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hellishjoel · 4 months

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on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

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summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks.

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection.

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke?

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults.

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite.

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work.

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot.

He’s impressive, really.

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands.

But his hands… they were brilliant.

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra.

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week.

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country.

You were good. Peña was great.

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful.

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion.

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch.

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters.

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever.

“Me?”

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta.

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.”

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?”

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance.

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron.

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath.

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.”

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree.

“Name them.”

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent.

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.”

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.”

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.”

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor.

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice.

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong.

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery.

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--”

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear.

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.”

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.”

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn.

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work.

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.”

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare.

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph.

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph.

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before.

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie.

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection.

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital.

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed.

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck.

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings.

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall.

“What the hell, Peña?”

Oh shit.

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.”

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect.

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite.

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident.

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man.

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands.

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor.

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art.

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next.

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery.

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore.

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes.

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash. He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives.

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson.

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway.

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds.

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved.

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months.

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More?

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you.

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you.

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint.

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.”

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.”

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.”

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps.

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.”

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore.

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed.

But fantasizing wasn’t enough.

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek.

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need.

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his.

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane.

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs.

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet.

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg.

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor.

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned.

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both.

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet.

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again.

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds.

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape.

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts.

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room.

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline.

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop.

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory.

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs.

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs.

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick.

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.”

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.”

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him.

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more.

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness.

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is.

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can.

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it.

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh.

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs.

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands.

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold.

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name.

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space.

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?”

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize.

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly.

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same.

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers.

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption.

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around.

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs.

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem.

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command.

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet.

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly.

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones.

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security.

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively.

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were.

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds.

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña.

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it.

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes.

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.”

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft.

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever.

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings.

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.”

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him.

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance.

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless.

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully.

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist.

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward.

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you.

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck.

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder.

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips.

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark.

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck.

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating.

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity.

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell.

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting.

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark.

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal.

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice.

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge.

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop.

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break.

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed.

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done.

Did he?

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze.

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half.

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back.

“For the lessons.”

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf.

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches.

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips.

“I know why you smoke.”

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient.

“Shit,” you mutter.

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff.

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit.

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s.

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fawnforevergone · 1 year

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The Ultimate List of Dante References in Hozier's "Unreal Unearth" !!

Hello and welcome to my new-and-updated ultimate compilation of all 'Inferno' references I found in Hozier's new album! If I think of anything else, or if anyone else suggests something, I will be sure to add it, but, for now, enjoy this ridiculously long (you've been warned) list I made!

Since I didn't wanna make a post for every individual song and spam you all, the songs are separated by their respective circles! I hope that organises stuff a bit more :]

Usual disclaimer: I could be wrong about some stuff! I've read 'Inferno' and try to stick to the objective references, but sometimes I let subjective interpretation bleed through. If anyone has any corrections for anything, just lmk!! Okay, cool <3

DESCENT:

"De Selby (Part 1)"

We start the album not in the circles, but instead at the Gates of Hell. One of the main themes of Inferno is darkness, and these first two songs are embodiments of that.

The lyrics mention the idea of this being a "new empty space", suggesting that Hozier is being introduced to the feeling of Inferno through the relationship he's singing about, and, so, we begin the descent.

"The likes of a darkness so deep that God at the start couldn't bear." God is obviously a large theme of Inferno and is, biblically, the creator of light, hence the absence of it in Inferno. In fact, the first three stanzas all reference the heavy darkness of the threshold and its estrangement from God.

The Irish/Gaeilge lyrics roughly translate to: "Although you're bright and light, you arrive to me like night fall. You and I, together. You and I, metamorphized. Although you're bright and light, you arrive to me like night fall. The art of transformation is a dark art." The imagery of light and dark mixing together mimics the idea of walking from the brightness of Earth into the darkness of Inferno.

This entire album appears to be the recounting of a relationship and how it feels like walking through Inferno. Here we see the beginning of this relationship, of Hozier losing himself to the threshold.

"De Selby (Part 2)"

Part one appeared to be the step through the gates, whereas part two seems to be Hozier being enveloped by the threshold. In 'Inferno', Dante says the entrance to Hell is a darkness that no stars could shine in. We hear this shift from Earth to Unearth through the production alone; the weightlessness of part one falling into the heavy grunge of part two.

"Your heart, love, has such darkness, I feel it in the corners of the room." The theme of dark continues, as it will through the entire album, but, this time, Hozier feels it radiating from within his lover rather than the space around them. Though, him saying his lover carries darkness is not an insult. This extra depth to his lover is something more to know, something more to love. This idea actually differs from Dante, who sees the darkness as deceitful.

"I want to be so far from sight and mind." Inferno is a lawless place. He would be far from sight due to the darkness, and far from mind due to the insanity that persists within the circles.

"Let all time slow, let all light go." This lyric shows me that he has been submerged in the threshold. Again, the lack of light, but also the slowing of time. Punishment after death is eternal, something that time has no grasp on. Hozier is willing to let these aspects take a hold of him.

"I'd still know you not being shown you, I'd only need the workin' of my hands." Christianity is a heavy theme of Inferno, and this lyric plays on the proverb 'Idle hands are the devil's workshop', a proverb Hozier also hinted at in his song "No Plan" (from 'Wasteland, Baby!') - "My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand."

Now, though, Hozier's hands aren't idle, instead the opposite, his hands are working as God intended. Drawing us back to that idea we were given at the end of part one, we get the feeling that Hozier is bringing something light/Godly to Inferno, and he and his lover are fusing the ideas of Heaven/Earth and Hell.

FIRST (LIMBO):

"First Time"

We now enter circle number one, 'Limbo'. Limbo is an uneventful circle for those not worthy of punishment but also not fit for Heaven. It is mainly for those who do not believe in God, the unbaptised.

Firstly, to get to circles, Dante and his guide, Virgil, must be chaperoned by the Greek Psychopomp Charon down the river Acheron, and we see that in Hozier's first couple stanzas.

"And the soul - if that's what you'd call it, uneasy ally of the body - felt nameless as a river, undiscovered underground." This appears to be Hozier mentioning the river Acheron, one of the five rivers of the Underworld that surround Hades, and, in 'Inferno', are used to transport the souls of the dead to their respective circles.

"The first time that you kissed me, I drank dry the river Lethe." The river Lethe is another one of the five rivers, and is one that causes anyone who drinks from it to forget everything they know. Hozier is simply saying that kissing this person wiped his mind clean, similar to the end of "De Selby (Part 1)" where he mentions partaking in a transformation.

"Some part of me died / Some part of me came alive the first time that you called me 'Baby'." Relating to the previous quote, souls that drink from the river Lethe usually do so before being reincarnated, so they forget their past life. Hozier seems to experiment with the idea of being reborn by his partner's love for him - an idea prevalent throughout his entire discography.

"To share the space with simple living things, infinitely suffering, but fighting off - like all creation - the absence of itself." This lyric tells us that we should not ignore the privilege of living just out of the fear of dying. This lyric is reminiscent of "All Things End" and the circle of Heresy. Since Limbo is home to those who don't believe in God, the theme of Heresy is a very fitting one.

SECOND (LUST):

"When I was young, I used to guess 'Are there limits to any emptiness?'" The punishment for those in Limbo is to exist eternally with the curse of a hollow, empty feeling meant to represent the lack of God in their lives. This punishment seems referenced in this lyric.

[ i ended up thinking about this song more so if you want even more "first time" content, here ya go: "first time dante references." ]

"Francesca"

Into circle number two, 'Lust', we have the story of Francesca Da Rimini, a woman Dante spoke to during his visit to circle two. Francesca fell in love with her husband's brother, Paolo, and when her husband discovered the affair he murdered them both.

Hozier seems to be singing from the perspective of Francesca/Paolo but throughout the album we see Hozier liken his lover to aspects of Inferno - darkness in "De Selby (Part 2)" or Lucifer in "Unknown / Nth" - so the story of Francesca and Paolo is fitting as another metaphor here.

"Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me?" Even in Hell, Paolo and Francesca physically cling onto another. They do not let their death affect their love.

"My life was a storm since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane?" The punishment in Lust is an eternal storm meant to replicate the throws of passionate love - a storm also depicted in the production of the end of this song. Hozier/Francesca/Paolo says that it's impossible for them to care about this punishment when life was already as treacherous as it was.

The whole chorus emphasises the imagery of Francesca and Paolo not being able to let go of each other.

"When the heart would cease, ours never knew peace. What good what it be on the far side of things?" Francesca and Paolo lived their love secretly and anxiously, so what good would peace be in the afterlife when they've already become accustomed to difficulty?

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I." In the opening songs of the album, Hozier describes his lover as darkness, akin to something God cannot bear. Due to the depth of his lover, the mix of light and dark they've made, he believes Heaven would crumble beneath the weight of their relationship. That something as corrupt as Inferno is the only place suitable for them to live.

"I, Carrion (Icarian)"

Still in circle two, Hozier plays on Dante's own metaphor. In Canto 17, Dante refers to his own dread of descending Inferno to the same dread that the 'ill-fated Icarus' must've felt on his fall from the sky.

Hozier twists this, instead comparing his love to the hope Icarus must've felt as he flew towards the sun. He said, during a live show, this song is based on the idea hat Icarus never realised he fell, and woke up dead, too clouded by joy to realise what had happened.

"If the wind turns, if i hit a squall, allow the ground to find its brutal way to me." Again, we mention the storm of circle two. Lust is also said to have treacherous terrain - sharp rocks and jagged stone - that seems to be hinted at in the second half of this lyric.

"While you're as heavy as the world that you hold your hands beneath." This imagery seems reminiscent of the Greek Titan, Atlas, who holds up the Earth on his back. Dante talks about seeing Titans and Biblical Giants at the transition point of circle eight to circle nine, 'Fraud' to 'Treachery', which makes this lyric a sad hint to where Hozier will end up finding his lover; Taking the place of Lucifer in the deepest part of Inferno.

THIRD (GLUTTONY):

"Eat Your Young"

We enter the third circle of Inferno, 'Gluttony'. There are no specific references to Inferno, but the concept of gluttony is apparent. Hozier does what he frequently does throughout this album; He refuses to see the sin as "right or wrong" as Dante so stubbornly implies.

Hozier often divulges in a grey area, a spectrum or sale of severity, when it comes to the sin. Hozier's perspective seems more nuanced than Dante's, seeing sin as layered rather than objectively bad. In this specific song, he displays the different sources of hunger in humans, and where the line should be drawn.

"I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to something, let me wrap my teeth around the world." We start, and reference back to in verse two, a sexual hunger, a harmless passion between two people. This is an innocent side of the sin, not deserving of the punishment of Lust which is to be ripped apart by Cerberus (the three-headed dog from Greek mythology) for all eternity.

However, Hozier moves onto the hunger of politics.

"Pull up the ladder when the flood comes." The government refusing to help the people when the sea levels rise.

"Throw enough rope until the legs have swung." When you don't have a ladder, you use a rope. This lyric plays on the notion of when governments give the impression they are helping, but are only making things worse - a take on the saying 'Give someone enough rope and they'll hang themselves', since what else are they meant to do with it?

"Skinnin' the children for a war drum, puttin' food on the table selling bombs and guns." The hunger for power manifests in war.

"It's quicker and easier to eat your young." Here, Hozier uses the common saying in a more literal sense, saying that if these politicians are hungry enough to destroy the world, they may as well physically eat their young, since it'll have the same effect.

FOURTH (GREED):

"Damage Gets Done"

This song takes place in circle four, 'Greed'! The title of the song alone is already very meaningful. In circle four, the main punishment is that the inhabitants are split into two groups and are forever forced to charged into each other and fight. Dante describes them are being so injured and damaged that they have become 'unrecognisable'.

The song is about greed within the changing of the world. It's about growing up and losing the naivety and innocence you once had, no longer able to ignore the burden of politics and money. Hozier and Brandi sing about the excitement of being young and in love, but, with the rise of inflation, it's hard to exist like that anymore - You need greed to survive.

"Wish I had known it was just our turn being blamed for a world we had no power in." This seems to be a reference to two things. One, the idea that governments blame the people for their own poverty, and Two, the idea of arriving in circle four by no fault of your own. It's not their fault they wanted more money with the world being how it is, but, nevertheless, they're being punished for it.

"I haven't felt it since then. I don't know when the feeling ended, but I know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done." They talk about the enjoyment of the love they're singing about fading, and how they miss that, but they know that, again, this is not their fault. They know they didn't change, the world did, and they won't take responsibility for their 'sin' when all they did was adapt.

As aforementioned, the inhabitants of the fourth circle suffer extreme injuries, so Hozier saying "I know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done" is him saying "I know that we are not at fault for being served the punishment of Greed."

FIFTH (WRATH / ANGER):

"Who We Are"

We enter the fifth circle, 'Wrath', where the inhabitants spend their time fighting to stay at the surface of the river Styx, another one of the five rivers of the underworld.

"Falling from you drop by drop." / "To hold me like water." These lyrics obviously give the idea of water, representing the river Styx.

"Or, Christ, hold me like a knife." This lyric comes in quite loudly, Hozier's voice strengthening with it. The subtle blasphemy of "Christ" and the violent imagery of "knife" comes across as a sort of anger. Being held "like a knife" is representative of how those is Wrath must feel - like they are something particularly dangerous, but still desperate to be held.

"We're born at night, so much of our lives is just carving through the dark to get so far." Again, this theme of darkness that is so frequently displayed in Inferno is mentioned again. After this song comes "Son Of Nyx", which Hozier said was the transition into the darker half of the album, and Nyx is the Goddess of the Night. Being "born at night" would make Hozier the son of the night, the son of Nyx. This gives the impression that, if the album is following on chronologically, this is the point where the relationship portrayed in the album begins to fray as Hozier starts to be consumed by the darkness.

"And the hardest part is who we are." Those in the circle of Wrath possess a 'savage self-frustration' that Hozier seems to represent throughout this whole song - A fierce annoyance with the way he and his lover let things go: "We sacrificed, we gave our time to something undefined", "Chasing someone else's dream", Etc.

SIXTH (HERESY):

"Son Of Nyx"

We have no lyrics for this song (though you can hear him faintly saying some things, one of which is him saying "who we are...") but we know it takes place in circle six, 'Heresy'. Heresy is a belief or opinion that is contradictory to religious doctrine, especially Christianity. As aforementioned, Hozier said this track is a transition song meant to replicate a descent into the darker half of the album.

Nyx is a Greek Goddess and is often known as the personification of night. She had many children all representing different things but the title would essentially mean 'The Son Of Night', and, as dissected in the previous song, we can see that Hozier sees himself as reborn into the darkness.

Once again, darkness is a large theme of Inferno, but Hozier saying in circle six that he is the Son of Night is particularly meaningful due to the association of light with God. He has been reborn as something that could not be further from God, something that opposes the idea of God, something of a Heretic.

Nyx was feared and respected by all, including Zeus, and, though I believe there is no reference to her in Inferno, she was described as residing in the dark recesses of the Underworld, which is heavily incorporated into Inferno.

"All Things End"

This song does not have many overt references to circle six but definitely incorporates the idea of heresy. As mentioned, heresy is an idea that contradicts (especially, but not always) Christianity. In this song, Hozier talks about the ephemeral nature of all things, particularly romance.

"When people say that something is forever, either way it ends." Whether it be death or a break-up, God doesn't plan for you to be able to spend eternity with your lover.

"Movin' on in time and taking more from everything that ends." Hozier, however, argues that things still have meaning beyond their end. That, even after moving on, we will remember and learn from the things we have lost.

"Just knowin' that everything will end should not change our plans." Throws back to the idea of the second verse of "First Time". If you avoided something just because it was going to end eventually, you would never achieve anything. That's like refusing to finish a movie just because you don't want to get to the credits.

When this concept of ignoring the end comes to death, we ultimately cross the concept of God. There are many rules people follow in religion, avoiding certain things because they are against 'God's Will'. Although this practice can be kept in moderation, it can quickly become self-imprisoning.

Not living your present life out of fear for an unproven afterlife can be limiting, especially if you dictate who you love due to what supernatural punishment may or may not follow. Hozier sings that we should not let God's plan interfere with what we need from life, allowing ourselves to indulge in love even if it will end - ultimately, Heresy.

SEVENTH (VIOLENCE):

"To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe)"

This song places in circle seven, 'Violence'. Violence is split into three subcategories, or 'rings'; Violence against others, violence against self, and violence against God. I believe this song gives an overview of all three.

With this song, we recognise that the title says "To someone..." and Hozier said this song was a gift to someone who was from a geographical warm climate, but there is also a lot of heat in circle seven.

"A joy, hard learned in winter, was the warming of the bed." Throughout this song, Hozier describes himself as cold, and his lover as warm. The idea of warming the bed is a concept Hozier mentioned in his song "Nobody" (From 'Wasteland, Baby!') where he sings that, if he had a choice between the warm bed of his lover or performing on stage, he'd go home to the bed. Since this song comes after "All Things End" (the break-up song), this call back to "Nobody" could be instead referencing a permanent distance, rather than a temporary one (like the temporary distance in "Nobody").

"And, darlin', all my dreaming has only been put to shame." This could have two meanings. One, Hozier waking from a dream about his lover to find them not here. Or, two, Hozier's expectations of his lover falling short as their relationship has finally fallen through. These expectations could be a form of violence against self, the second ring, as he set himself up for heartbreak.

"And I wish that I could say that the river of my arms have found the ocean. I wish I could say the cold lake water of my heart- Christ, it's boilin' over." As mentioned, Hozier is cold, his lover is warm. His wishes he could find something to to fill the loss of his relationship, but he still feels the heat from his lover in every part of him.

"It's boilin' over." References the river of boiling blood in the first ring, violence against others, Hozier could be talking about the way his partner loved him, how that was almost an act of violence with how hard it is to now let go.

"Butchered Tongue"

This song has less references to 'Inferno', and is more of a commentary on the act of violence itself. Hozier sings of places and cultures lost to the violence of man, and he mourns this deeply.

"To say 'Appalacicola' or 'Hushpukena', like 'Gweebara'. A promise softly sung of somewhere else." This grieving for a time when native land wasn't colonised and culture wasn't violently erased is prevalent throughout the song.

In the second verse, he sings very strongly of the brutal acts inflicted upon Irish rebels by the British forces in the Wexford Rebellion of 1789. As we know, Hozier is from Ireland, and he incorporates both the Irish language and history into this album, and recounting such violent acts for this song feeds into the grieving of what has been lost: "Between what is lost forever and what can still be known."

In the context of 'Inferno', it feels as though Hozier is listing the sort of actions that would land someone within the circle of Violence whilst also appreciating the efforts those above ground take to preserve erased culture. Altogether, the song is a very moving commentary on modern violence.

EIGHTH (FRAUD):

"Anything But"

The eighth circle is 'Fraud', split into ten subcategories that are positioned around the circle in trench-like ditches, known as 'Bolgia'.

"I wanna be loud, so loud, I'm talking seismic," follows up with, "I want to be as soft as a single rock in a rain stick." Who he wants to be fluctuates between moderation and severity. He is changing, unreliable, possibly referring to bolgia one, Panders and Seducers. Seducers tend to 'lead astray', as Hozier's unreliable narration does.

The punishment of bolgia one is to be marched backwards and forwards rapidly whilst being whipped, very much evoking the imagery of a stampede: "If I were a stampede, you wouldn't get a kick." This alludes to the fact that if Hozier were sent to hell for the various sins he commits for his lover, he wouldn't resent them for it at all.

"If I was a riptide, I wouldn't take you out." The second bolgia of Fraud is for Flatterers, 'the act of giving excessive compliments, sometimes for romantic courtship'. Obviously, the song is filled with these compliments.

"I hear He touches your hand and then you fly away together. If I had his job, you'd live forever." The imagery of "fly away" gives the idea of ascending, perhaps to Heaven, as hinted at again by the idea of the longevity of living. Bolgia three is for Simoniacs, those who would sell church roles, offices, or sacred things. This seems to fit with Hozier saying that if he had a divine role, he wouldn't follow protocol, he would allow his lover immortality.

Simoniacs were sinners because they were disobeying God's trust, because the selling of divine roles would lead to corruption in the Church. Hozier is using this hyperbolically, saying that if someone were to sell him the role of God, he would most definitely be a corrupt power.

"I'd lower the world in a flood, or better yet I'd cause a drought." In bolgia four we have Sorcerers. Although Dante used this term in a more logical sense for fraudulent sorcerers - false prophets, fortune tellers, those who lied about the plans of God - Hozier uses the term in a supernatural sense. Sorcerers were punished for trying to interrupt God's prerogative, whereas Hozier is blatantly saying he would summon another flood, usurping God's plan overtly.

"I'm talking seismic." The bridge that leads to bolgia seven was collapsed by the great earthquake and, as we know, seismic activity leads to earthquakes.

"Worry the cliff side top as a wave crashing over." There happens to be a cliff near the entrance of circle eight that a large waterfall plunges over.

"Abstract (Psychopomp)"

This song appears to be the crossover point from circle eight to circle nine that I mentioned when discussing "I, Carrion (Icarian)". Before we get to that, the title itself is significant.

A psychopomp is a chaperon of death; Someone like the Grim Reaper, or Charon from "First Time", or Dante's guide through Inferno, Virgil. Here, Hozier is describing the act of hitting an animal with your car as taking on the role of a psychopomp, whilst also relating this idea to the act of letting a relationship die, leading it from life to death.

In the crossover point from eight to nine, Dante and Virgil stand and look at the large well that leads down to circle nine, 'Treachery'. The Titians and Giants burst out of the well, to big to fit, but their feet stand stubbornly in Treachery. I believe that, at this point in the album, Hozier stands here, too. He's visited all eight circles, and has one last place to go before he leaves Inferno, and ultimately his lover, behind. This song is him realising he has to let his relationship end, he has to act as a psychopomp for his love.

"Sometimes it returns like rain that you've slept through." Circle nine, 'Treachery', is a frozen over lake, aka a memory of water, similar to the residue of rain. With viewing this song as the predecessor to "Unknown / Nth", we can take this as a hint of what's to come.

"The Earth from a distance." Since Inferno is arranged in rings (like a circular staircase), Dante could feasibly look up and still see where he started his journey. The same way Hozier could look up and see where his relationship began, "De Selby (Part 1)", The Gates.

"Streetlights in the dark blue." We have the mix of light and dark again, as mentioned in the opening track, referencing back to Hozier and his partner falling in love.

"Darling, there's a part of me I'm afraid will always be trapped within an abstract of my life." Of course, Hozier is talking about the memory of the animal hit with the car here, but the way this relates to circle nine is beautiful. As we'll properly dissect with "Unknown / Nth", sat within the most central point of circle nine, the deepest part of Inferno, is Lucifer, the fallen angel. Lucifer was thrown down to Hell from Heaven, and found himself trapped in Treachery, his body too big to escape. Dante says that the more he struggles, the more stuck he becomes.

That moment he was struck down to hell is a moment he finds himself forever stuck in, just as Hozier is saying here. In the next song, Hozier relates his lover to Lucifer, but these lyrics are a gorgeous mirroring of Lucifer's experience, and another hint at the final circle we will now head to.

NINTH (TREACHERY):

"Unknown / Nth"

Okay, buckle in.

The ninth circle, 'Treachery', is also one split into subcategories, yet Hozier appears to be singing about the centre. The frozen over lake of Treachery gets more frozen the closer you get to the centre. The inhabitants start half-submerged in ice to fully plastered in it. Throughout Inferno, and the deeper we descend, a soft breeze becomes a strong wind, that, as we reach the centre, we find is caused by the violent flapping of Lucifer's wings. Here he sits, stuck and chewing on Judas, another one of God's biggest betrayers.

After "Abstract (Psychopomp)" Hozier is now exploring the final stage of his relationship. The circles of Hell had mirrored the love he once had, and Treachery is where it shall be buried. He also represents his lover as Lucifer, though not maliciously. In interviews, Hozier spoke about the song being about a heavy betrayal he suffered from someone he truly loved, and likening this to God and Lucifer is just heartbreaking.

"You know the distance never made a difference to me." The song is about knowing someone in their entirety, discovering their best and worst parts. Hozier uses Inferno to talk about the tiresome journey of finally knowing someone. He says he would've made the trip all the same, that he would've walked this far for his lover no matter what.

"I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea." This mirrors the previous lyric, but also references specific parts of Inferno. The are many fires in Inferno, particularly in circle seven, 'Violence'. The sea floor lyric reminds me of the lake of Treachery. Though a surface, not a floor, the lake would still be below any seabed, since Inferno is geographically below the Earth.

"Funny how true colours shine in darkness and in secrecy." You guys are probably sick of hearing me say it but... Darkness is a big theme in Dante's Inferno. It is meant to represent the deceiving nature of humans when light is not being shone. Secrecy is a running thread through 'Inferno', too, as Dante finds many people he thought had done no wrong residing there. Hozier is simply saying how (sarcastically) funny it is that he only truly knows his lover in the remains of their relationship; How he only knows them after seeing them in their cruellest form.

"Where you were held frozen like an angel to me." There are many angel lyrics, but this one specifically references the ice of Treachery. The fallen angel is indicative of Hozier's experience: Seeing someone he regarded highly, even heavenly, falling from that pedestal and turning into something that couldn't be further from God's work.

"You called me angel for the first time, my heart leapt from me. You smile, now, I can see its pieces still stuck in your teeth, and, what's left of it, I listen to it tick. Every tedious beat going unknown as any angel to me." Hozier references his ex-lover chewing on his heart the way Lucifer chews on Judas. He listens to it somehow still ticking, however slowly, and at the end of the song we hear something akin to a heartbeat. The beats are "going unknown as any angel to me" since he can no longer recognise his own heartbeat after it has been mangled by another, and, since he mistook someone alike Lucifer to an angel, the idea of angels must be "unknown" to him.

"Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? That I'd walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you?" We again have this imagery of walking far, referencing the journey of Inferno, and, even though he's aching with the realisation of who his lover truly is, he can't help but be grateful that he does now know them, no matter how painful that may be. That he would do this all again if it meant he at least got to the answer of who they are.

His weak heartbeat follows him through to final track as we begin the Ascent.

ASCENT:

"First Light"

The title is very meaningful for the Ascent. The song references both Dante and Virgil's ascent and the creation of light by God himself. Dante and Virgil leave Inferno through a tunnel that Lucifer left in the Earth as he was thrown down to Hell, and they emerge on the other side of the hemisphere. This song signifies Hozier stepping away from the relationship as he also makes that journey out.

"One bright morning changes all things." Dante is disorientated when he exits Inferno. He'd become so accustomed to the darkness that he asks Virgil, 'How is it that the sun progressed so rapidly from evening to day?' Hozier seems to recognise here that his relationship is no longer fit for him, that the darkness has become too encompassing, just as Dante realises on his ascent.

"The sky set to burst, the gold and the rust, the colour erupts...the sun coming up." Not only does this give the imagery of the birth of light, but it also represents Dante's view on his exit: 'Until...I saw the lovely things the sky above us bears. Now we came out, and once more saw the stars.'

"Like I lived my whole life before the first light." Hozier says that the darkness from his lover was so overbearing that it was hard to believe he'd ever felt light before - that light could not have exists with a darkness this heavy alongside it. It is a call back to "De Selby (Part 1)" - "A darkness so deep that God at the start couldn't bear."

"One bright morning comes. Darkness always finds you either way, it creeps into the corners as the moment fades." He speaks of bringing light to a moment between them, but has it quickly smothered by the darkness inherent in his partner. Another call back, this time to "De Selby (Part 2)" - "And your heart, love, has such darkness, I feel it in the corners of the room."

"After this I'm never going to be the same, and I am never going back again." This lyric is heart-breaking. Hozier states that Inferno has changed him, but he has no wishes to re-enter it. At the beginning of this album, he was begging for the likes of Inferno - "De Selby (Part 2)": "Let all time slow, let all light go." - and now he is desperate to get away from it. In "Francesca", he said, "At the end, I'd tell them, 'Put me back in it.'", yet, now, he's at the end, he's ascended, and he has no desire to go back at all.

He is letting go of his lover because he recognises that this pain was not worth it, that this love was not worth the punishment he received, so he leaves.

---

That was Hozier's Inferno !! I hope this was helpful to some people since it was very fun to make (I'm exhausted) and it's very enlightening to see how these lyrics relate to Inferno (I'm heart-broken) !! Okay, wooooo !! Enjoy !!!

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verinarin · 5 months

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𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

cw // contains 2.2 penacony quest spoilers

Angst | years after he vanished, you found solace in the path of trailblaze. the day you departed from the astral express, however was the day another version of him greets you.

Traversing through the stars as a nameless was never something you see for yourself, but alas after years of escaping the pain of loosing you have found peace.

You boarded the express with a bleeding wound, yet departed with a new sense of self. Blazing the path of traiblaze has given you precious memories.

Memories that have become the solace you yearn for and now you reside on a planet far away from your hometown, Penacony.

Your heart still burns for the spirit of trailblazing, spreading the tales you’ve theard upon these past years was your way of keeping the spirit of trailblazing alive.

There’s hundreds of letters you have sent to the nameless who still traverse the sky full of stars, while you blaze paths for the younger generations to yearn to reach the glimmering stars above.

“Miss, is it true that the astral express has two conductors?,” a young boy that perched up to your lap asked.

“Well now we only have one conductor which is pom-pom and a navigator ! The astral express’ current navigator is Miss Himeko,” you smiled softly as you stroked the boy’s hair.

This is a glimpse of your life now, as the local’s beloved storyteller. You could be easily found reading a book or writing at a cafe near your house.

You heard a motherly voice searching for her son, “Now young man it seems that you mother is searching for you, better to go back to her alright,” you pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright ! Bye bye Miss Nameless,” he waved as he ran back towards his mother who offered you a thank you smile from afar.

Now you reside back at your table, a letter has found its way to you. Perhaps it was friends from the astral express, but there’s the ‘pom-pom’s signature’ stamp to be found after all.

With a smile you pressed the rim of your coffee filled cup to your lips, it’s been a while since you talked to them. As you place down your cup, a tinge of amberwood lingers in the air.

It was a scent that you found alluring years ago, it made you feel a little bit nostalgic. You close your eyes and let the tale of the past play inside your mind like a movie.

“Excuse me, Miss. Is this seat taken ?,” a voice greeted you, his voice has successfully awaken you from your daydream.

“The seat in front of me ?,” he asked as you flutter your eyes open, to reveal a man dressed in a white shirt.

The collar was unbuttoned slightly revealing a chest that harbours scars across the body, it took you seconds to tilt your head up.

You can’t really make out the man’s face, the sun that shines warmly behind him hinders you from doing so, “Yeah, the seat on your table” he chuckled, as he folded his arms.

His arms were proudly displayed against his chest, his sleeves were rolled up to display his strong arms, clean from any scars. In contrast with his chest.

“Well I’m not meeting anyone, so feel free,” you extend your hand towards the seat in front of you, letting him know that it’s alright for him to sit in front of you.

And so he did, now you could clearly study his face. He has kind eyes, rich brown in colour. His features were strong and rugged yet somehow gentle in nature. His face was decorated with salt and pepper stubble, signifying his old age.

His hair was parted in the middle, it was as long as his neck. You could tell that he cared a lot for his hair, it was well groomed, “Are you not going to ask who I am ?” he smiled as he saw you gazing through himself.

“Ah sorry for staring, you just feel familiar,” you stated honestly before brushing your hair back.

“How so ?” his eyes lingers at you, coaxing you to question more and more about him.

“Can’t tell really,” you’re not going to blabber upon the past that haunts you for so long now, would you ?

Not when you’ve grown this far.

“Heh, such a shame then,” the cadence of his voice, irks your mind. Scratches your heart in some way….

“A shame indeed,” you nodded, your fingers circling the rim of your cup as you await his reply.

“I heard you were once a nameless,” that’s a well known fact by now, at least in the area you live in.

“It was years ago but I'm glad my name still holds some fame, so do you need something from the astral express?” he will not be the first person who makes use of your past to contact the express.

“Nah, I’m just here for your audience,” he spoke, the tone was light yet somehow deep in context, shrouded in mystery.

“Who are you?” you asked the question he yearned the most, his face reflects it perfectly.

“Care to take an educated guess, Miss ?” he cocked his eyebrows as you ruminated through the possibilities.

“You still do the thing huh ?” he chuckled, his face now rested against his palm as he watches you picking apart the past and the future.

“What thing ?” you asked, he spoke those words like he knew you for years, which was odd. He’s a stranger after all.

“The thing where you’ll pout your lips slightly when you’re drowned by your thoughts,” he knew you, knew you well enough and long enough to notice these things.

“Let’s cut to the chase, don’t play games with me old man. Who are you ?” your eyes bore deep into his own, trying to pry the truth out of him.

“Funny, you used to call me that too,” he chuckles, his eyes bore no malice, just a sense of long and yearning.

You only called ‘old man' to a handful of people, but one strikes the most in this case, but it can’t be him.

You refuse it to be him.

You merely stared at him, not wanting to entertain his statement, “Fine, I’ll give out a little tip. I tend to amend things, which is why I am here now, sitting idly in front of you,”

“Amend things ? How could you amend things that are not broken ?” you questioned, the man before you was too relaxed and aloof to be talking in riddles.

“Well you’re not broken per say, but well I am,” the man merely chuckled as he looked down towards the concrete floor.

“So you want me to fix you ?” you ask, your endless pond of patience grew dry by the second.

“Close, but no,” you could see the evident smirk as he kept his gaze down.

“You’re speaking in riddles here sir, some might mistake you as a follower of the enigmata if you keep this up,” this time his eyes trained itself back to yours.

“Well aren’t you still sharp,” he mused, clearly happy that he didn’t need to elaborate on more.

“You’re not him, you can’t be him anymore,” this is a fact, even if this being was him, it is not him.

“Can’t be who ? I’ve been living countless lives before. Be specific would ya ?” the man now let his back rest against the chair, ain’t he comfortable now ?

“You know very well the life I’m talking about,” you sighed, he could be him or even a part of masked fools really.

The masked fools that’s notorious for transforming themselves into one’s beloved.

“Well say that name for old time’s sake, humour this ol’ hound,” never mind, it is him. A masked fool won’t replicate this current body that he made, he’s a stranger to you.

A foreign being.

“You’re not Gallagher, never will be him again as a matter of fact,” that type of wording was not your style to use, you felt bad for speaking those truths.

“Ouch that stings, I was him y’know,” he lips pouted, while his arms are folded against his chest. Yet his gaze still placed snugly into you.

“Past tense,” you quipped, well you felt bad about the cold demeanour, but still how would someone act in this situation ?

“Touché,” he laughed, now from his mannerisms. It reminds you of Gallagher, but he’s not him.

This man is well put, smells expensive, and it seems like he does not drink that much. When you think about it, the man before you resembles the qualities that you find attractive in a man.

As wouldn’t you know it, you told this list to Gallagher over a drink years ago.

“Let me ask you this once more, who are you ?” your stern voice was something he never listened to, but he welcomed it warmly.

“Whoever you want me to be,” he smiles, his voice sounds like he was teasing, but you know deep down that it is true.

“Why are you here ?” the question that has been clouding your mind since the reveal.

“To see through another fiction with you as my main muse,” his voice draws deeper than before.

The gravity of his statement was heavy, it made your heart stop for a mere second just to make sense of it all.

His eyes softened as he saw your shock ridden expression, your hands trembled, unsure with what to answer. He finds his way to hold them gently.

It felt nostalgic, even though the hand that held yours was not the same as before, it felt like home.

“To fabricate a new page in history, to make amends for the past, to see through another life. I’m here to live another life with you, to grow old by your side,” he continues, somehow the display of loyalty soothed your trembling hands.

“And even after death, I’ll wait for you to be reborn back into my arms, forever more,” his warmth left your hand as he stood up from his chair.

He walked towards your side, your hands now placed perfectly against your lap as he kneels before you.

“That is my reason,” he leaned down, bringing your fingertips towards his lips.

“Own my heart once more, dearest,” he begged.

The man begged for a chance once more.

#☆彡veririnwrites #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #gallagher hsr #gallagher x reader #gallagher angst

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prentissluvr · 28 days

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abstract (psychopomp) — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, idk just like a lot of feelings, animal death, some descriptions of injury, blood, crying, mention of character death, 1.9K words. listen to abstract (psychopomp) by hozier.

summary : sam realizes that he loves you as you hold a dying cat in your arms and cry over its loss.

your gasp startles sam. all had been quiet after the hunt, the cruel, clawed monster killed and the rumble of the impala filling the space in the silent air. the street is slick with fresh rain and clouds block the moon and stars.

“pull over,” you insist suddenly. sam glances over at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you’re very serious.

“what is it?” he asks, tearing his eyes from you to focus on the road. he’s already easing up on the gas.

“pull over, sam,” you repeat with more strength, voice imploring. he obliges, expression concerned as he swiftly brings the car to a stop on the side of the road. the tires screech from the effort because sam thinks something is horribly wrong. he’s worried about you, and that feeling only increases when you rush out from the car, leaving the door open as you run down the empty street back the way you came. it’s lit solely by a single flickering street lamp and the impala’s headlights.

“wait, hey, what are you–” he can’t get in a whole sentence before you’re gone. he puts the car in park and follows after you. greeted by the sight of you kneeling on the side of the road, back facing him, his frown deepens and he breaks into a jog. his long legs get him to your side in moments. you sit right underneath the orange light of the street lamp, your form illuminated by the gold of october leaves.

there’s something in your arms. something small and shaking and reflecting the light of the lamp. the smell of rain and grass is heady and delicate all at once.

your eyes are shadowed until you look up at him. then they’re shining with the threat of tears. sam crouches next to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

it’s a cat, its tabby brown fur marred with blood and these deep, horrible gashes. its blood stains the road and mixes with newly fallen rain. it shines in orange light above you. the cat's eye glistens, and it’s still alive, barely, moving in your arms. clearly, the monster you just killed got to it, before you even arrived, and the poor creature’s been bleeding out slowly on the side of the road.

sam imagines that its body isn’t as warm in your arms as it should be. you hold it so gently, your hands so delicate and full of intention. with a pang to his heart, sam realizes that you just want to hold it as it passes. its eyes must’ve held fear as you gingerly lifted it into your arms. but that fear is gone as you softly, so softly, brush your fingers over the fur of its tiny head.

“shhh,” you hush sweetly, quietly. sam wonders how everything could be this silent. sam knows it would be wrong if it weren’t, though. “it’s okay. i’ve got you now. you’re alright.” your voice is lulling and murmuring and trembling.

it slows in your arms. it stills. sam puts a hand over yours and he feels where its fur is soft and silky, untainted by blood. the cat doesn’t breathe in again.

sam looks at your face, and as a tear rolls down your cheek, past the shadow over your eyes, it catches the light. his heart aches. it aches and it aches and it aches.

for the sweet, small creature, innocent and swept aside by unnatural claws. discarded and truly nothing more than collateral damage. its tiny paws and darling brown ears and its good-natured animal heart which all deserved nothing but soft and unconditional love. cat hearts are small, sam recalls. about fifteen times smaller than a human heart. he doesn’t remember where he read that.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s begun to rub small circles over your back. while he has a soul full of compassion for the pretty tabby cat, his heart aches for you the most.

you look so distraught. you’re still crying. there’s a dead animal in your arms.

the way that you hurt makes him feel it too, makes him desperate to fix it for you. he wonders if the tip of your nose is starting to get cold like it always does when it’s windy outside.

and there’s just… your humanity. all he can see in this moment is how it shines. how you’re better than anything he’s ever known.

he thinks that sometimes it feels like the two of you choose what you’re doing. and then he realizes that it’s tearing at your hearts. he remembers that he’d choose anything but this if he could.

he knows you would too. you’d always choose a home and a purring brown tabby cat and house plants over this view; mangled bodies of the innocent, blood in the road, and weeds through the concrete. then again, it’s that humanity of yours that keeps you going. you can’t just leave it all, knowing you could save even one life with the knowledge that you have. you keep him going too.

sam wishes more than anything that this wasn’t it for you. sam knows better than anything now that he loves you. and this is the moment he realizes it. in orange light and a dark blue sky. in a haunting shadow and a soft brilliance.

you are the soft brilliance. in all of your pain and weariness and honest devastation over the loss of a small animal you never knew. that’s what makes him love you, so fully and truly and with no room for a drop of doubt.

he’ll remember this view. it’s fucked up and horrible. it’s the most genuine display of unconditional love and humanity that he’s ever seen. it makes him wonder if someday he’ll be you, and you’ll be the cat, curled up and cold in his lap. the blood drains from his face and he almost starts to cry with you.

but he loves you too much now to go back. it’s strange, he’s loved you a long time. a long time, and now he finally knows it. and he loves all of you. his love for you just rushes through his veins, it overwhelms his senses, it multiplies the aching of his heart.

he sits all the way down, pressed close against you as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and draws you to his chest. the cold wet of rain that’s stuck between the grooves and bumps of the asphalt soaks up into the thick fabric of his jeans. his warm hand smooths up and down your arm. the other stays splayed over yours and the poor cat, like he can somehow protect you both. that hurts him because one of you is already gone.

sam doesn’t just let you take the time to mourn. he mourns with you. he lets go of the part of him that fights to push it all away, to pretend it isn’t there, to just play through the pain. instead, he lets himself feel it. the loss and the sadness and all the wishing that this never happened. that so many things never happened. you always bring sam back to himself.

eventually, sam realizes you need a bit of help with moving on. as soft and quiet as he can, he peels off his jacket to wrap the cat in. you shouldn’t have to keep staring at its bloody wounds. the cat shouldn’t have to be so cold. he lays the jacket on the ground in front of you.

“here,” he murmurs. you inhale sharply, like you’re coming out of a daze. when you look up at him, your eyes still shine. ever so gently, you place the poor thing over the fabric of his jacket. sam wraps it up, safe and warm for you. he tucks it carefully into one arm, silently and sadly marveling at how small it is. then he holds out his other hand for you.

he exhales softly through his lips when your trembling hand meets his. you look so tired, so worn as he pulls you to your feet. but a bit of burden has been lifted since he took the cat from your lap. there’s streaks of blood on your clothes, smothered over your gentle, calloused hands.

your hand doesn’t slip from his as you walk back to the car. you open the trunk and pull out salt, gasoline, and matches. sam locks the car and you walk out into the grass until you can barely see the road. the lump of sam’s jacket, with the cat’s sweet head and closed eyes framed by the fabric and the rest of its body hidden away, is set gently on the ground. it’s silent as the two of you build up a tiny pyre of sticks and dried leaves.

sam softly covers the animal’s face when he sets it over the sticks. the cat receives a proper hunter’s funeral. sam lights the match and sprinkles the salt. he doesn’t want you to have be the one to set it alight.

you sit on the dewy grass and watch, rather than stand so you can be closer to the small thing. sam sits beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. he’s a bit cold without his jacket, but he doesn’t care. the heat from the fire reaches him, though it's mostly swallowed up by the wind.

he looks at you, quiet and subtle in his movements. your features are lit up by orange light for the second time tonight. the fire flickers in your eyes and the shadows cast a haunted look over your face.

sam is afraid of losing you. he’s terrified. and he’s still glad he met you. all of his love and terror is poured into you. he won’t tell you that he loves you today. he’s unlikely to tell you tomorrow. he wonders if he’ll tell you the next day, or the next month or year. he will tell you. and before that, he’ll show you.

every moment from now, he’s utterly dedicated to you. to your humanity, love, passion, kindness, and soft, immovable goodness. he’ll hold you close and kiss that goodness and make sure that no one can touch it. he’ll make sure you know that it is seen and loved and honored so that you don’t ever feel that you have to tuck it away for the sake of looking strong. really, your strength is undeniable.

maybe any other day, you’d take a long, deep breath, then stand and walk back to the car before the fire flickers out. but sam’s understanding and willingness to do all of this for you is so unwavering and true that you don’t do anything at all. instead, you let yourself be.

the night is so slow. the clouds in the sky shift and swirl and reveal the stars sometimes. the moon shines bright and clear in the a.m.s once the storm clouds clear. tonight’s fire is stubborn and long lasting. it still sparks and crackles as the sky ever so slowly lightens. deep and heavy blue turns to soft purples and baby blue. the straggling clouds are wispy and sweet cotton candy pink as the sun touches the horizon. sam notices the lingering tears in your eyes as you gaze up at the honeyed tenderness of the morning.

the earth from a distance. see how it shines.

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comatosebunny09 · 9 months

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Sleeping together is normal.

You’ve shared beds before like this. Slept beneath the stars with nothing but rubble at your feet, and itchy grass at your backs. But tonight is unlike any other night you’ve spent together. It feels different. As if the air is charged with electricity and something heady in between.

In the back of your tangled mind, you knew admitting your secret desires over a harmless game of 21 Questions would pique his interest. Hells, you had prayed it would. Maybe tonight would be the night that he held you a little tighter, kissed that sensitive spot behind your ear, and acted on the subtle hints he tossed your way.

You can dream.

The silence that stretches between you is unnerving.

Your heart pounds in your ears, your fingers aching with the need to touch. Your sleepiness has faded into the background, replaced by anxiety welling in your gut. It would take nothing to lean up onto your elbows, conquer the space between your mouths, and just—

Ugh! What if you’ve misread the room? What if he only sees you as a friend?

Through the dimness blanketing the room, Astarion’s gaze searches through yours. A beautiful maelstrom of emotions swimming beneath them, looking for something. An indication of discomfort. A plea for him to stay. A silent demand for him to piss off. Anything. He doesn’t press, though his head screams for him to weasel a confession out of you.

When you do not speak, a wistful smile rounds Astarion’s lips. Your silence serves as his answer. He lifts himself from your bedside, turning away towards the entryway. Offers a somber goodnight, darling over his shoulder, but—

Your hand encircling his wrist halts his retreat. He’s wide-eyed when he looks back at you, his voice corked in his throat. You tug again, your gaze averted, and the warmth of bashfulness explodes like solar flares beneath your skin.

Look at you, acting all shy as if he hasn’t seen you bleed.

Astarion moves on autopilot, kneeling again beside you, enraptured by your touch. His mouth quivers with a question; brows furrowed with compassion.

Say the word. Say it. Just—

You beat him to the punch. Release his hand, mournful of the loss of his cool veins dancing beneath your fingertips. You peer down at the wrinkled comforter, fiddling with some frayed threads at its corner. Your saliva scorches your throat as you swallow thickly, willing your vocal cords to work.

“You know I’m afraid of the dark,” you rumble, voice rivaled by the soft wind outside.

It isn’t a complete lie. You’ve always squeezed Astarion a little tighter when the candlelight dwindled—curled up into his side with the blanket pulled over your head, succumbing to the security he provided, fearful of the things that went bump in the night. Like he didn’t once live amongst them.

It clicks in his mind like the hammer of a revolver slamming forward. He tastes the subtle undercurrents of your timbre. Feels relief coating his rib cage at your plea for his company.

Stay.

Astarion snorts. Smiles, something boyish and genuine, the bulk of his hand swallowing up your wrist. He draws your gaze to him, his teeth shining through the muted light.

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?”

His tone is disarming. Causes your shoulders to drop from your ears and your jaws to unclench. A smirk cants the corner of your lips. Though adrenaline flows through your extremities like liquid fire, you entertain his cheekiness.

“Maybe.”

He peels back the comforter before you can react. The bed croaks beneath his weight, and you shimmy towards the wall to allow him space. Your feet brush, the sensation setting your nerves alight. In your peripheral, Astarion grins. A lithe mass of sinewy muscle and protectiveness looming on the opposite side of the bed.

He makes no move to do anything further. Always a gentleman despite your bodies crying out for each other. Despite his fingers twitching in his lap, and the longing coloring your eyes.

Just…fucking touch me already.

Time eases by like this. Astarion beside you, recounting old memories from adventures long ago. And you both laugh a little. Gradually scoot closer until the moon sits high in the sky, and exhaustion clings to the bags beneath your eyes. You use that as an excuse to snuggle up to him. Though you rarely need a reason to. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer, and the comforter up to your chin. He makes you feel safe. He always does. Always has.

Without thinking, you twine your fingers together. Test the waters, searching his eyes for any signs of discomfort. When he doesn’t say anything, you’re emboldened to bring his hand to your lips and you kiss his knuckles. He stiffens, breath hitches, mouth hangs slightly open. Gradually relaxes little by little. Looks at you with uncertainty in his eyes, as if he’s ready to dive off that cliff with you if you’ll allow him to. You try again, your lashes fluttering. The wine’s long settled in your system. It’s all instinct urging you forward now.

He brings your hand to his mouth to pay the same homage. And then he’s kissing up your wrist, forearm, further still…can’t help himself, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Lids shutter while his lips seal to yours in a kiss. Slow at first. Gentle because he doesn’t want to scare you off. But he’s waited so long for this. You both have. So pardon him for being a little overzealous. A little swept up in the moment.

You pull away, intoxicated by his earthy scent and the plushness of his lips. Study him, drunk off the feel of him and the soft breaths fanning across your skin.

You kiss again. A little more confident this time. A little more eager. He cups your jaw. Drags you down onto the bed beneath him, mouth slanting possessively over yours, fangs gnashing against your teeth. It’s like a dream. Your hair puddles around you on the pillow. You’re holding his palms to your cheeks, brows pinched, afraid that if he lets go, the dream will shatter. But you’re not dreaming this time. The hoarse, agonized groan he pushes between your lips is proof of it.

#astarion x reader #friends to lovers #astarion fluff #astarion x you #astarion drabble #astarion romance #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav

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xoxoladyaz · 3 months

Text

locked in lowercase (inside a vault)

For @steddie-week Day 3: Longing (1,032 words)

Tags: Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending

“Eddie, man. I think you should talk to him.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”

“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”

“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”

Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying.

Because none of them were Steve.

And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out.

(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)

“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”

Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”

(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)

“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.

“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”

Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”

“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”

“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”

Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”

“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”

Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”

“Know? Know what?”

Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”

The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.

(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)

“Does – does he?”

(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.

Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)

“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.

(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)

The phone only rings twice.

“This is Steve.”

(And maybe that world is this one.

But he won’t know until he tries.)

“Hey, Stevie. Got a minute?”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #rock star eddie munson #steddie angst #steddie week #guilty as sin?

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thatfrailsoul · 2 months

Text

– Parts of me that I seek in you

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

When we strive to connect, to know someone... There are many different reasons for which our heart calls more for one person than the other. The appearance, the ways, their mind or heart, their actions or deepest goals and desires... No matter what it is, there is always that something that makes them shine in the darkness that surrounds us. And, very often, that something is the same as the one that we lost, can't find in ourselves... So we desperately look for it in others. With such perseverance and obsessive need that, sometimes, we allow it to lead us to those that perhaps, at the end, we would've preferred to not meet.

So what is it? What you miss in yourself but so desperately need? Where or when did you lose it? And where and how can you finally find that missing piece?

Slow down for a moment. Breathe. Listen to your heart, to its rhythm. Allow it to speak to you. And choose the image that seems so familiar, so similar to what you feel. Remembering that, whatever the message might be, you are free to listen to it or to let go. Without the need to make it fit. Because your true answer will always find you, the moment you will be really ready and will have the need.

– Pile One,

the star, the ten of cups and the fool.

Your poor and innocent soul... Your tired heart, your consumed mind... The only thing you ever wanted, the one that you wanted back then, was simply to leave it all behind. All that pain, all that fear. All the reasons why you couldn't ever be enough or right for someone, for anyone, that for once you just desired to don't hear... You found the last bits of your strength, patience and courage, all that remained in your shattered heart. And you used them to try to heal. All those numerous wounds, so many that it just feels like a whole and single, draining, torturing, one.

But what did it give you, in exchange of this incredible resilience to try to heal? Only a little relief, a little distraction... That hid that hole that was becoming bigger and bigger, with each time that you worked on - or to be exact forced - the healing of your soul.

And this is the thing. This is what ruined it all, what made it so difficult and challenging. What influenced so many others areas of your life... One little but so important detail about who you are, the way you are. And how much you got used in this life to beat yourself up, blaming for every single disgrace that you experienced... How often you repeated it, demonstrated it to yourself with every step that was supposed to help you heal. You never were gentle, patient, understanding. You never gave yourself credit for how many right things and choices you made. Or how many others mistakes never were really yours, but of somebody else. You did none of this. But only focused on rushing, on becoming better, on healing faster, growing, so you could be sooner worthy and ready to show what a good person you are to this world. You were angry, frustrated, ashamed. You despised yourself for needing healing and learning in the first place. You regretted every single additional day that you needed to get it together. Only noticing how many flows you still have, how many wounds are still bleeding, how many triggers you still can't endure.

Your desire, your intention, was so good... So innocent, genuine and truly right. But so quickly and scarily naturally it became just another cage and punishment that you gave yourself. Changing the whole purpose, the whole meaning, of a journey that is so pure. That was never supposed to be so rushed, give you so quickly those results that now you are so angry to don't see manifesting in your world... And that you decided, unconsciously or perhaps not, to look for in others. The ones that seem so beautiful, so healthy and whole. The ones that seem to go through life so gracefully, no matter the obstacles or challenges on their path. The ones that seem to be able to influence you so positively, if only you stay close to them, showing you the right ways and directions. Supporting you, helping you in doing it correctly, like you seem incapable of doing on your own.

But, no matter how much we adore to think the opposite, we indeed are the only ones responsible for our journey. For our battles, our victories or our loss. No matter how supportive, how close others are, they still can't really help us. Not when we don't allow even our own self to do the needed work. You can't fight through it, not this journey. You can't do it with the only motivation and push being your own meanness, judgment and resentement for the things that you dared to do or not. You can't be there, behind your own back, looking closely at every your step and action, ready to attack if you don't do it right.

But you can allow yourself to take more time. To be slower. To make more mistakes. To feel once again that pain, if it's the one that still overwhelms your heart. You can remember. You can reflect. Learn something from it. Or maybe not. Because it is normal, it is right, to take time to heal, to go through it with all the needed ups and downs.

And you can still do it. You can continue this journey changing your pace and rhythm, or simply starting from scratch. You can and need to do it. Because no-one else can help and guide you, as you can do to your own self. By being gentle and understanding with your heart and mind, that indeed do their best to allow you to feel and experience this life.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Two,

the magician, the fool and the page of swords

You have something so beautiful, so unique, within yourself. Such passion that, if not explored and shared, can consume you inevitably. Consume that power that you sometimes forget to have. So you always took care of it. You always nourished it. In the moments when it felt as natural as breathing, and even in those where it was too similar to a torture, that need to create and do something but without any idea on why, how to start or from where. And even if, thanks to you and your deepest love, this passion and calling did survive... It is starting to fade now. Submerged with all the questions and doubts about whether or not it is worth it, if you are good enough to do it at all, if it is really that important... All because for quite sometime you were the only admirer and supporter of your work.

You are wavering, your steps and actions as you create become more and more unstable, as every inspiration or idea seems not enough to be worthy of the success, even just appreciation that you want. But this something... Is so yours, so made perfectly just for you and to express your soul... That you can't really just leave it. You can't just stop doing it, even if it is becoming hard to be satisfied as you used to, because you so naturally always gravitate back to creating and allowing your mind and heart to speak up through every step of your work. So you keep going, with a non consistent rhythm, many set backs, infinite doubts... Doing it, because you feel this need and desire so much. But not really enjoying it anymore. Because in the eyes of others it never seems good enough, and therefore it doesn't feel enough for your own self. For the one that, in the first place, you were supposedly creating it for.

It is so natural and normal to have the desire to share, to welcome others in your universe in a sense, to show them who you are or how you see this world... But what starts so innocently and genuinely, a way to connect to others and don't feel so different or not understood, an alternative type of motivation and fuel for your creativity even... is so often soon to become exactly what kills it, overwhelming your every idea with the judgment of others, and their way of seeing the world.

It just shifted your perspective, about yourself and your work. It made you feel little, insignificant, too simple or too much, confronted to what others seem to consider deserving and worthy of their attention and love. It made you feel useless, because when your creation was ignored, you felt like what was really being rejected was your soul that spoke through your work.

And time after time, day after day, this calling became so faint, almost non existent. Not because it is really going away... But because you are just the one that tries so desperately to ignore it and to not hear it. Convinced that following it would be useless, without anyone appreciating and admiring what you do. Convinced that doing it for your own self and enjoyment is not really worth it, because it doesn't give you any income, any fame, any support and appreciation from others. Convinced that it is only and simply a waste of time.

But is it? Is it really completely useless if you are the only one to whom you dedicate the creations of your soul? Or does it give you a chance to feel and experience this world in your own way, processing those emotions and thoughts, reinventing them? Does it give you back the ability to breathe and feel at ease, once you allow everything that overwhelms you flow out through your work? Does it fill your time with excitement and enjoyment? Does it give you a safe place, that allows you to rest and hide from everything else? Does it make you feel proud of who you are and what you did, what you were able to create with your own mind and hands? Because even if it does only one of these things... Than it is worth it. Because this is what gives you the energy and fuel to live this life, to appreciate it, to go through it. Having something that always protects and expresses your soul.

You can't do only what assures you the interest or appreciation of others. You can't do it for so long as you are planning or trying to do. You can't do it without constantly feeling on autopilot, thrown from one work to another, trying to satisfy every one of them in hopes that in return they will support your work. It is not true to you. It is not what you want or need. It is not even something that you can do, the things that they want. It is only a play, of which you are trying to learn all the phrases and rhythm, but that you can keep up with only for so long.

This life is not unfair, wrong, useless, a constant and neverending annoying and painful cycle. But it is this way for you, who doesn't have anymore that tiny but vital component - the language of your soul. You are suppressing it, you are limiting it and judging. For what? For whom? For what reason? This is not something that needs to be enough or good for others. It is not something that needs to give you incredible success, wealth or recognition. It can, but before any of that it needs only to be something that you enjoy. Truly and simply.

You don't need to find new ideas, ways, hobbies, interests, sports, studies, paths to explore - you just need to comeback to what you already know that you love. And welcome it in your Iife, starting doing it again and more. Just for your own fun and enjoyment, that will overflow from your heart to every other aspect of your life. Connecting everything, and making it free from the torture of unsatisfaction and frustration that you endure.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Three,

the devil, the justice and the star

Sometimes we cross paths with those that perhaps we weren't meant to be with, we weren't meant to create and have the same story as the one we desired and pictured so well. It happens. It hurts. Then, eventually, it goes away. But when it happens again and again, one person after another... One betrayal, lie or misunderstanding after the other... How can one not notice the one element that connects them all - themselves? How can one not think, even in the slightest, that perhaps it is not working out because of who and how they are?

So one dives into it, tries to remember every single moment, analyse their own ways, with the desperate need to find that wrong something and change it, making everything in themselves right again. With the need to demonstrate that it is something that can be changed and that it won't be this way forever. That they can and will be better, more worthy, more right, and for this reason chosen by someone. And perhaps they do find it, that something, they work on it day and night, fight their own demons and who they are, and come out of it brand new. They put themselves out there, open up to people and try genuinely to connect... And then it happens all over again. The same pain, confusion, uncertainty, doubts, betrayal or a broken heart. But they did the work right? They changed, or did they not? And there it goes the fear of not being worthy no matter what, of being destined to loneliness and hurt, or perhaps of not doing enough. And some collapse, they hide, and try with all their forces to make themselves enough, to not need anyone else in their life. While others... Others don't say it out loud. Don't think about it. Hide it deep down. And try to make things work no matter what it means to accept and endure, just to not have yet another person leaving them behind.

And you... You are doing it right now. With them, or with others in your life. Subtly, unconsciously, you force yourself to stay. No matter the words you hear, the actions you see, the promises that you know are already broken and mean nothing to the person by your side. You stay. Because walking away might mean that there never will be someone else, that you will be the only one you will have.

It is difficult and painful to think about being somehow different and wrong, never enough. It is even more difficult to try to work on it and change yourself. It is difficult to face not only the pain but also the loneliness. To feel that fear of living this way forever creeping on you with each day. So staying, trying to be more understanding, patient, docile, considerate, delicate, silent and comfortable for others... Seems indeed less difficult and scary, because in return they too will stay. Even when it is clear that you are torturing and consuming yourself. Even when you so clearly and surely know that the way you are treated is not okay at all. All for that acceptance, that tiny affection, even if not genuine. All for those things that you think you will never be able to find in yourself, and might not find once the people that are now in your life will not be here anymore. A void that, perhaps, won't ever be filled with another person, with another connection or love.

But by convincing yourself to adapt to others and what they look for or don't love... You did exactly that one thing that will not allow people who are genuinely interested in you to come closer. Not when that place in your life is already occupied by another someone. Not when you show so ardently and persistently that the way you are treated is what you want.

A right person - the one that is interested in you exactly the way you are, not less not more - even when so close to you to see you... Will never be able to do something, to help you, to take you out of this play pretend and torture... Because no one can do what should start from you, what you should be ready to finally to do: to protect yourself, t be treated right, to be loved and appreciated for the way you are.

It is safe, please believe me. It is safe for you to be who you are. It is safe for you to don't accept scraps of love and attention from others. It is safe if you walk away from those who can't find that one thing they want in you, who is already perfectly fine and enough. It is safe for you to don't force it. It is safe for you to let them all go. Because the space they will leave behind them is not something so negative as you convince yourself to be. It is not a sign of loss. It is only more space for your own self to grow, to bloom, to be who you are. To shine so proudly and brightly and to be seen by those who will notice and love you. And not the ways you can adapt to someone elses need, desire or mood.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

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petew21-blog · 6 days

Text

No way back

Richard Madden was now on top of his career. Starring in Game of Thrones and after that in many successful movies as well.

He loved his aching career and his life

Until it was taken from him. By you

You really loved him as an actor. But you fell in love with his body much more. And that's why you attacked him on the street after that play he starred in.

He put up quite a fight. But you had a knife and eventually you succeded in stabbing his shoulder. Stabbing was the crucial step to swap bodies. After that, you were now fighting your old body, that was towering over you and held a knife in your shoulder. Thank god for the police for shooting him and saving you

The ambulance took you to the hospital. He hit some of the big veins, so you were bleeding rapidly. So they had to take care of that. Some doctor stitched you up and told you you were lucky. "I know. Thank you"

You were finally left alone in your room. You went to the mirror in your gown to look at the wound and at your new self.

And there he was Richard staring back at you.

You took of the gown. Revealing the big wound and some scratches on other parts of the body.

He put up quite a big fight before you switched. If you wouldn't stab him, you'd be the one who was dead now. Not Richard.

You looked over your new shirtless body. Your hairy torso covering the muscular chest and abs. All yours now to enjoy.

Your nipples hardening at the sight of the beautiful man in front of you. And not the only thing that was hardening.

You are Richard Madden now

But the blood and scratches reminded you what you have done. That you were now in a different man's body. That you took his life and got him killed. There's no going back anymore. You can't get back to your old life, see any of your friends or your family. Or even your dog

It was all so bittersweet. Getting his body was one thing, but now you felt the guilt of it all overcoming you. You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw the teary eyes looking back. Did you screw this up?

6 months later

After dealing with the aftermath and going to therapy. You decided to quit acting for a while. You didn't even know how to act, cause Richard's memories did not stay in his body and secondly you probably wouldn't even enjoy it.

You asked for therapy after the attack a decided to pretend to have some sort of amnesia, which became an excuse for everything after that. Especially for not knowing who in Richard's life was who.

But now it didn't matters. You were in Los Angeles, Hollywood Hills. Enjoying the beautiful scenery and the sun shining on your beautiful hairy chest.

With just one bottle of water and a phone in your hand, you arrived to the place and sent the photo

"I'm here" you said out loud

From a bush, an attractive young man came out

"Holy shit, it's really you. Omg sir I have to say I am the biggest fan."

"I thought you came here to hook up"

"Yeah... right. Sorry. Sure"

You unzipped your jeans and pulled out your big dick to jerk. It was getting hard. You loved freaking out these twinks in your body. Hell, this guy's probably the same age as you were. But you're in Richard's body now, being older than him

He was shocked and just stared at you. Definitely aroused

"Are you gonna stare or take care of it?"

"I... YES! I just thought we could go somewhere private. There is a lot of rattle snakes here you know"

You came close to him. Pushing him on his knees and shoving your hard dick into his mouth

"There is only one snake you gotta be worried about right now"

You left him on the mountain. Covered in cum all over his face. You had an interview to get to. Fuck, your acting career was about to start again.

The twink caught up with you. "Can I call you? I really wanna do this again"

"Already hungry for more? This is my adress. And bring a friend"

The guilt was still deep in your heart. But moments like this definitely made it better

#body swap #body switch #male body swap #celebrity body swap #criminal body swap #body switching #body swap story #body swapping #richard madden #marvel fanfiction

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gladiatorcunt · 5 months

Text

　　╰ • ❀ - ❛happy birthday, mr. emperor!❜ ✦

cw: afab reader, daddy kink, pretend it’s april 19th, implied painal sorry for writing an anakin that would love jane eyre too much, bondage mention, dark themes, implied age gap, blowjob

“I wish you could see how the stars I made shine for you, angel.”

Last night Anakin had tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, silently chuckling when it sprung back to smack you in the face. Your nose scrunched in that bunny-esque way he loves, and he whispered against your cheek that he loved you before departing your home. As soon as you heard the door swoosh shut behind him, a bright smile beamed across your face as you sprung out of bed and began preparing. You’d gotten better at pretending to be asleep, or maybe he’s just humoring you.

It took you hours to set up your husband’s surprise stay at home birthday celebration. His job as the Emperor of the Galaxy drains the life out of him even on his good days, so you do what you can to ease the tension however possible. Today is the day in which you put your heart and soul into adoring the love of your life. It wasn’t hard to decide on this kind of party. You’re more of the long distance vacation person in the relationship, and Anakin would gently scold you about how it wouldn’t be safe to even leave the palace most of the time.

You hum a catchy tune, looking in the mirror to make sure that the bow in your hair is tied perfectly. You picked a satin fabric that matches the color of Ani’s eyes, and a part of you can’t deny that the decision was motivated by the desire to see his jaw clench in possessiveness. The little thrills you manage to witness get you through the days inside. You do some last minute twirls, glancing over your outfit and ignoring the slight discomfort of the silk ropes underneath.

Your slippers slap against the floor all the way to the dining room. The servants had already been dismissed for the day as soon as your husband had left, something else that you wouldn’t mind getting a ‘thorough scolding’ for. You know Anakin just doesn’t like for you to ever feel the need to lift a single finger if he can help it, but it’s only fair that you be the best spouse you can be on his special day.

All the food lining the long rectangle shaped table is Ani’s favorite, painstakingly put together and placed in an arrangement by your own hands. You haven’t slept in what feels like forever, but it’ll all be worth it to see how happy this will make him. Like always, you don’t care to delve into how slick your pussy gets at the thought of his approval. Even a small grunt of acknowledgement when he’s distracted drives you wild.

After making sure that absolutely everything is in the proper place, cheesy decorations strung up all over the place included, you smooth your clothes down with your palms flat and wait in the bedroom. You hope he appreciates how restrained you’ve been since he’s been gone, the tempatation to hump your puffy folds against the pillow he lays his head on is still on your mind. Anakin usually wakes you up by licking a flat stripe up your cunt under the covers and hooking his fingers in your hole to stretch it enough for him to spit in, always already naked from the night before. Like a cat kneading the surface it’s walking on, you could cry at being deprived of grounding yourself by burying your shaking hands in his soft hair.

Your excitement must bleed into the Force somehow, because you hear the heavy stomps of boots sooner than you thought. You scramble to meet your husband at the door, remembering how he once admitted that he likes to hear how happy you are to see him when he gets back. The cat never fails to return to check on the canary, and when it eats the stubbornly cheerful thing it doesn’t have to. It knows exactly where the bird is, and always will be.

You don’t even wait for him to get out of his armor and into his more casual attire that he likes to lounge around in at home. As soon as you see your favorite crow’s feet wrinkles revealed by the silver door, you pounce.

With very little effort, you reach up and push the top of your outfit off your shoulders. Anakin’s darkened gaze follows the truthfully skimpy garment as it falls to pool around your ankles. Your cheeks burn and you pray that he’ll take his time admiring you but no such luck, his eyes quickly flick up to see the start of a series of clumsily tied loose silk knots. The holonet tutorial you followed was sort of confusing, but you thought you managed to pull it off in the end!

“Fuck, look at you, bunny.” He groans, prowling around you in a slow circle. “All this for some boring old man?”

“Hey, ‘s not nice…” You wring your hands together, wiggling your plump ass for him as he makes his rounds. “You’re MY boring old man, Ani.”

“Watch it.”

“Or what?” You giggle despite the warning look he’s giving you.

The heat in his gaze feels like flames licking at your spine, but you don’t push him any further. You would never want him to have a stressed induced heart attack. Your unspoken jab makes you giggle again until you realize that Anakin could peek into your mind whenever he pleases.

The sudden slap to your rear doesn’t surprise you, nor do the frenzied squeezes. He loves to watch the skin bulge out between his thick fingers, he loves your fat ass period. The blush pink ribbons were tied together in a way that you knew would enhance your curves, putting enough pressure on your plush ass and tits in particular to really make them pop. Your thighs were nothing to forget about, though, you know better than to assume that Ani doesn’t love every bit of his baby equally.

He circles back around to face you and grins. He adjusts his cock in his pants, not taking his eyes off fof you for even a second, “So fuckin’ gorgeous, honey. And here I was about to say that the best thing I could receive is waking up to you every day.”

“Thank you, Daddy, Happy Birthday.” You purr, sinking to your knees and winding your arm around his thigh, nuzzling into the seam of his pants like you were searching for something.

He ‘tsk’s above you but he sighs and waves his hand in the air, summoning an emerald green cushion to slide under your knees before you hit the floor. That pillow didn’t exist in the beginning of your relationship, but you’ve ended up loving being like this so much that it became a necessity.

Anakin groans as you mouth at his bulge over his slacks, wetting the fabric with your kitten licks to his tip. He settles a heavy palm on top of your head and gives you a couple pats. Neither of you are in any rush, both enjoying your dynamic in a more sensual way. Ani loves how cock drunk you already seem to be, the tension in his body just melts away when he can see how much you’re salivating over your mind going blank.

“You can’t go dumb on me, Angel, I haven’t even got my present yet.” He teases you and grins when you mewl distractedly.

You’re trying really hard to pay attention, promise, but you couldn’t ignore your husband’s natural musk if you tried. “ ‘ngh- hah… ‘Sorry, Daddy.”

Then you remember that you can’t spend the rest of your life on your knees (you wish), so you sheepishly wipe the drool from your mouth. You have trouble getting hold of the zipper, your fingers being too wet to properly pull it. Your embarrassment is short lived, because Anakin is using the Force to undo it and slide his pants down far enough to free his throbbing length.

You pout in disappointment when it doesn’t flop out to smack you across the face. In no time at all you’re slobbering all over his cock.

You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband, hollowing out your cheeks and humming periodically. You can’t help the satisfied grin that comes over you whenever you get a deep groan or grunt in response. Your mouth makes ‘slurp!’ sounds as you suck him off, a sharp ‘pop!’ going off when you pull the suction away to trace the veins on the underside of his curved cock. Precum beads to the surface but they’re swiftly licked away, you outright make out with the thick tip of his dick for a good minute.

Anakin would tease you for how much of a bitch in heat you’re being, but he’s no better when he wriggles his tongue fucking either of your holes. He’d call you that with love though, he’ll never forget how grateful he is to still have you after everything.

“My consort loves their dick, huh? Should I even ask if you’ve prepped your ass?” He asks and you smother your smile in his balls as you lavish them in your saliva.

“Good bunny.” Anakin sighs, balling his fist up in your hair. “Daddy knows you like it when it hurts, angel.”

And you do, even with the dried cum around the corners of your mouth and the tears spilling over. You’re smiling in between gasps of breath with every heavy thrust, you send a thought into the Force of concern over the state of Ani’s joints and you squeal when he speeds up. He hadn’t even bottomed out yet, your puffy rim was already red enough from his bullying the blunt head past your entrance.

You sob and let your mouth hang open, staring off into space as you feel his length cleave your insides in two. The kisses dotted all over your face help soothe you, but you still pant and dig your nails into his wrist on the side of your head caging you in. Anakin’s other hand kneads one of your ass cheeks, giving you more quick pats when he think you’re getting too worked up.

Some of the ribbons wrapped around your body have been destroyed, either by Anakin’s irritation when he wanted more access or by how amateurish your knot tying skills were. The ones around your ass are still intact, and you do your best to shake your ass against the remaining inches sinking inside your puckered hole, wondering if Ani can pick up on the shimmer of the ropes in the dim light.

He’s a good man, your Ani, he only lets it hurt on special occasions. If you rub up on him really nicely, ruining your ass goes outside of those occasions. It’s his birthday, why not let him play with his favorite toy how he wishes? You take pride in the leash you have around his every waking and slumbering desire, he has the same hold on you.

At the end, the universe will only know the carnage Darth Vader left in his wake. Long dead twin suns will singe the memory of Anakin Skywalker and his lover into the fabric of reality.

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