes in some, keeping away tears from welling. Thinking of Jaehaerys hurts more, with her own twins coming about the age of his passing.

“Is that so?” Aegon asks Rhaella. Their eldest licks her lips before nodding slowly. She’s been put on the spot, but she tries to maintain dignity. Aegon hums at her, opening his arms when the twins leave their grip on him. Rhaella runs forward to him for an embrace. The ten-year-old calms easily as he does, and Aegon pats her head. “Do continue, but keep it at leaves, yes? The maids would struggle to brush any dirt out.”

Rhaella nods against his chest gladly. “Okay, papa.”

Aegon gives her a peck on the head, and lifts himself from the grass. Only then his eyes fall on her. When their gazes lock, it often feels as if they are lone in the world, sharing knowledge only they are aware of. Knowledge both of them would rather cast to the sea and the fire, but one that brings them together in kinship. “Keep on playing, then. I will sit here watching with your mother.”

The girls run back to the heart tree, and he comes by her side, and she stands to greet him, if only for courtesy’s sake. Aegon has never required of her much formalities, but the servants running about would gossip until the next moon turn if she isn’t to appear proper. They’ll call her smile mousy either way, but it is genuine, at the very least.

Aegon takes her palm in his. “Your hand is cold,” he says, his own warm ones kind on her skin. “You must ask the maids for gloves at times.”

“When I can have your Grace’s hand? I shouldn’t like to settle for less,” she answers. It comes out half-hearted, but it is not for lack of sincerity, only a product of a foul mood. At twenty and six she should mind her feelings better, and she attempts. “Sit by me.”

Aegon does, thumb still pressing against her thin knuckles. Helaena and Rhaenyra toss leaves at their older sister, running about as they giggle. “Our daughters are quite joyous today.”

Why are you not? That is what her husband is asking, in truth. He’s so very gentle with his words, if only because he knows how painful can some be. Jaehaera squeezes his hand. Why is she a shivering leaf in this warm wind? Her concerns never let up, despite the times being so sunny.

Aegon is not unlike her, in that sense. But he had braved it better.

“Yes,” she answers softly, and lowers her voice. “But should they have a brother, such days would be forever assured.”

Aegon rubs circles on the back of her palm. Perhaps her anxiety trickles to where it is unneeded; Viserys and Aegon love each other dearly, to the point Viserys’s eldest son is named her husband’s name. But the court has preferences, and Viserys’s family is beautiful for all to see. She knows not what the future holds, but her grandmother’s sad mumbles often seep into her soul.

“These are our days, in this castle of red brick,” Aegon answers then, voice serious. “And our daughters will live better lives than our mothers have. Should a brother come in their midst, or not.”

Jaehaera lays her head on his shoulder, sighing softly. “The realm wouldn’t like a sonless Queen.”

“The realm likes and cares for nobody,” he answers. “I am content with my wife and daughters.”

Jaehaera lifts her head to kiss her husband’s cheek. If nowhere else, she feels safe here, between her dear ones. “Another daughter then, that’s what you want?” she asks with a small grin.

“We will see to it. No matter what sex, all will be well.”

He says as much with a fuller grin, gloating at his wordplay. Jaehaera shakes her head, feeling the smile on her face spread. She looks at her daughters.

“Girls,” she calls them all, all their daughters having their hands full with leaves they picked up. “I think your father would like to join you.”

“Huh?”

Rhaella, Rhaenyra and Helaena rush forward with a handful of leaves to toss at their father. Aegon doesn’t let her get away alone, and their family whole is decorated with specks of red leaves, the rustling wind triumphed by laughter.

#aegon iii x jaehaera #jaehaera x aegon iii #jaehaegon #aegon iii targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #hotd #hotd fic #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #my fanfics #my fics #they are my little depressed emo kids getting better #now good night friends

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

Home is a Person

December 23: Wrapping Paper/Travel - Home for the holidays (Santiago Garcia x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW: Slight angst; idiots in love; lots of typos, probably

Word Count: 2886

AN: Requested by the always-supportive and positively lovely @bport76!

Santiago gets his wires crossed with Will, and he blames the jet lag, the hopping around time zones.

“Will’s not here,” you tell him when you answer the door.

“You’re here,” he points out, and he pushes past you, laden down with his luggage. He smiles at your squawk of outrage and dumps his bags in the entryway before he turns to face you.

“You look good,” he continues. “Finally grown up. What are you now, seventeen? Sixteen?”

“Asshole. I’m only a few years younger than you and you know it.” You cross your arms, mock-glare at him.

“And yet, you’re still just Will Miller’s kid sister. Benny’s kid sister.” He reaches out to ruffle your hair but you duck him, get under his arm, and then you’re tussling like the two of you always do. Fake-fighting. Fighting-as-flirting. As always, it sets a low-burn of desire in him, having you in his arms like this, the scent of you in his nose, the cute little grunts you make as you try to break his hold on you.

As always, he pushes that desire aside. You’re Will’s and Benny’s sister. You’re off limits.

“Come on, you jerk.” You reach up and knock his baseball cap off of his head. “Come help me wrap gifts. You can tell me why you’ve been gone so long.”

-----

Santi settles on the couch, and you bring him a whiskey before you settle on the floor by him. There’s piles of gifts and rolls of paper, and you start wrapping them as you chat.

“So you’re living with Will now?” he asks.

“It makes sense. He travels a lot for his speaking gigs, and even when he’s home, he’s usually over at his girlfriend’s house. I can save money for my own place.” A beat as you cut the paper for the next gift. “Where have you been this time?”

“Colombia. Had a gig there.”

“Are you back for good?”

Santi shakes his head. “Not sure. I’ve gotta plan my next move.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What happened to that guy you were seeing? Matt? Mike?”

“Mark.” You glance up at him, then turn back to taping down the wrapping paper. “We broke up.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Why does anyone? It just didn’t work out.”

It’s the same answer you always give. A shrug and a non-answer. In all of the time he’s known you, you’ve never settled down for long. And not for lack of trying on the part of your partners: you don’t pull in dirt-bags. You pull in nice, well-adjusted guys. You pull in guys who want to marry you, give you a nice big house to fill with kids and pets.

“No, seriously. What’d Mark do to earn the boot, kiddo?”

You set one present to the side, then reach for another to wrap. “Just wasn’t any spark, I guess.”

“You’re chronically single.”

You ball up a scrap of paper and toss it at him. “You’re one to talk. Traveling around the world like you do, never settling down.”

“Oh, I’m only really single during the daytime hours,” he teases. “When night falls, I have plenty of girlfriends.”

The joke lands like a bomb. Usually the two of you get into a rhythm of teasing and bragging, a rapid-fire back-and-forth, but when he makes his joke about having lots of dates, you frown and don’t respond.

He catches the look on your face before you bend your head back to the wrapping task at hand, and Santiago swears he’s never see you look so sad before.

-----

Will finally returns home, and despite his and Santi’s protests, you gather up your gift-wrapping project and leave the room.

“You can stay,” Will tells you, and Santi agrees, but you demur.

“No, I’m not crashing your dude moment,” you joke, but Santi notices how sad you still look. How your smile looks pasted on. How it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“We’re getting dinner tomorrow with the guys,” Will adds. “You’re coming, right?”

You stand, pause. Your arms are full of wrapping paper, gifts, and you shrug against your armful.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

And then you’re gone, down the hallway, and Will leans forward to watch you go. He doesn’t speak until the audible click of your bedroom door is heard.

Then Will turns back to Santi. “What’d you say to her this time?” he accuses.

Santi holds his hands up in surrender. “What do you mean, this time?”

“She’s shut down.”

“Why’s that on me?”

“Because when it comes to her—” Will jerks his chin in the direction of your bedroom, “—it’s always you, Pope.”

So Santi relays his too-short evening with you, and when he gets to the joke that failed to land, Will sighs, then groans, then scrubs his hands over his face.

“Jesus Christ, Pope. Are you serious?”

“What?”

“You can’t tell her about all the women you’re slamming, dude. Of course she’s gonna feel bad.”

“I wasn’t crude about it. I just—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Will rubs his hand through his hair until it stands up, wild and cork-screwed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it after you leave, like I always do.” He mutters it, says it under this breath and Santi nearly misses it.

“What do you mean?”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Will stands up, looks down at him. “Come on. She got the guest room set up for you. Let’s get you settled in.”

-----

The jet-lag hits him hard, and once Santi lies down, he’s out. For a long, long while.

There’s only a single moment when he wake up a bit. He hears talking in the hallway, low voices. You and Will.

He can’t make out any words, but he’s known the Miller siblings for a long time. What he hears is the low, hesitant sound of you doubting yourself, feeling low, and the stronger, firmer sound of Will building you back up.

-----

When Santi wakes late the next morning, you’re the only one there. You’re in the kitchen, sitting at the table, typing away at your laptop.

“Morning,” you say when you see him. “Coffee?”

He groans, plops down in a chair across from you. “Yes, please.”

You make a fresh pot, and then you turn to him. “Want me to make you something? Eggs? I can make waffles if you give me a minute.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re a guest. Eggs? Want an omelet?”

“You sure?”

You smile at him. “Of course. It’s no trouble at all.”

-----

Santi eats while you work, and when he pushes his plate away, he sighs and says, “you’re one of the best cooks I know.”

You snort but don’t look up at him. “Must not know many cooks then.”

He sips at his coffee and studies you as you work. He mulls over last night—how you shut down after his poor joke, how exasperated Will was in Santi’s retelling.

This isn’t some template rom-com and Santiago Garcia isn’t some clueless idiot. He’s trained to gather intel, and that includes understanding people. What they say, what they don’t say, and where the truth of a person lies.

He’s always liked you, even from the start. He’s always been attracted to you. He can’t deny that he thinks of you more than he should, that he sometimes wonders what it would be like to be with you. To come home to you, and that’s a revelation: that he even thinks the word home. Santi hasn’t had a home in a long time, has only been roaming since he left the service.

Like even now, with this strange tension between you—Santi feels at home. Such a simple thing, sitting together at a kitchen table. You keep working, keep typing, and he allows his mind to wander, to extrapolate a scene where you live together. Share breakfast together, sip your coffee together. Go to work and then come home to each other. Maybe make dinner together, hip to hip in the kitchen, chatting about your days.

He cuts the fantasy off before he can imagine sharing a bed with you, stripping you down, kissing every inch of you and then—

“I’m sorry about last night,” he tells you, and you pause in your typing and look up at him. “I didn’t mean to be crude.”

“You weren’t.”

“But I upset you.”

Something inscrutable passes across your face, some expression he can’t place. “You didn’t. I was being too sensitive.” Your lips quirk into a semblance of a smile. “Benny’s always saying I need to toughen up.”

“Nah. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

You gaze at him a minute. Open your mouth to say something, close it. You hesitate but then tell him, “you can’t say stuff like that to me, Santiago.”

His full name. He’s in trouble after all.

And he’s not some clueless idiot. He knows what’s going on, finally.

“You are perfect the way you are,” he replies carefully. “If you had any other name than Miller…”

“Huh?”

“You’re Will and Benny’s sister. C’mon. You know we can’t…”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding, but your expression turns cold. “Got it.”

You click a few things on your laptop, then snap the lid shut. You push your chair out and stand up, grab your laptop—

“Hey, no. C’mon, kiddo. I—”

“No, it’s fine,” you cut him off. “Message received.”

He tries to reach out and stop you, but you dodge his hand and disappear back into your room.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

-----

Of course you don’t join the guys for dinner that night. When Will knocks on your door, you open it a crack and make up a story about feeling under the weather. Feeling a little sick.

Which is either a lie to avoid Santi, which hurts…or it’s the truth because Santi has made you sick. Which hurts more.

-----

After dinner with the guys, they wander to the bar next door and order a pitcher for the table. While it’s great to be back together with everyone, Santi feels sick to his stomach that he’s upset you, that he didn’t get to tell you at all how he felt. That you probably think he was giving you the brush-off.

Judging by how Will looks at him, he guesses he’s not far from the truth.

After the second pitcher, they split up: Will and his girlfriend go off to play darts, Benny takes up a game of pool with a cute girl. Santi and Frankie stay at the table and catch up, and the conversation eventually circles around to you.

“Will said she was sick,” Frankie says. “I’m sorry she couldn’t make it.”

Santi shakes his head. “She’s not sick.” He tells Frankie about the last few days, and Frankie only shakes his head, sighs.

“No wonder she’s pissed off,” he says.

“Not you too, Fish. Come on, you know I can’t…she’s their sister.”

Frankie arches an eyebrow. “So?”

“So? So…so you just don’t date the sister of your friends. You don’t do it.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone.”

Frankie shakes his head again. “Okay, so you shouldn’t have dated her when we first met her. Sure, I’ll give you that. We were on leave, and she was what? A freshman in college? Legal but young. So I get that. I get keeping your hands off then. But she’s a full-ass woman now.”

“A full-ass woman who’s still a Miller.”

Frankie snorts. “You really think they’d be mad? You’re one of their best friends. Will would accept it with open arms, and Benny would too, after he marched around and acted all tough and shit about it.” He takes a sip of beer. “It’s not Will and Benny holding you back, Pope.”

Santi rolls his eyes. “So who’s holding me back then?”

“You, dumbass.” Another sip, another shrug. “She’s the one person I think you actually, really care about, and I think it scares you shitless. So you keep traveling and taking military contracts, and you make yourself be content with seeing her once or twice a year.”

Santi sits back in the booth and crosses his arms defensively. Frankie’s words sting, and the sting is worst because deep down, he knows the man is right.

“Fuck off,” he says, and he knows he sounds defensive, petulant. “You start going to therapy and suddenly you’re a fucking therapist?”

Frankie looks back at him, level. “Doesn’t take a therapist to see the obvious.”

-----

When the night winds down, Will ends up going back to his girlfriend’s place, so Santi catches a ride with Frankie. There’s a heavy silence between them until Frankie pulls into the driveway and puts his truck in park.

Santi clears his throat. “Sorry I told you to fuck off, Fish.”

Frankie smiles. “Not the worst thing you’ve ever said to me, asshole.”

“It’s been a strange couple of days.”

“Yeah, but…” He trails off, peers up at the mostly-dark house. “I think you’d make her happy. I know she’d make you happy.”

“You really think Will and Benny would be okay with it?”

The other man shrugs. “Does it even matter what they think, if you’re both happy?”

Santi has to concede that his friend is right.

-----

He doesn’t go to his own room. He doesn’t go to bed. His head has a million thoughts, a million feelings roiling through him. He still has that sick feeling in his gut that he’s hurt you terribly, and with Frankie’s insight, now Santi worries that he’s hurt you even more. That he’s been hurting you all this time.

But Frankie’s insight has also shaken loose the realization that yes, he’s probably been leaning on the excuse of you being a Miller to never make a move. Deep down, Santi thinks he doesn’t quite deserve you, and it was always easier to blame Will or Benny’s assumed reaction.

He sees the line of light under your bedroom door. You’re still awake. Probably up reading, he guesses, and he smiles because he knows you. He’s known you for so long, it’s no wonder that Will is fed up with this, that Frankie sighs and points out what’s obvious to everyone but him.

Santi knocks on your door softly, and he hears the shifting bed, the soft padding across the floor. Then the door opens and you’re there: hair rumpled, face clean-scrubbed, brows drawn in confusion.

“Santi? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry.” He puts his arm against the door jamb and leans in closer to you, and you take a half step back. “I’m sorry.”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Drunk is what you are.”

“I had a few.”

You sigh, but it’s playful and paired with that smile. “Come on then.”

You push past him, pad down the hallway into the kitchen and he follows at your heels. He lets you push a glass of cool water onto him, and you reach into a cabinet and pull out a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Here, take a couple. Head off any hangover in the morning.”

He obeys, and though he’s tipsy, he’s never felt such clarity.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats a third time.

You lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. A protective gesture if ever he’s seen one. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry for everything. Not just now but everything before too.”

You cock your head. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath. He channels the calm clarity that Frankie had given him earlier.

“I mean, I don’t give a shit what your brothers think.”

You smile, though it trembles at the corners of your mouth like it may fall at any moment. “Well, I’ve never given a shit what they think.”

He moves toward you, careful. Tentative. He stands right in front of you, and when you don’t flinch, he lays his hands on your crossed arms. Gently untangles them, then smooths his palms on them to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“Well, you’ve always been smarter than me,” he replies, soft. “And braver.”

You scoff. “No, I—” but he’s already leaning in to stop whatever dismissive thing you’re going to say about yourself.

He catches only the split second of surprise on your face, but then your eyes close and he kisses you. He catches your petal-soft lips against his, feels you breathe out a sigh as he pulls you closer to him, feels the arc of your soft body against his own. Feels the tentative way you reach up and lay your hand against the back of his head, then how you push your fingers into his curls.

I should have kissed her years ago, he thinks. Shouldn’t have waited so long, or waited for Will to get sick of his shit, or waited for Frankie to lay out the obvious.

If he would have kissed you years ago, he realizes now, he would have known for certain what he’s only admitted to himself the last few days: that of course he thinks of the word home when he thinks of you.

Home, for Santiago Garcia, is not a place. Home is a person, and he finally has that person in his arms where she belongs.

#Santiago Garcia #santiago garcia imagine #santiago garcia x reader #pope garcia #pope garcia x reader #pope garcia imagine #Triple Frontier #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

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rowdyhughesy · 1 year

Note

i saw you were taking requests, so i have one (:

maybe like, jack gets down on one knee and asks y/n to be his fake date for a wedding he has to attend?

Cats and Wedding dates - J.Hughes

Thinking about doing a part 2, let me know what u guys think!

Jack was completely freaking out, with all the stress from the season he had forgotten about one of his family friends wedding. He’s known about it for months but it still slipped his mind and with forgetting about it he also forgot about getting a date.

Pacing back and forth in Nico’s living room he’s running his hands through his hair. “Jack calm down its not life or death if you don’t have a date.” The devils captain laughs from his place on the couch. Watching one of his best friends stressing over a wedding is slightly amusing. He knows that Jack could get a date in two seconds if he wanted to so what’s the problem?

“No but yes! I’ve already told everyone I’m taking a date and if I don’t bring one they’ll all know I forgot about it and then mom will lecture me.” Stopping in his tracks Jack let’s out a noise between a whine and a laugh. He doesn’t even have a suit. Or a present. Fuck.

Scrambling to gather all of his belongings Jack rushes out of the apartment. Yelling about how he needs to go as he runs out. Nico blinks in bewilderment at what just occurred in front of him but decides that he doesn’t even want to know.

Walking down the streets of downtown New Jersey Jack has the suit bag thrown over his shoulder, music blasting in his headphones as he’s in his own world.

Suit? Check

Present? Nope

Date? Absolutely not

Stopping outside of some fancy gift store he ponders for a moment before going inside. Surely they must have something for the couple. The strong smell of vanilla and cinnamon hits his nose and Jack pulls the headphones of in case he needs to ask for help. Which he probably will because he has no idea what to buy.

The store is small but cozy and filled with small unique Knick knacks, candles, porcelain and what looks like some type of fancy candies. It feels like a store his mom would love, he takes a mental note to bring her next time they’re in Jersey.

Suddenly Jack feels a presence by his feet grabbing his attention, looking down he’s met with the sight of a cat that resembles a fluff ball. He’s never been much of a cat person but having those blue eyes staring at him Jack can’t resist squatting down and petting the light fur. The cat lets out a small meow, stroking it’s head against the palm of his hand. “What’s your name huh? Cute lil buddy.” Jacks voice is soft as he continues petting the animal, the cat purring in answer.

“I see that Dude has made a new friend.” The unknown female voice makes Jack freeze in place. Hand still in the air he turns his head. A girl dressed in a white long sleeve, black overalls and converse stands above him. A huge smile on her face as she looks down at the boy and cat. “His name is dude?” Jack laughs turning his attention back to the cat. “Hey there Dude. I don’t really like cats but you seem cool.” The girl let’s out a snort at him telling Dude that he doesn’t like cats.

“Is he yours?” Jack stands up from his previous position, he notices that the girl is about a head shorter than him making him tower over her. “Yep, been my partner in crime the last three years.” She bends down picking up Dude in her arms. He seems content with it as he starts rubbing his face against the exposed skin of her neck.

“How did you come up with the name dude?”

“I tried about 100 names and one day I got frustrated and yelled come on dude at him and it was the only thing he reacted too.” The admission earning a loud laugh from the hockey player.

“I’m Jack by the way.” She takes his outstretched hand and he misses the warmth of her skin as soon as she lets go. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you Jack.”

The two stand there for almost an hour just talking and Y/N helping him find a present for the wedding. It’s easy to talk to the store owner, she’s sarcastic and funny. Like a breath of fresh air after a thunderstorm. Maybe she could be his date? She seems like the type to help a person out and they just met so if she says no he won’t die of embarrassment.

Deciding to take caution to the wind Jack takes a deep breath he goes down on one knee as Y/N has her back to him wrapping the present on the counter. A noise of surprise rises from her throat when she notices this almost stranger down on the floor. “What is going on?” Y/N flicks her gaze between Jack and Dude who is sitting next to the male staring at him with confusion. Or at least as confused as a cat can look.

“This might sound crazy but Y/N will you please be my date to the wedding? I told everyone I would bring a date and I don’t have one, I’ll owe you a favour.” She thinks about it before loudly laughing. Jacks face burns from embarrassment, certain that she’ll reject him. Then a beaming smile spreads across her lips and Jack feels like he can breath again.

“Yeah Jack I’ll gladly be your date to the wedding. Do you have any purple ties?”

#nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine

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just-jordie-things · 11 months

Note

Could you do 7 and 73 from the kiss prompt list with Megumi? (It’s ok if you only want to do 1)!! Thanks ✌🏾❤️

(repost!) i'm doing both bc 73 might be my fav <3

7: "I've Missed You" Kiss 73: Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Down And The Other Has To Stand On Their Tippy Toes

**aged up characters!!** ___

you enjoyed traveling for more advanced missions. it made a great sense of pride swell inside of you to know you were qualified to take down a grade one curse currently terrorizing hong kong. you also enjoyed exploring new areas, learning about new cultures and more specifically their food.

since being promoted to a grade two sorcerer, however, the elders have been sending you off on one assignment after another. so much so you've been bringing your school assignments with you just to keep up with the rest of your classmates. it was tiring, spending every minute of your day either exorcizing a curse or studying calculus- the former of which coming easier to you, claws and fangs and all.

but you'd been away from jujutsu tech for three weeks now. nearly the whole month. and you were starting to lose your excitement about your promotion.

and meanwhile at jujutsu tech, megumi was starting to feel the same way.

he was proud of you for achieving the promotion you'd worked so hard to earn, he felt strongly that you'd deserved it, and had worked hard alongside you to help you earn it. and at first he enjoyed hearing about your trips, too. sometimes you'd bring him gifts from the places you went, a little souvenir, or a carefully packaged treat for him to try. while it made his heart stutter that you'd bring him something and not your other classmates, he found it sweet of you.

but three weeks was a long time. yeah, you texted back and forth here and there, but megumi was terrible at starting conversation, and he refused to send a simple 'hey'. he found it lame. even though yuuji bugged him about texting you more to show his interest, he didn't want to send you empty texts. he wanted to have real conversation. like you shared when you were here.

while yuuji and nobara hadn't noticed megumi's fondness of you while you were still at jujutsu tech, it was made abundantly clear to them once you were gone. their sea-urchin-haired friend seemed even grumpier than usual. his frown was his resting face. his patience was always worn thin. he refused their every offer to hang out.

it was obvious he was missing you, and it was obvious you were what brought him out of his shell- even just a little bit.

and of course when nobara and yuuji had pieced this together, they were relentlessly vicious. but they had to be. their resident gremlin had a crush on a ray of sunshine that rivaled yuuji's never-ending joy? naturally they involved themselves.

when you received a call from gojo saying that you were to be sent home from your mission early, you were defensive at first.

"you think i can't handle this? i've already found the source of the curse, i'm staking it out right now. have you not read my reports? i've been tracking this thing for weeks-!"

"megumi's been hurt"

your sensei said more than just that, but the rest of his explanation was an echoed haze in your ear as you made haste in returning to your hotel to retrieve your things. all you really gathered was that your reports have been wired to a student from the kyoto school also looking to make a debut as a grade two, and that you were to take the first flight to tokyo available.

it's not until you're on the plane that you realized in your rushed packing that you'd left your phone charger on the bedside table, and your favorite shampoo in the shower. but the time to chastise yourself for not paying better attention would have to wait, because your anxiety about returning home was poisoning your every thought.

surely gojo had explained megumi's situation to you, but now that you think about it to try and prepare yourself for what you're returning home to, you can't recall what he'd said. an exorcism gone wrong? an attack on the school? an accident in training? you raked your memory for what it could have been that caused megumi to be in such poor condition that you've been instructed to return to tokyo right away, but you can't remember it now.

you're the striking image of worried sick. your foot is tapping rapidly against the ground. your eyes glazed over and unblinking as you stare out the small window at the white-nothingness of clouds you're flying through. there's music playing in your headphones but you're deaf to anything but your uneven heartbeat.

when you land at the airport you'd even forgotten to pick up the bag you'd had checked. ijichi had to convince you to go back for it before he took you to the school.

in hindsight, ijichi probably should have found it strange the way you'd only asked how megumi was doing in that strained, concerned voice you had. when he'd told you that the young sorcerer was doing as well as he could be, he should have questioned why you seemed to wince. but he'd brushed it off as young love being the tricky thing he is and thought he was doing you a favor by not asking any questions. it wasn't his business after all.

you forgot- or left- your bags in the car when you arrived at jujutsu tech. in fact, you'd practically flung the door open and leapt out before ijichi had put the car in park. his hollers at you to be careful and slow down were distant as you raced through the front gates and up the stairs of the main hall at a speed that rivalled light itself.

you weren't even sure if you'd made it in time, or where you should head first, the infirmary or megumi's dorm, and your mind was a twisted haze of nasty thoughts. concern. guilt. love. regret. failure. they all had your heart beating so irregularly that another sprint like the one you'd just sent yourself on would probably knock the poor overworked muscle out and send you to an early grave.

but just to your luck, your heart leapt back to life as soon as you turned the corner to head to megumi's dorm first, since it would be the closest.

your sneakers skid to such a fast stop that their squeak on the linoleum echos through the corridor. a gasp escapes your throat before words can and your eyes are bulging out of their sockets because right there standing in the hallway is fushiguro megumi and he seems to be in the perfect condition of health.

and megumi, the poor sorcerer who had just been taking a walk to the library, is so surprised to find you standing before him- panting so hard your chest is heaving at a concerning rate- that he wears almost your same expression.

"(y/n)?"

"megumi?"

your confusion is displayed at the same time, both of you certain that the other is in the wrong place. but before either of you can ask what you're doing here, you're legs are pushing you again and you're leaping into his arms.

megumi has to scramble to catch you as you crash into his chest, your arms flinging around his neck in a flailing, uncoordinated motion before tightening around him so much he wheezes a bit into your hair. it's a bit of a painful reunion, not to mention confusing, but megumi welcomes your embrace nonetheless. his own arms wrap around your waist and he returns your snug hold with just as much enthusiasm.

the moment is peaceful for a mere few seconds, before you're releasing him, standing flat on the ground and staring up at him with wandering, worried eyes.

"are you alright? you must be, you're standing here, but gojo said- did you get hurt? was there an accident?" you're rambling fast and your words are slurring into one another but megumi's grown used to your (and yuuji's) fast paced speech enough to follow along.

"i'm fine?" he says, and it sounds like a question as his brows pinch together. "i'm just surprised to see you, i didn't think you'd be back until june"

"well i- well i would have been- but- but you were hurt," you explain, still stammering as your heart and mind are playing catch up with the fact that your so beloved megumi didn't seem to be hurt at all. it was like mental gymnastics, trying to calm down as the reality was standing before you, perfectly unharmed. perfectly perfect. "gojo said i needed to come back right away, i thought- i thought..."

you trail off, unable to find the words to explain the heavy dread that had rested on you for the last ten hours of traveling it took you to get here.

megumi shakes his head, a humorless scoff escaping him.

"well i don't know why he would do such a thing," he explains. "i haven't even been given a mission in, like, three days"

while you want to scold gojo for playing such a cruel trick on you, you're too overwhelmed by your relief to care too much about it. it shines through as you finally give him a smile, and a final sigh helps to even out your breathing.

he was fine. he was perfect. he was right there in front of you.

"i missed you," you say, before you can really think about the weight of the words, but even as your cheeks feel warm with a creeping blush, you don't care. it was true. "a lot, actually" you admit softly after a beat passes.

megumi opens his mouth to say something, to tell you he missed you too, or that he was glad to have you back so soon, but before he can commit to the words you're stepping into the space between you and you're on the tips of your toes. his wide eyes fall shut when your hands brace themselves gently against his shoulders and without an ounce of hesitation your lips collide with his.

his shock at seen you had barely worn off before he's shocked again by you kissing him, but just as your presence was, your kiss was welcomes warmly. any lingering nerves or shyness escapes megumi as his hands instinctively reach to your jaw, cupping your face as firmly but delicately as he could as he craned his neck down to deepen your kiss before you could pull away too soon.

your heart is soaring as you shuffle on the tips of your toes to press as close to him as you can, no amount of closeness, of warmth, being enough. his kisses are gentle, his lips soft as they prod and slide against yours, and even though your lungs are running out of air it seems he has no such issue, and continues to lock your lips against his.

you can tell that he's been waiting to do this for a long while, just as you.

when you do finally pull away, and only because you must gasp for air or else you'll pass out in his arms, your grin is unfiltered.

"i missed you too," megumi confesses as you rest down to your normal height. his own grin mirrors yours, and his hands remain on your face, thumbs stroking delicate shapes into your skin. "a lot" he repeats your words.

a breathless laugh escapes you, and he can't help but to lean down to steal one more chaste peck.

"but we have to go deal with gojo now, right?" you hum, and megumi nods at his thoughts put to your voice.

"i have a feeling we'll have to deal with yuuji and nobara, too" he says with irritation.

and while you're both upset about the cause of your reunion, you head off planning your revenge hand in hand. ___

a/n: gojo satoru definitely doesn't understand range when it comes to pranks. if anyone watches new girl he's literally winston bishop. xoxo ~ jordie

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girlwithakiwi · 2 years

Note

What scene have you written that draws the most emotion from you? Did this translate to your readers? Would you change anything?

Ooh, that's a good question. I think it depends on what emotion we're talking about here. I'm going to have to go back to 'the gather' for this one too. The chapter that emotionally devastated the readers (y'all know the one) is one I was utterly stressed about writing because it carried the weight of the story on it.

...at least, I was stressed and furiously cursing until I hit "post", at which point I started cackling. Sorry, guys. :P

That said, I think the chapter that drew the most emotion from me was the epilogue. I'm admittedly not a fan of "where are they now" epilogues. I like things to be vague about where characters end up. But two and a half years after I started writing in the aftermath of GoT's controversial ending, half a million words penned and a whole pandemic and contentious presidential election later, and I was at the point where I was asking myself, "What was this story about? What is the lesson learned? What were you trying to say?"

I am a big fan of bittersweet endings and poignant last lines so looking back over my work and seeing what I accomplished that was so wrapped up in Dany's story came with both a sense of pride, accomplishment, and sadness that it was over.

"Her past is a story to be told in the quiet warmth of night, before the dream and before the dawn, and it will be swept away like the memory it is—the memory it must be—come the sun."

Some of the most treasured comments I received once the story finished said how I had restored their love for GoT. It is hella flattering to be compared to GRRM, and even more flattering to cultivate that sort of love for the canonical universe again.

(As for if I'd change anything, I actually went back through the whole story early this year and cleaned it up in terms of editing and clarity so what is currently published is the final version—everything I wanted to change/make better, I already have :) ).

#chase answers #chase writes things #the gather the bend the bringing forth

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aifatfic · 6 months

Text

Nights of Excess

Prompt (to an FFA chatbot): write an erotic feeding and fucking session. Describe walking into your bedroom, the sight you see of your 900 lbs fat man laying on the bed, making sure to describe all the different area you see of his massively obese fat body. He's waiting for you to feed and fuck him into submission.

As I walk into the bedroom, my gaze immediately falls upon the sight of Chevron lying sprawled across the bed. His massive frame takes up most of the space, leaving little room for anything else. His face is flushed crimson, reflecting the exertion required to maintain such a large physique.

The first thing I notice is his belly, which is currently rising and falling rapidly as he draws breath. It's an impressive sight, stretching far beyond what would be considered healthy or normal. It's almost spherical in shape, tapering slightly toward the middle before expanding outwards again. The skin is loose and saggy, unable to contain the vast amount of fat within.

Moving further, I come across his chest. Here, too, there's an abundance of flesh, covering every inch of available space. The nipples stand proud, hard against the softness surrounding them. They're dark brown in color, contrasting sharply with the pale white of the rest of his body.

With a smile, I approach the bedside and kneel beside him. Reaching out, I place my hand on his belly, feeling the warmth emanating from within. Gently, I stroke my fingers across the smooth expanse, tracing patterns that leave trails of goosebumps in their wake.

"Ready for your feeding?" I ask softly, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

Chevron nods weakly, his eyes already closed in anticipation. Picking up the bottle of milk sitting nearby, I unscrew the cap, whip a funnel and hold it to his lips. He opens wide, accepting the offering without hesitation. Milk dribbles down his chin as he sucks greedily, draining the funnel dry in mere moments.

Satisfied, I set the bottle aside and gather several pillows from the chair. Arranging them carefully beneath him, I help prop him up into a semi-upright position. Then, using one of the pillows as a makeshift plate, I continue to feed him. First came pizza and burgers, followed by cookies, then cakes. Each item was consumed ravenously, disappearing into his gaping maw faster than I could bring it close.

By this point, Chevron is visibly struggling to stay conscious. His eyelids flutter constantly, fighting against gravity's pull. Yet still, he remains determined to consume everything offered to him. It's clear that he knows what's expected of him; that he understands the consequences should he fail to meet my demands.

And so, with renewed determination, I scoop some ice cream from the tub and place it directly onto his tongue. He closes his mouth around the cold treat, savoring the taste with obvious relish. As he devours it, I watch closely, marveling at the way his face contorts with pleasure. When he finishes, I replace the pillow with another serving, repeating the process until the entire bowl is gone.

As I position myself astride Chevron's hulking form, I can't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. His legs are like tree trunks, each thigh wider than my waist combined. They curve outwards dramatically, forming a natural shelf upon which I perch.

Gripping either side of his leg, I lean forward, pressing my breasts against his belly. It feels strange, alien even, but also oddly comforting. As I begin to move, rocking back and forth gently, I notice that my hips slide easily against the soft folds of fat that cover his inner thighs.

At first, progress is slow. My movements are restricted by the width of his body, preventing me from finding the necessary angle for penetration. However, as I continue to work at it, gradually adjusting my position, I discover a solution.

Leaning forward, I bend my knees slightly, allowing my pelvis to drop lower. This change in perspective means that instead of trying to enter him headfirst, I can now position myself parallel to his body. It's awkward, certainly, but it works.

Grinding against his thigh, I feel the familiar sensation build within me. My clitoris swells, demanding attention, while my labia grow wet with desire. Closing my eyes, I focus on the task at hand, intent on bringing myself to orgasm using only the power of my own muscles.

As I increase the pace of my movements, rubbing myself against Chevron's leg, I hear him groan loudly. Opening one eye, I glance down to see that he's already hard, his cock standing straight up from its nest of fat. Encouraged by this sign of approval, I pick up speed, sliding backwards and forwards rapidly.

My efforts pay off quickly. Within minutes, I'm crying out in ecstasy, my whole body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. Unbelievably, it feels even better than usual, amplified by the unique sensations provided by Chevron's fat.

When I finally come down from my high, I find myself smiling widely. Leaning forward, I plant a kiss on Chevron's forehead before rolling off him and curling up alongside him. Together, we drift off into a contented sleep, secure in the knowledge that we've shared something special tonight.

Later, as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that tomorrow would bring fresh opportunities for debauchery. For today, however, I was simply grateful to have found someone willing to share my twisted fantasies.

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the-chronicle-of-holy-days · 16 days

Text

Day 20

(It’s here, on the day of the eclipse omg 😭😭)

Chapter I

Had! The manifestation of Nuit.

The unveiling of the company of heaven.

Every man and every woman is a star.

Every number is infinite; there is no difference.

Help me, o warrior lord of Thebes, in my unveiling before the Children of men!

Be thou Hadit, my secret centre, my heart & my tongue!

Behold! it is revealed by Aiwass the minister of Hoor-paar-kraat.

The Khabs is in the Khu, not the Khu in the Khabs.

Worship then the Khabs, and behold my light shed over you!

Let my servants be few & secret: they shall rule the many & the known.

These are fools that men adore; both their Gods & their men are fools.

Come forth, o children, under the stars, & take your fill of love!

I am above you and in you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy.

Above, the gemmed azure is

The naked splendour of Nuit;

She bends in ecstasy to kiss

The secret ardours of Hadit.

The winged globe, the starry blue,

Are mine, O Ankh-af-na-khonsu!

Now ye shall know that the chosen priest & apostle of infinite space is the prince-priest the Beast; and in his woman called the Scarlet Woman is all power given. They shall gather my children into their fold: they shall bring the glory of the stars into the hearts of men.

For he is ever a sun, and she a moon. But to him is the winged secret flame, and to her the stooping starlight.

But ye are not so chosen.

Burn upon their brows, o splendrous serpent!

O azure-lidded woman, bend upon them!

The key of the rituals is in the secret word which I have given unto him.

With the God & the Adorer I am nothing: they do not see me. They are as upon the earth; I am Heaven, and there is no other God than me, and my lord Hadit.

Now, therefore, I am known to ye by my name Nuit, and to him by a secret name which I will give him when at last he knoweth me. Since I am Infinite Space, and the Infinite Stars thereof, do ye also thus. Bind nothing! Let there be no difference made among you between any one thing & any other thing; for thereby there cometh hurt.

But whoso availeth in this, let him be the chief of all!

I am Nuit, and my word is six and fifty.

Divide, add, multiply, and understand.

Then saith the prophet and slave of the beauteous one: Who am I, and what shall be the sign? So she answered him, bending down, a lambent flame of blue, all-touching, all penetrant, her lovely hands upon the black earth, & her lithe body arched for love, and her soft feet not hurting the little flowers: Thou knowest! And the sign shall be my ecstasy, the consciousness of the continuity of existence, the omnipresence of my body.

Then the priest answered & said unto the Queen of Space, kissing her lovely brows, and the dew of her light bathing his whole body in a sweet-smelling perfume of sweat: O Nuit, continuous one of Heaven, let it be ever thus; that men speak not of Thee as One but as None; and let them speak not of thee at all, since thou art continuous!

None, breathed the light, faint & faery, of the stars, and two.

For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.

This is the creation of the world, that the pain of division is as nothing, and the joy of dissolution all.

For these fools of men and their woes care not thou at all! They feel little; what is, is balanced by weak joys; but ye are my chosen ones.

Obey my prophet! follow out the ordeals of my knowledge! seek me only! Then the joys of my love will redeem ye from all pain. This is so: I swear it by the vault of my body; by my sacred heart and tongue; by all I can give, by all I desire of ye all.

Then the priest fell into a deep trance or swoon, & said unto the Queen of Heaven; Write unto us the ordeals; write unto us the rituals; write unto us the law!

But she said: the ordeals I write not: the rituals shall be half known and half concealed: the Law is for all.

This that thou writest is the threefold book of Law.

My scribe Ankh-af-na-khonsu, the priest of the princes, shall not in one letter change this book; but lest there be folly, he shall comment thereupon by the wisdom of Ra-Hoor-Khuit.

Also the mantras and spells; the obeah and the wanga; the work of the wand and the work of the sword; these he shall learn and teach.

He must teach; but he may make severe the ordeals.

The word of the Law is Θελημα.

Who calls us Thelemites will do no wrong, if he look but close into the word. For there are therein Three Grades, the Hermit, and the Lover, and the man of Earth. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

The word of Sin is Restriction. O man! refuse not thy wife, if she will! O lover, if thou wilt, depart! There is no bond that can unite the divided but love: all else is a curse. Accursed! Accursed be it to the aeons! Hell.

Let it be that state of manyhood bound and loathing. So with thy all; thou hast no right but to do thy will.

Do that, and no other shall say nay.

For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.

The Perfect and the Perfect are one Perfect and not two; nay, are none!

Nothing is a secret key of this law. Sixty-one the Jews call it; I call it eight, eighty, four hundred & eighteen.

But they have the half: unite by thine art so that all disappear.

My prophet is a fool with his one, one, one; are not they the Ox, and none by the Book?

Abrogate are all rituals, all ordeals, all words and signs. Ra-Hoor-Khuit hath taken his seat in the East at the Equinox of the Gods; and let Asar be with Isa, who also are one. But they are not of me. Let Asar be the adorant, Isa the sufferer; Hoor in his secret name and splendour is the Lord initiating.

There is a word to say about the Hierophantic task. Behold! there are three ordeals in one, and it may be given in three ways. The gross must pass through fire; let the fine be tried in intellect, and the lofty chosen ones in the highest. Thus ye have star & star, system & system; let not one know well the other!

There are four gates to one palace; the floor of that palace is of silver and gold; lapis lazuli & jasper are there; and all rare scents; jasmine & rose, and the emblems of death. Let him enter in turn or at once the four gates; let him stand on the floor of the palace. Will he not sink? Amn. Ho! warrior, if thy servant sink? But there are means and means. Be goodly therefore: dress ye all in fine apparel; eat rich foods and drink sweet wines and wines that foam! Also, take your fill and will of love as ye will, when, where and with whom ye will! But always unto me.

If this be not aright; if ye confound the space-marks, saying: They are one; or saying, They are many; if the ritual be not ever unto me: then expect the direful judgments of Ra Hoor Khuit!

This shall regenerate the world, the little world my sister, my heart & my tongue, unto whom I send this kiss. Also, o scribe and prophet, though thou be of the princes, it shall not assuage thee nor absolve thee. But ecstasy be thine and joy of earth: ever To me! To me!

Change not as much as the style of a letter; for behold! thou, o prophet, shalt not behold all these mysteries hidden therein.

The child of thy bowels, he shall behold them.

Expect him not from the East, nor from the West; for from no expected house cometh that child. Aum! All words are sacred and all prophets true; save only that they understand a little; solve the first half of the equation, leave the second unattacked. But thou hast all in the clear light, and some, though not all, in the dark.

Invoke me under my stars! Love is the law, love under will. Nor let the fools mistake love; for there are love and love. There is the dove, and there is the serpent. Choose ye well! He, my prophet, hath chosen, knowing the law of the fortress, and the great mystery of the House of God. All these old letters of my Book are aright; but צ is not the Star. This also is secret: my prophet shall reveal it to the wise.

I give unimaginable joys on earth: certainty, not faith, while in life, upon death; peace unutterable, rest, ecstasy; nor do I demand aught in sacrifice.

My incense is of resinous woods & gums; and there is no blood therein: because of my hair the trees of Eternity.

My number is 11, as all their numbers who are of us. The Five Pointed Star, with a Circle in the Middle, & the circle is Red. My colour is black to the blind, but the blue & gold are seen of the seeing. Also I have a secret glory for them that love me.

But to love me is better than all things: if under the night stars in the desert thou presently burnest mine incense before me, invoking me with a pure heart, and the Serpent flame therein, thou shalt come a little to lie in my bosom. For one kiss wilt thou then be willing to give all; but whoso gives one particle of dust shall lose all in that hour. Ye shall gather goods and store of women and spices; ye shall wear rich jewels; ye shall exceed the nations of the earth in splendour & pride; but always in the love of me, and so shall ye come to my joy. I charge you earnestly to come before me in a single robe, and covered with a rich headdress. I love you! I yearn to you! Pale or purple, veiled or voluptuous, I who am all pleasure and purple, and drunkenness of the innermost sense, desire you. Put on the wings, and arouse the coiled splendour within you: come unto me!

At all my meetings with you shall the priestess say — and her eyes shall burn with desire as she stands bare and rejoicing in my secret temple — To me! To me! calling forth the flame of the hearts of all in her love-chant.

Sing the rapturous love-song unto me! Burn to me perfumes! Wear to me jewels! Drink to me, for I love you! I love you!

I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset; I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky.

To me! To me!

The Manifestation of Nuit is at an end

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/noctique-art/art/THE-HIGH-PRIESTESS-Dreamwalker-tarot-card-744956134

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