#ALSO HES SO PATRONIZING TOWARDS HER ITS AWFUL

[horrorwebs]

why are men literally the fucking worst

#theres a guy in one of my uni friend groups who has a crush on my friend also from the friend group #and she feels so so uncomfortable plus she hasnt done ANYTHING thatd give a hint that she likes him back. bc she doesnt #and now she doesnt feel ok around because hes so attached to her and so so needy and its like. well. way to fuck it up dude. fuck you #he has been acting so strange lately and not in a good way. strange awkward and needy and like. possesive. #her and i also have another friendgroup where frankly i feel much better with and she does too. and its like. well the guy is always like #butting in but now really being part of anything? like its not like he comes over to the grouo to be with all of us hes just sort of . there #talking only to her or sometimes me but its like not nice its weird and annoying #ALSO HES SO PATRONIZING TOWARDS HER ITS AWFUL #AND hes like. a bit older.... where its not like. the weirdest age gap i dont think so. but it IS a bit weird considering some of the things #he has said. like the other day he made a comment about how my friend 'well shes so young like people her age sometimes dont get [x]' like? #if you think she is SOOO young and SOOO out of touch with people your age well why the fuck are you asking others if you have a chance w her #get away from her really #sidenote: today she was telling me and a different friend about this problem and my other friend said it was really uncomfortable and bad + #that he used to think the guy had a thing for ME BEFORE??? and i dont know if he also thought -i- had a thing for him but please god no. #even the hypothetical made me feel super uncomfortable. also i used to feel like that a bit like he might like me and it was bad and gross #so i dropped a comment that let him believe i was a lesbian i think? also got much colder towards him . like. thats what you get fucker #about the lesbian thing i meant that he told me about a friend of his that had it hard coming out as a lesbian and i said like oh yeah being #like that was hard for me also. finding out i was not straight was tough etc . #dont remember if i said the word lesbian i dont think so but i did say i like girls and i didnt mention boys at all so i hoped itd be enough #also people dont really -get- what being asexuas means + didnt want to tell him im ace + techically i Can like boys bc romantic attraction #is undefined to me but i was definetely not going to tell him that bc 1. im much more prone to like a girl and 2. not trying to get his hope #up. #so anyway it was gross to realize other people saw it too so i mightve actually not been insane to think he had a crush on me but it was bad #and also. i really need for my friend to be comfortable in class so i might have to kill him who knows. well see #spikeposting #personal

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions sure seemed to settle on the people with Less Power who have in-universe supporting roles to the more powerful players ultimately doing better than the central men do (and not quoting hitler & raring to launch nuclear attacks as much, so nice job) & deserving to walk away, but where then it's like okay & so what about the people with less power than Them who had supporting roles to Them. so the pyramid scheme here crumbles as each more burdened tier may fall alway, is the extension. & billions is like oh no no it isn't. because the people in a lower tier than These [better than the central men] parties have less power b/c that's what they Deserve, of course. then you can turn to all the instances of billions, with the central men it knows are shit & refuse to change, having those central men express "other people have less power than me b/c that's what they Deserve, of course," and billions like "oh god. sickos. not true, & we're freeing those people these guys wrongly think are inferior" like okay and whoosh lightning fast swap that [central men / their support network] juxtaposition with [that support network / the Lower Ranking people who work with Them] and nope billions is just going "no yeah This power imbalance is objective & righteous. the Winners deserve to do whatever they want" like you do see how it falls apart (they do not, presumably)

and that as always the pyramid scheme is also a sierpiński triangle b/c you look at any point & zoom in & as always when [well a hierarchy is objective] is thee way, as soon as you have multiple people in a situation there must be an establishing of the hierarchy in that situation. and there we go in the finale where it's like the [s1 yay axe wags wendy sooo cool even if i guess don't let people die] continues and like taylor in s2 did get in in time with enough thought & with enough intention that the character be in Juxtaposition with everything s1ly, and they belong to the adequately deserving group of characters in the end and certainly with Any effort at giving them some focus, but they cannot disrupt their Deservingness by disrupting the Deserved Hierarchy and i.e. Not deferring to wags, wendy, axe. taylor & sacker (& philip) team would've had this wrapped up in two to four episodes; instead we have way too much focus on wags & wendy not doing anything except getting in the way, or being sooo cool, & at least taylor interacting w/axe was more characterful material for taylor, but they don't even really get to criticize anyone for getting in the way or being sooo cool terrible now or prior, like, okay look just ask axe why he's not being as totally epic as you know he truly is, and don't be helming this shit that's always Actually been most relevant to this once-newcomer character who was written to inherently contrast with all the s1 epicness, wonder why that relevance is. step aside and let our hero wendy through please while we all kneel & clap & think about our inferiority to her

then just bonus mentions like that i guess rian was supposed to also be contrasting but she just turns out yet another bog standard axe cap bully who happens to so totally be a woman, we remind you, yet different from bonnie in that she also is less overtly aggressive, despite this she's So deserving but not so much that they ever made room for something besides [if you removed her from the series it'd be so easy to make it so that pretty much nothing changes] despite that she was supposed to be like, relevant. even better we have our beloved ben kim who billions cared to have in every episode (if some eps cut post production?) and who was here in s1 but to first illustrate like where my 50something fellas at these damn young whippersnappers think they're sooo smart but NO only axe. which is why he deserves to be epic boss boy. and later on it's like well yes he's lower tier than these other characters but it's because he's Too nice. to truly become a winner you simply need to Believe you are one & act accordingly confident (i.e. it's still Deserved, his fault, he needs to step up & stop acting Like he belongs in loserdom) and we like get any material for him here & there & eventually tuk (zoom in on Multiple People, tuk is lower tier than ben, presumably billions considers that once again this is indeed Deserved) and in the end well he's still here, hooray, still so Unstrategic and An Pussy so we all see that, though we may pity him, his lower tier status is still brought upon himself, and hey also we need people to fill in the ranks for epic boss boy again so come stand over here okay thanks byeee

#winston billions #after years of Paying Attention like yeah will forever have some shit to say huh #also its Failures here re: its own themes + what it ends up prioritizing & evidently believing the whole time is like; miserable awful yea #obviously winston is given like [We pity disabled people amidst the contempt for Them] status similarly to a degree #but they didn't consider him a character / do place him entirely in Deserved Inferior Status / give him a lil extra He Deserves Abuse #and that's all they used him for in the end; Loser Fodder for [oh wags is so cool we love to see this Manifested in how he acts out #against someone else. like how rian was towards winston the whole time; that showed us she's also so cool & deserving. cue also wags like #godawful bizarre patronizing no boundaries comments towards her sometimes?? that was just Fun & Fine for billions i suppose] #(also that presumably around here if being like patronizing misogynist etc happens well just ignore it / be unfazed. checkmate!) #at the same time taylor who's hired & kept on this guy & Needs him back actually now has no relevant character details in an ep ft winston #except that they live for allistic supremacy & beyond that: wags supremacy. like yeah wow another [give taylor some material??] win in s7 #nope it's the final ep & we have precious screentime given to wags n scooter chat who haven't like talked all season & always had an duo #that underwhelms / is so much less important to anything going on ever than the taylor & philip duo. who do not get to interact #so [thinking emoji] that say it's when scooter & wags march up to quants like OK SNOWFLAKE MILLENNIALS here's ur PARTICIPATION TROPHIES #it's an instance of quant duo working together....offscreen! after rian insults winston out of nowhere! & we clap for the 50smthng epicry

[bluecoolr]

Roots

Part 1 of Darron and Baeron's Backstory

Link to Part 2

T’zeklochar cast a brief glance toward the vaulted cavern ceiling of Menzoberranzan. A faint red glow rose from somewhere in the middle of the city, signaling that the great stalagmite clock, Narbondel, had only begun its reckoning.

The Matron Mother had had him woken and dragged from bed, in the middle of the night.

“Is there a room somewhere we can put Ryld?” she inquired after he had been essentially jostled through the whole damned house and dropped in front of her throne.

“Couldn't this wait till morning, Breena?” T’zeklochar asked pointedly. He glared at the guards at his elbows (both of whom were smirking females) and got to his feet.

As if T'zeklochar hadn't spoken out of turn, Matron Dinbreena carried on, “Somewhere out of the patron's way - where he won't notice. I mean, imagine.”

“How very delicate of you.”

Her eyes were dull from thought, her silver hair loose and trailing down her shoulders to her knees like a curtain. She was preoccupied. About Ryld, of course.

“See that he's found a room.”

It was final. Definite, No room left for contention.

“Yes, Matron Mother,” said T’zeklochar, bowing slightly, all thought of sleep banished with the new task at hand.

Presently, the Weapons Master of House Barriurden crossed the back courtyard, passing the stables housing the lizard mounts. He stepped into the kitchen, then further down into the cellar, and headed for the cubby tucked behind the shelves. The door to the hole slammed against the wall as T’zeklochar threw it open.

The single inhabitant of the cramped cubbyhole sprang up from his bed. “What in the hells – ?!”

“Wake up, pantry boy.” T’zeklochar ordered as Ryld blinked dumbly in the dark. “Whatever paltry possessions you have, gather them and follow me.”

Ryld was a commoner, a kitchen servant tasked with keeping track of the House’s food stores. He was also the newest, albeit unwilling, object of Matron Dinbreena's affections. Her appetite for amorous exploits was unabated even as she saw her third century. No drow could refuse her. Whichever male she chose must submit, under pain of death.

A swarm of bats flitted through the stalactites. Ryld stretched as he quietly followed T'zeklochar to the front of the house. Guards stood in attention as the Weapons Master walked past. The kitchen servant, they paid no mind.

It was difficult not to notice him, however, even T’zeklochar would admit. The drow, at the prime age of a hundred or so, was handsome and tall - tall by drow standards. His build was lean and wiry. His eyes appeared blue in the Underdark, with red pin pricks in their centers. An unfortunate defect, caused no doubt by his forebears interbreeding with surface elves or even humans. And yet, it did not take away from his beauty. The overall effect was one that stirred the blood.

“You think this is some sort of blessing?” T’zeklochar asked the younger drow, who was inspecting his new bedchamber.

Ryld peeled his eyes away from the ornate trimming and gossamer curtains overhanging the bed.

“You're in more peril than you ever were.”

Drow hated and yet thrived on competition. As a rival to the Matron’s consort, he would surely be faced with opposition. The patron would not allow Ryld to sire children by the Matron, and put his own children's ranks at risk.

“You think I asked for this?” snapped Ryld, an assertive fire making the red pin pricks of his eyes more pronounced.

T’zeklochar's frown belied his pleasure. “You'll need more tricks than just batting your eyelashes, if you want to survive now.” He shoved a shortsword into Ryld's hands. “Meet me in the training hall in two hours.”

The empty halls rang with the awful, pained screams of Matron Dinbreena as she labored to bring her and Ryld's child into the world. She had been taken into Lolth's unholy chamber, attended by her clerics and priestesses. All unneeded persons were barred entry, including the father.

Ryld sat trembling where he waited in the stairwell. T'zeklochar, who had become an unlikely friend in the last 10 months, stood leaning on the bannister, smoking on a small pipe. He took pity on the expectant father and passed him the pipe, chuckling as he struggled to put it to his lips.

There came Dinbreena's screams again. “RYLD! WHERE IS HE?! I WANT HIM HERE! RYLD!”

Ryld flew to his feet and up the stairs, followed closely by T'zeklochar. Dinbreena held out her arm as she saw them come through the door.

“Damn you and your spawn,” she hissed as tears streamed down her ashen cheeks. Her grip on Ryld's hand was crushing.

“What's happening? The child has been delivered. Why -?”

The pain was not letting up, even as Liriel, one of Dinbreena's daughters and high priestess of Lolth, carried a squealing child to a stone pedestal.

“There's a second child,” snapped Zardra. “You have twins.”

T’zeklochar stood over the kicking baby, wiping it clean with a blood-soaked towel. Ryld's heart sank as he studied the Weapons Master's expression.

His dark heart uttered a desperate prayer and a bargain. “Please, goddess. If you give me this, I will be your uncomplaining servant.”

Ryld gently set the Matron down on the armchair. She had succumbed to the exhaustion just after the second child arrived.

The children's sobbing had subsided and the chamber grew deathly quiet. Ryld held his breath, looking to T’zeklochar for some hope. His red eyes were empty, his face like stone.

The Weapons Master shook his head, and Ryld felt like he had been gutted.

“Two male children. Cursed day,” muttered Zardra.

Liriel turned to Ryld. “You ought to be executed for your uselessness!” She cast a venomous glance at her newborn brothers, her knuckles white over the handle of her dagger. “Along with these wretched whelps.”

“Look at their eyes!” gasped Evandra. The twins had inherited Ryld’s ice blue eyes, with the red pin pricks glowing bright in the worship chamber.

“Beastly little wretches!” chimed Zardra.

T’zeklochar, who had not left the babies’ side, appeared unbothered, but was slowly easing his hand toward the shortsword at his belt. If any of the priestesses attacked, he was going to defend the little ones.

“Liriel is right,” said Zardra. “This is an omen. We all know what happened to House Do’Urden. We must kill them lest these blue-eyed freaks follow in Drizzt's footsteps.”

Ryld grew cold. Beside him, Matron Dinbreena stirred, and, her voice husky from screaming, addressed her daughters with severity. “If you lay a finger on our children,” she said, “On my honor as Matron Mother, on my honor as the Spider Queen’s servant - I will cut your head off myself.”

A smirk pulled the corner of T’zeklochar’s mouth. Our children. Dinbreena was done for. She had fallen in love with Ryld.

“These children are Noble Drow of House Barriurden. You shall show them the respect they are due.”

Matron Dinbreena retired after nursing her twin boys. She left them in the company of their father, sleeping side by side in a cradle that had held five older sons. The daughters’ cradles were naturally more resplendent, but this one did the job and Ryld was satisfied.

He was still lost in thought when T’zeklochar entered, his hands clasped over something. Ryld admired the sight of the Weapons Master looking into the cradle, how gentle he became in the presence of his children. The way the tension from his broad, muscular back eased as he hummed and cooed at the little ones.

In the purple faerie fire, Ryld saw that T’zeklochar had brought a tarantula for the twins. The fuzzy creature crawled over T’zeklochar's knuckles and settled on Baeron's little chest. The little one stirred, smiled in his sleep, and cuddled the spider closer.

T’zeklochar opened his mouth, and a second tarantula crawled out of hiding. This one he gave to Darron. “Sleep sound in the dark, child,” he purred.

He addressed the father without looking at him. “Do not agree to have Dinbreena's daughters raise your children.”

Ryld scoffed. “I have no intention to. She's allowed me to raise them myself. Being her consort has granted me that favor, I guess.” He watched his boys with his arms crossed. He was steeling himself for what he was about to tell T’zeklochar. “I… I want you to train them, when they come of age.”

The Weapons Master still did not look him in the eye. “You're a madman and a fool,” he simply said.

Indignant, Ryld straightened up. He always had too much cheek for a commoner. It was one of the things that T’zeklochar admired about him. “A fool? My sons will live, if they know how to defend themselves. How am I a fool to know that?”

“Yes.” T'zeklochar nodded, his voice growing louder. “They will live, but not long enough to see 30. The Patron already hates you as it is. Put a sword in either boy's hand, and they will be a greater threat than ever. If they aren't murdered by their siblings, they will be murdered in the Academy.” He gestured wildly to the window. Somewhere out in the city stood Melee Magthere, where fighters were forged. It was a cruel and merciless place whose halls were washed with blood and colonnades polished with screams.

“I cannot protect them there,” T’zeklochar declared. I cannot protect all of you, he thought to himself.

“That's not what I'm asking,” Ryld replied coolly. “I only require that you teach them what they need to know.”

T’zeklochar was adamant. He shook his head. “Give them up for consortship and they may yet survive.”

“So they can be treated like… mere courtesans?” Ryld could not - would not see his sons suffer the same fate.

Ryld. What mother he had was so heartless as to name him “slave” in the drow tongue.

“They will marry into security,” T’zeklochar explained, “They'll be valuable in continuing the bloodline. Is that not enough to placate you?”

“And if your boy was alive, would you do the same?” Ryld snapped.

The words were out before Ryld could stop himself. When he saw the look of hurt on the Weapons Master's face, he knew he had gone too far.

T’zeklochar was Matron Dinbreena's consort once. He'd sired a child. A third son.

He didn't even get a chance to hold the boy before Liriel plunged her dagger into his tiny heart. A sacrifice to appease the goddess, Lolth.

Recovering, T'zeklochar replied, “If he had been allowed to live? Yes.”

He held Darron's foot and placed a tender kiss on his heel. He passed Ryld on his way to the door, and without so much as a warning, he grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the wall.

The impact knocked the wind out of Ryld. His breath did not return now that he and T’zeklochar were a lip's distance from each other.

“If you ever mention my boy again,” T’zeklochar whispered, his voice soft as silk. “I'll kill you.”

He dropped Ryld to his feet and headed out the door.

“I need you.”

T’zeklochar froze.

“I cannot do this alone,” Ryld begged. “These boys need to be strong. You must teach them.”

“Have it your way. It won't be easy. It will break them.”

“I know.”

---

A/N: not me posting this because it got too long 🤡

There will be more.

#oc lore #character backstory #dnd oc #dnd au #drow oc #t'zeklochar #ryld #dinbreena #darron #baeron #twins au #drow twins #bluecoolr.txt

[leggerefiore]

Heyo, for the Christmas season, how do you think Ingo and Emmet celebrate? With or without an s/o. I imagine Chandelure either loves the lights or absolutely hates them. Joltiks latch themselves onto it. Christmas train~

my mother obsessively decorates every year and its frightening (also read excadrill pokemon y pokedex entry)

Order is: general Christmas behaviours, in a relationship, and with kids.

made santa a delibird also because I mean he is.

▲Subway Twins Christmas HCs▽

● Ingo, first of all, is heavily involved in the traditions. He is inspired by the happiness brought on around from this time in his youth. The memories of helping his mom decorate the house, cook food for the family, and wrap gifts make him feel warm inside. Of course, it's a bit lonely to just share the holiday with Emmet alone (though he doesn't necessarily mind), they do end up taking Christmas day off and go visit their parents. All the workers who worked with them on Christmas Eve and day get given gifts, however, alongside a catered meal because Ingo feels awful that the needed to separate them from their family.

○ Emmet, on the other hand, is indifferent. He enjoys the giving and receiving aspect and the time off to enjoy with his family, but he's just… Not really as driven as his brother is. Ingo nearly cried when Emmet volunteered to work on Christmas day one year. They just didn't have enough experienced staff, and someone needed to be there in case something went wrong.

● Ingo decorates everywhere. Emmet blinks and their apartment has a tiny tree standing off in the corner and garland wrapped around the living room walls. Gifts are tucked under the tree, and Ingo has made a fruitcake. Emmet nods and accepts this. Then he enters the station and sees a human-sized nutcracker next to a fifteen foot (4.5 metre) tree. The tree is decorated with many train related ornaments and cards left to them by riders, Emmet finds that somewhat cute. He stares blankly at the nutcracker, however, and looks around for his brother. A Delibird walks up to him and coos. (The younger twin makes a choice to avoid the nutcracker whenever possible. Its blank eyes stare into him.)

○ The Delibird, as it turns out, was a pokemon Ingo went out and captured. It's true that many children were told stories about Delibirds leaving gifts for good children during their youth, but Emmet finds himself worried about his brother's affinity toward the bird. (Thankfully it's not competitively viable, so the poor thing will not be used year round. Ingo does take wonderful care of it, however. Emmet watches the bird chill in front of their vents in the summer in mild terror.)

● Their pokemon get dragged into Ingo's madness. Chandelure is wrapped in colourful fairy lights as she floats behind her beloved trainer. Haxorus and Excadrill are given hats and duty to hand out goodies to commuters. Both eagerly do it, happy to appease their trainer. Crustle chirps as he runs around the station carrying Delibird to help it give gifts to taller people. He is wrapped with a shiny tinsel that makes him quite eye-catching. Klinklang has little to, does walk around with a glowing red nose on each of its faces. The battles during this season are quite funny. (Garbodor is tasked with waving patrons in while wearing a little a hat. It's much too small for her size and is oddly endearing.)

○ Emmet's pokemon are not immune from Ingo's decorating. Galvantula is bribed with batteries to makes web art related to Christmas, and Archeops helps hang up holiday lighting and decorations much too high for Ingo to reach. Eelektross accepts his fate when Ingo places a Stantler headband on him. Emmet screeches about this, however. His precious starter looks ridiculous! His Joltiks are also seen scuttling about with lights on them. (They are, too, bribed with batteries.) Only Durant truly resists this treatment.

▲Ingo▼

● Now, after being in a relationship, Ingo is even more impassioned, if that was at all possible. He wants off definitely to spend time with you and meet your family alongside his. His dream is to decorate the apartment with you and take a few cosy pictures, too. Ingo can die a happy man after you help him decorate the tree.

● He is, in fact, cheesy and hangs up a mistletoe. Then, the older twin never dares to request a kiss under it because he's too flustered. Though, if you're brave and give him a peck, he simply perishes. You have defeated him, and he has achieved everything he wanted in life.

● Ingo tries his best to make hot chocolate for you both while snow piles up outside from the harsh Unovan winter outside. Crustle is curled up beside you both on the couch while he turns on romantic Christmas movies. The joke you make about him going white girl crazy was not appreciated. (His hot chocolate is quite bitter, but the sweetness from the added marshmallows helps balance it out.)

● His mother eagerly tells you the story of how he realised the Delibird legend wasn't true. Apparently, little ten-year-old Ingo approached on her on Christmas even with a deathly serious expression. He motioned her down to his level, to which she obliged. The older twin then whispered into her ear that he knew she was the Delibird gifter and that the secret was safe with him for Emmet. She hasn't stopped laughing about it to this day.

● The night of Christmas day is spent quietly snuggled up against each other, with his Delibird cawing at you both and handing out the gifts you got for each other. The model train you got for Ingo made his eyes go wide and a small smile dance on his lips. His gift to you was a silver ring with a small railroad track on it. Ingo leaned toward you and pressed a similar ring on his finger to line up with yours. You grinned as you saw how they connected. He truly was a romantic.

▽Emmet△

○ He's a bit more interested in the holidays after starting to be in a long-term relationship. Emmet is still not much of a decorator, but if his partner wanted to, he'd be more than willing to help. (Ingo's betrayal is evident on his face when he finds this out.) He's more willing to take Christmas day off (though, admittedly, he's still probably on call just in case anything happens), so you get to enjoy a lazy Emmet napping on the couch with several random desserts on the coffee table. Durant is also enjoying himself. His idea of a good Christmas is exchanging presents and enjoying sweets.

○ He hangs up mistletoe like his brother, but then becomes a menace. You ARE kissing him every time you end up under it together. He will get you every single time. He's a monster about them. You'll likely have had a full make-out session under it before it's put away.

○ Emmet begs for hot chocolate. He even dares look up how to make some from scratch. It's a terrifying sight to catch the younger twin chopping chocolate up in the kitchen in an apron. His eyes even dart over to stare at you when he notices you. (Alternatively, this madness can be avoided if you make him some yourself. Or, even better, you can make it together and feed him chocolate.) His is always a bit too sweet and swirled up with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. He dearly enjoys it, so you manage your way through the concoction.

○ When you visit his family for the holidays, his father sighs as he recalls Emmet sneaking out of his room to watch him put the presents out for them. He tilted his head with his smile still on his lips when he turned around to see him. He wanted to tell him off, but he just said that Ingo doesn't need to know. (Emmet later cried about the Delibird legend not being real, but no one knows about that outside of Ingo.)

○ The chilly night of Christmas day is spent cuddled up after seeing Ingo and Elesa off. Emmet made a blanket cocoon and trapped you in it while a league battle played on the television. Just as you both began to doze off in the comfortable embrace, you jolted awake. Your gifts! You escaped the cocoon and presented your box to the sleepy man. Emmet yawned and opened it. He held the Joltik plush curiously before bursting into giggles. The younger twin handed you his own, which made you grin. Inside was an actual sleeping Joltik. You wondered why he had waited so late to wrap your gift (and left air holes). The little darling squeaked and stared up at you with purple eyes. A shiny. Emmet giggled when you pressed a kiss to the baby arachnid's head.

▲Dad Ingo▼

● He's gone feral about getting together a good holiday for little Erin. This small boy doesn't even know how much his father was excited for this. As a baby, he was put in little Delibird and Christmas themed onesies before being moved to honorary decorator (He stands there and hands Ingo ornaments.) Erin even gets to help in the kitchen, varying from handing ingredient to actually helping prepare things based on how old he is.

● Ingo excitedly tells Erin all about the Delibird tradition, while also assuring Erin that he's such a good boy that he has nothing to worry about. This means, of course, Ingo buys so many gifts for Erin and pretends it was a Delibird. Unlike Ingo, Erin doesn't stop believing in Delibird until the other parents thinks it's time to tell him.

● The holidays become Ingo's favourite of the year even more so, as he realises what he loved so much was the celebration of family. That something was his most desired dream for his entire life. He cuddles up with you and your sweet boy and lets himself be contented in the winter chill.

● “Dad…” Erin nervously squeaked at Ingo, who looked up from his laptop. Clearing his throat, Ingo replied, “Yes, Erin?” The boy gazed down at the floor nervously and swallowed. “I know you are the Delibird. Uncle Emmet told me.” Ingo proceeded to simply perishes. Betrayed once more by the man he shared a womb with.

▽Dad Emmet△

○ Now he's holiday crazy. It's awakened. Two identical girls have made him want to celebrate Christmas. He hates being on-call now. Emma and Inka are his darling little girls who go between being dressed in some of the goofiest onesies to dresses (and pants, sometimes in Inka's case). He decorates and lets Emma order him around on where to put things, while Inka tries to climb their tree. The girls enjoy his sugary sweet hot chocolate, and now you're outnumbered 3 to 1. A cruel world you live in.

○ Emmet does tell his girls about the Delibird tradition, but they seem only partially curious. He coos that they're so sweet and cute that no Delibird would ever find them naughty (much unlike the many times his teachers and parents assured him he was being bad). This is later proven wrong when Inka nearly sets the house on fire and Emma fights a kid at school (who was being mean to Inka, in her defence). Emma and Inka stop believing when they set out to watch the Delibird bring them their gifts. They only see Emmet.

○ The holidays are absolutely his beloved time of year. He gets to spend time with his partner and sweet girls. He truly only settled down because he felt like he was getting older, and it was the natural progression in his life. He smiles when he brings his cups of hot chocolate into the living room and sees each girl on either side of you watching a league battle. Inka points out mistakes and Emma whines she wants to watch a contest instead.

○ Emmet stared at the two girls before him as he was placing out the presents in distress. “You two are being verrry naughty,” he warns. Inka bursts into giggles while Emma starts crying. One believed more than the other, it seemed.

#ingo x reader #emmet x reader #ingo/reader #emmet/reader #pokemon x reader

[bijectiveandinvertible]

Hakuryu/Stockings

Placing under Read More as it is longer.

The Red Lotus was filled with people; the bar was a hubbub of activity, the patrons enjoying their drinks and games. One table had been set up so customers could gamble against each other in a game of mahjong. Suddenly, the winner of the current game stood up, his red hair crimson from the glow of the evening lamps.

“A round of beers, Mr. Jiang!” Gojyo addressed the barkeep. “It's on me. Plus some wine for the lovely ladies.” Yes! he could get used to this. Gojyo thought.

The women who were perched around his chair giggled.

Gojyo basked in their warmth. He was winning big tonight in more ways than one.

He flashed a charming smile at the cute brunette playing with her ringlets. “Say, how about making me luckier tonight?” He added a wink as an extra measure.

Mao-Mao giggled and asked, “Say— Gojyo, do you like my stockings?”

Blinking at the slightly odd question, Gojyo glanced at her legs. They were some really nice legs covered in sheer black tights. “Sure.” He confirmed. Of course, Gojyo liked her legs. The stockings were a great addition.

The next few nights were weirder —every chick he took back home asked him some stocking-related question. Until…

_____

“Come on Gojyo! Return the stockings.” Said Mei-Mei, tossing her hair as she searched through his room.

“What stockings! I swear I dropped them on the chair.”

“Every girl that has come home with you the last few weeks had their stockings stolen. It's not cute anymore. Hosiery is expensive.” Mei Mei snapped at Gojyo.

“How would I steal it? I have been in front of your eyes the whole time — Also, why?”

Mei-Mei straightened up from the floor. She had been looking under Gojyo’s bed. She brushed the dust off her knees and glanced at Gojyo’s legs.

Gojyo’s eyes widened comically. “You think I’m wearing them?”

“Uh…”

Gojyo brightened, crimson dusting his face. “Why would you— Why would any of you…” he trailed off.

Mei-Mei shrugged. “We think you would look good wearing them.”

Gojyo spluttered. Was this his reputation now?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door. “If I may…” Hakkai excused himself as he let himself inside Gojyo’s room. “…I may have caught the culprit.”

Gojyo blinked, turning towards his housemate. Hakkai flashed them both a beatific smile, dark hair falling over pleasant green eyes. He then turned away, leading them both towards the ladder to the attic. 

“Is that— A dragon?” The awe in Mei-Mei’s voice echoed the sentiment in Gojyo’s heart. Curled up in a corner of the attic, nestled among several pairs of stockings, a blanket, and two very ugly sweaters, was a small white dragon. Hearing the noise from them, the creature lifted its head and greeted them with a “—Kyuu.” The high-pitched chirp broke Gojo’s reverie, having never seen a dragon before. 

Hakkai approached the dragon confidently, kneeling before the creature and petting its very small head. “Look—” he gestured, showing them both his hand. On his hand was a small iridescent white scale. “He is moulting.” 

____

The Red Lotus was once again busy. It was filled with patrons abuzz with curiosity as they gathered not around the Mahjong table or the bar counter but at one of the booths. 

Mao-Mao cooed at the dragon and fed him a bit of raw bacon. “He is so cute…” Mei-Mei said as she tucked her hair back behind her ear, causing her iridescent earring to jingle from the movement.

“I am naming him Hakuryu.” Hakkai explained as he sipped his beer. Gojyo laughed as Hakuryu cooed back at Mao-Mao before slithering across the table to perch on Hakkai’s shoulder. Hakkai glanced at him, his emerald eyes warming and deepening from joy.

Yes… he could get used to this. Gojyo thought.

-------

Written for @monthlyminekura Christmas Edition. Day 3: Stockings

A/N: Placed two very specific story elements in this. He he he hope its noticeable.

#b&iwrites #saiyuki #fanfic #monthlyminekura #monthly minekura christmas 2023 #kazuya minekura

[offsidekineticist]

I'm really nervous about this one, since...well, look at the content warnings. And this is probably the least likeable or justifiable Giliys has ever been in his life, so...also worried about that!

CW: serial killer being a serial killer, blood and gore, burn injuries, xenophobia, slavery, suicidal ideation, interupted suicide attempt

Why?

You tell your contacts that you're retiring. They don't buy it, but you don't stick around long enough for them to start asking questions. Instead you go east, to the place you always wanted to live: Andoran.

You're barely across the border when things go south. So you're so afraid of that mouse that you've forgotten our bargain?

You hold your breath. Of course she knew about Thay's threat. Of course she had been watching–she's always watching. And now you feel her rage in your soul, burning you from the inside out. Hey, boss! You think towards her, ignoring how her anger burns. Good to hear from ya! Was starting to think you mighta lost interest in little old me.

The burning only gets worse. I'd love to lose interest in you, but whenever I let you think I have, you go and pull a stunt like this.

Hey, now, there are souls in Andoran, too. And then your mind seizes on an odd bit of trivia you heard once. You know, Andoran has one of the largest aasimar populations in Avistan.

You can feel her wrath pause, intrigued. Oh?

The fire burns in your chest, but you fight your way through it to focus–'Oh,' that's all you give me? 'oh?' c'mon. We both know you love playing with heaven's toys.

The burning gets worse and you swear you can smell smoke as she speaks. Yes, heaven's toys–not its castoffs.

Aw, you know how heaven is–the second you start having fun with 'em, they suddenly won't be castoffs. C'mon. Having your hunting hound running around a country with a patron celestial who has taken a personal interest in its success? Damning aasimar souls, celestial spark and all? You love that shit, boss, don't tell me you'd rather keep taking the runaways no one will miss.

For a moment you fear you were too forward. Then a cruel laughter fills your mind and soul, replacing every thought that used to be there, piercing your eyes and ears and - You're no hound. You are a fly who fancies himself a spider, tangling yourself up in schemes and deceptions. There's a pause in her laughter, but the pain remains. Fine. You may go to Andoran. Bring me aasimar souls. Bring them often. Or I will take yours instead. Understood?

Loud'n clear, boss!

The burning sensation and piercing headache remains, but you know her attention is elsewhere now, which means it's safe for you to curl up under a tree and take huge gulps of air and wait for the pain to pass while you try not to think about what the fuck you just promised, or, even worse, what Thay would think. He would despise you even more than he already does. He doesn't understand that you don't have a choice.

But of course he doesn't understand. He's always been free. He doesn't know what it's like for your life to depend on doing as you're told. So you put him out of your mind, and once the pain has passed, you continue to Andoran.

Despite having dreamed of coming here for years, your expectations of Andoran were fairly low. You are too jaded to accept the utopia promised by the Andorens you met. You know better than to trust when tallfolk make such promises. That's why it is almost begrudgingly that you must admit it's more than you had ever hoped. You can go out at any time, day or night, without risking the notice of slavers, which is a relief. You actually hadn't realized how much that danger had weighed on you until you didn't have to deal with it anymore. There are halfling majority settlements that aren't just the slave quarters of a manor. And when people think their government is doing something stupid? They just say "I think this is stupid." No veiled doublespeak, no dog whistles, no playing coy for plausible deniability–they just say what they think and get on with their day because there aren't any black armored goons out to shut down independent thinking.

It's refreshing. It's liberating. You just want to bask in this feeling of safety as you live a normal life doing odd jobs or buying groceries. It's the salve you didn't know your soul needed. And whenever Thay crosses your mind–when your thoughts turn towards that night–you remind yourself that he'd never have agreed to come here anyway, so really you're better off this way.

And you repay Andoran for this peace by preying on its people.

The first is a musetouched aasimar named Fin Wenton. You meet him in Almas, sitting on a street corner beating out a song on his hand drum. He was a sailmaker's apprentice, he tells you, before the knife slipped and he lost most of the fingers on his right hand. "Can't make sails with no fingers," his mentor asserted, and that was that. Finn had no family, no education, no apprenticeship, and no home. "But I figured out how to drum without my right fingers, so I think maybe I got a future as a bard," he says with a crooked grin. You toss a gold coin into the hat he's using as a collection bowl, and his eyes widen in disbelief. You disappear into the crowd before he can thank you.

He spends the coin on a warm meal and a round or three of drinks in a tavern. You don't blame him. Given the shit he's been through, he deserves to unwind. He eats and he drinks until he's thrown out, and then you follow him as he stumbles into an alleyway.

You are quick. You always are. You know the spell to bind the soul to hell so well by now that you can cast it almost silently, and you learned long ago how to kill with compassion. He doesn't feel a thing. You feel the warmth of her approval burn in your soul, and you use it to incinerate the body before anyone sees. You don't search the ashes for what's left of your coin. You'd like to think there's nothing left, that he got to spend it all before he went.

The second is only two months later–so much sooner than you were expected to deliver in Cheliax. Her name is Kestrix. She has no surname because she is like you–a runaway slave from Cheliax. She is an emberkin with radiant eyes that light up even brighter when you tell her you're from Egorian. You tell her you've only been in Almas for a couple of months, and she immediately takes it upon herself to give you a crash course in the best places to buy Chelaxian spices, which places to avoid with your Chelaxian accent, and which temples will turn you away because you're damned. It takes you a moment to realize she isn't speaking of your bargain.

"It's ridiculous," she says, and her halo burns as she speaks. "You can't just say 'I'm the queen and I decree all my subjects are damned!' You can't be decreed into damnation. You have to earn it or agree to it–you can't be born into it. Obviously the Third Damnation is just a pledge that Thrune will actively evangelize for hell." She sighs tiredly. "But many of the temples in Andoran seem to think otherwise." 

"I take it your faith is important to you," you guess.

"It…it gave me hope. Kept me alive long enough to make it here," Kestrix agrees, taking a holy symbol of Milani out of her pocket. "I wanted to give something back to her–maybe become a cleric or one of her champions or something. They turned me out as soon as they heard where I was from." She chuckles in that 'I could laugh or cry' way as she stows the holy symbol in her pocket. "Imagine worshiping the goddess of the oppressed and turning away a runaway slave because of where she's from. Imagine missing the point that badly." And then she sighs. "But the Everbloom's following is small. There's just the one temple in all of Almas."

"I think I ran into a congregation the other day, actually," you lie. "They're easy to miss cuz they just have an old barn instead of a church."

You curse yourself and your lies because her eyes light up as she demands that you lead her there. She dies in the barn, her throat slashed as she bends down to inspect something shiny in the dirt (it is the coin you left there before you first spoke to her). She must see you coming, because she jerks back suddenly as you strike–not enough to save her, but enough that it isn't instant. She stands up straight and holds a hand to her wounded neck. You see her lips move, but there is no sound. You've stolen her voice, but she doesn't need her voice to be understood. You can read her lips easily enough.

Why?

She collapses, and you have no answer.

You wonder if you should say a prayer to Milani–apologize for stealing away her follower. You decide against it. The only thing it might accomplish is getting you smited, and you still want to live.

The third is a plumekith aasimar named Yantur from Vudra with bright blue and red feathers that remind you of a parrot. He came to Avistan by way of Jalmeray looking for trouble.

"My family are padaprajnas–warriors. I am untested, so I travel to find the fight and prove myself."

"There not enough trouble in Vudra for you?" You ask with a wry grin, and Yantur laughs.

"Truthfully, I've always wanted to travel. And even in Vudra we have heard tell of the successes of Mendev's Fifth Crusade against the worldwound. I want to join that fight. I would be proud to tell my grandchildren I was part of that fight."

His plan is to find a caravan going northwards and ask to pay his way by working as a guard. Tonight, he says, he will seek shelter at the Temple of Irori, because he knows nobody in the city.

"I know where that is–I can show you," you offer, and Yantur's eyes narrow.

"I think I can manage myself, thank you," he says, suddenly looking you up and down, as if seeing you for the first time. He pays for his meal and says farewell. You likewise pay for your meal and follow him from the shadows.

You only make it a few blocks away from the tavern when he stops. You duck behind a trash barrel obscured by shadows to hide. He stands still for what feels like an eternity, not speaking, not moving, just standing completely still.

His body launches towards you. His foot crashes through the trash barrel, first one side, then the other, and you barely have enough time to step aside. Somehow Yantur is able to land on his feet, and he renews his attack.

"Behold the light of perfection!" Yantur recites as he pushes both hands, palms outwards, towards you. You suddenly feel sluggish, weaker–more vulnerable, somehow.

Oh shit.

You targeted a fucking paladin.

You need to get out of here. You don't fight toe-to-toe with fucking paladins. If you have a problem with a paladin, you slit his throat while he sleeps and then slink away undetected. And right now, you are very, very detected.

A foot crashes into the side of your head. Your head snaps to the side suddenly, and you completely lose your balance. It's hard to say if it's the blow to the head or the smiting, but you're seeing stars and can't tell which way is up.

A boot presses down on your neck. "Who do you serve?" Yantur the Paladin (apparently) demands, and as you fight to win yourself room to breathe, pushing up on the boot with both hands, you realize there's a very good chance of this overzealous novice killing you by accident. You need to get out from under this boot now. So you do what you hate: you call out through the bargain that binds you to hell. The wrath of hell itself flows through your soul, burning worse than any of your mistress's punishments, ready to do your bidding–if you can control it.

"Tell me who you serve!" Yantur commands.

"Take a wild guess," you croak, and you push that hell wrath from your soul into his. Tongues of hellfire flare from your hands. He jumps back, startled and burnt, but it makes little difference. You force yourself to your feet as a stream of hellfire flows from your fingertips to the paladin's chest, burning him alive. You see the moment he realizes what you are doing–that wide-eyed look of terror as he realizes he is bound to you by hellfire, and so through your soul, he's bound to hell.

"No! No! Please, no!" he pleads, but hell shows no mercy and so neither do you. You watch shapes form in the hellfire, watch as the hands of the damned reach out and grab a faintly glowing spirit and pull it out of Yantur's body. 

The body collapses, and the hands of hellfire, gripping Yantur's soul, abruptly retreat, rushing into your chest, using your soul as the conduit to carry Yantur to hell. You are alone, in an alleyway beside a body that still breathes, whose heart still beats, but will never wake again. You look down at your own smoldering, red, blistering hands. This is why you hate using hellfire–it always burns you too.

Fucking paladins.

And then, sitting alone beside that smoldering corpse, you realize: Yantur smited you. You're no altar boy, but even you know a paladin's smite only affects evil.

Evil. You? No, that couldn't be–you're not good, by any means, but evil? That's a little over the top. But it must be true–the paladin's magic worked on you. The universe has stood in judgment over you and decided you are evil.

That is fucking bullshit! Yes, you do some fucked up shit. Yes, you work for a fucking devil. But you hate it! Doesn't that count for something? What kind of evil person hates being evil? Would an evil person torture himself by learning his victims names and hopes and dreams because somebody should remember them? And it's not like you had a choice–if you don't send souls to hell, she'll call in your soul earlier. Your life is at stake–you shouldn't be judged on shit you do to save yourself. What else are you supposed to do? Lay down and die?

Thay would.

The thought hits you like a ton of bricks, and only partly because it's a thought about Thay. Thay would absolutely die before damning anyone to hell. He tried to damn himself to spare a stranger from hell, for fuck's sake. Of course that's only because Thay is unbelievably, almost impossibly good, but that's the point, isn't it? If he were damned, Thay would rather die than drag anyone else down to hell with him, so he's good. You would drag all of Golarion down with you for a chance to live just one more day, so you're evil.

It's not fucking fair! You tried to be good, to make the world better! And you had! All those people you ferried to freedom–that's why you had to live, that's why you couldn't just lay down and die, and then that was stolen from you by a self-righteous bleached out librarian. That night, when he told you he'd kill you if you didn't quit your work with the Bellflower Network, he didn't just end your friendship. He stole your reason to live.

…Except he didn't, did he? Because if he had, you would have chosen death by now. Freeing slaves wasn't why you served a devil. It was just how you made yourself feel better about it.

You stare at the living corpse on the ground, and suddenly you find yourself asking the same question Kestrix asked: why? Why was this young man, who had chosen to travel across half the world to fight demons in the service of his god, damned to hell? Why was his corpse on the ground beside you? This time you know the answer.

He was damned for eternity to buy you a couple more months.

You stand over the body, and for the first time since Thay kicked you out–or maybe the first time in your life–the fog clears, and you understand. 

You're approaching sixty. Middle aged for a halfling. Halfway through. You can spend the next sixty or seventy or maybe even eighty years doing this, damning innocents so you have a few more months before you're put on a rack in hell–or you can cut to the chase. And if there's anything good left in you, you know what you have to do.

You take your dagger from its sheath. It's a good blade. Balanced, easy to sharpen, and it actually fits your hands. You've taken a lot of lives with this dagger. Fitting that the last one you take with it will be yours. You know how to do it quick enough you won't have time to regret it–you've done it to others enough, doing it to yourself would be easy as pie.

And then your thoughts are interrupted. A voice rings clearly in your mind–but not the voice of your master. It's the voice of Qweck–Thay's daughter in all but name (who hates your guts).

Meet me in the Temple of Aroden in Rego Cader, Westcrown. I need your help. Name your price, I'll pay, just please be here.

You want to say no. You should say no–too much risk of Thay finding out and deciding to carry out his threat. But if it's bad enough that she's asking you for help and offering a blank check in return, then she must be in real trouble. And even if Thay did ruin that story you told yourself about why you damned souls–or maybe partly because of that–you owe him. You owe him for making him your accomplice in this. You owe him for not being the person he believed you could be. And that means you have to help his family.

I'm in Andoran. I'll be there as soon as I can.

Whatever the problem is, you can afford to help out. You'll still have your dagger when you're done.

#Oc: giliys #pwotr pals #pathfinder wotr #The (Completely Platonic!) Breakup Arc #Part 3 #Oc: Qweck

[6ix-dragons]

Lustful Night at the Drive-In

Series: Fairy Tail Pairing: Gray/Juvia Rating: 18+ Word Count: ~4,460 words

EXPLICIT CONTENT ADVISORY: The following story contains graphic sexual descriptions, and strong language. Reader’s discretion is strongly advised!

---

The deafening roar of a winged dragon pierced the fragile air, as it soared through the clear skies. This colossal beast immediately swept down towards its intended targets, below: An army of mages already prepared to defend their homeland. Just as it reached its destination, however, said creature had suddenly opened its mouth wide, and expelled a great burst of orangey-red flames towards its opponents.

The explosive display of fire blasted through the speakers that flanked three sides of a wide and tall-standing screen situated outdoors, while the entire scene was projected onto it.

More than a dozen vehicles were parked on the paved lot of the drive-in theatre that was less than half an hour away from metropolis. Underneath the starry skies, some of the theatre's patrons took part in watching one of the latest summer blockbusters from the comfort of their cars.

Among them, in the back row, there was a pink-haired male who was seated on the hood of his sports car, alongside his blonde companion. He noisily munched on a bucket of popcorn, much to the blonde female's dismay.

"Natsu," she chided him, "can you not eat so loud? Some of us are trying to enjoy the movie, here."

The gruff voice of another male added to her complaint, coming from a couple of parking spots to the left of them. "She's got a point, Salamander," the stocky, dark-haired male called out from across, sitting atop the hood of his pickup truck, with his short, blue-haired female companion in tow. "We can also hear you eating, from here."

Parked in between those two, was another couple who arrived at the theatre with them. A cobalt-haired male sat onto the hood of his two-door coupe, with a redheaded woman right by his side. Their attention was mainly focused on the movie itself, both of them watching quietly, in awe.

His mouth full with popcorn, the pink-haired male turned to them with his eyebrows raised. "What? I'm also enjoying the movie too!" Swallowing down the popped kernels, Natsu took a breath, before he gestured. "I just wish Gray was here with us, instead of a few spaces down that way."

The blonde nodded accordingly. "Now that you mention it," Lucy murmured, before turning her head to the left, looking closely at the vehicles that were parked down that direction, "I wonder what Gray and Juvia are up to…"

Just three occupied spaces past them, there was a full-size sports utility vehicle stationed in the center of the back row, its windows tinted. The large, slate-toned four-wheeler began to shake around lightly, bouncing onto each of its four corners, while muffled noises threatened to spill out from the inside.

Heavy breaths and moans filled the vehicle's spacious interior, where a pile of clothes were draped, and strewn over the driver and passenger seats. The high-pitched giggle of a young female cut into the air, as a pair of denim trousers was flung onto the pile over the driver's seat, adding to it.

Both of the vehicle's occupants took up its back, with all of its rear seats folded down to make extra space for them. A raven-haired male sat upright, on top of a soft mat of light fur that lined the back's flooring. His arms were wrapped around the curvaceous body of an azure-haired female who straddled his hips, sitting on her knees, and over his lap.

Her arms were around the back of his neck, as they slanted their lips intensely over each other's. They could feel the warmth of one another's skin, while the two of them shared their lip-lock with much fervor.

A muffled moan blurted out from the blunette, in the midst of their kiss. "Mmn…Gray…sama…"

Her raven-haired lover responded with a low groan of his own, running his hands softly over her back. "Juvia…"

Pulling their mouths away, the two of them caught their breaths, as they held each other closely.

Juvia could only stifle a quiet giggle to herself, causing her lover to raise his eyebrows curiously at her. "What?"

She narrowed her eyes to a partly-lidded gaze, her cheeks flush with a tinge of red. "This feels all too sudden for Juvia."

Gray held a curved eyebrow at her, smirking slightly. "Too sudden for you?"

"Well," she began with a coy-like smile, momentarily casting her eyes away from him, "both Juvia and Gray-sama were supposed to watch the movie together." The blunette then turned her gaze back towards her raven-haired lover, partly-narrowing her eyes. "And, then, Juvia believes that it was Gray-sama who started it, first."

He held back an amused chuckle, in response, before his lips cracked open into a teasing grin. "That's only because your hand was all over my lap, when we began watching."

The blunette hummed elatedly at that remark. "Juvia doesn't care, at this point." She narrowed her eyes even more at him. "She just wants Gray-sama now."

Not before long, the two of them seized the lips of one another. Their tongues were pushed into each other's mouths, swirling and clashing around. In the midst of all this, Gray sneaked his fingers towards the back of her strapless bra, reaching its clasp.

Juvia could feel him unbuckle it, freeing her burgeoned chest from its confines. Fluttering her eyes open, she saw her lover just having tossed the bra behind him, where it ended up onto the pile over the seats.

Leaning in quickly, Gray pressed his lips aggressively over the top of her round, enormous breasts.

The blunette mewled out, while she brought her hands around the back of his head, with her lithe fingers gripping his locks over there. "A-ah! Yes…that's it, Gray-sama…ah!"

Delighted murmurs escaped under his breath, as he left deep kisses all over her mounds, before he moved down to her buds. Juvia's moans and panting heightened, when he closed his mouth around her pebbled nipple, and swirled the tip of his tongue around it. He then switched over to her other nipple, performing those same teasing touches with his lips.

In his mind, he was thankful that the sounds of the movie happening outside were drowning out the sounds they made, inside the vehicle they were in.

---

"Whoaaa!"

Elsewhere, all the others watching the movie by themselves were in complete awe at the action that they witnessed.

Sitting beside Gajeel, Levy let out her thoughts into the open. "Unbelievable!"

Across from their right, Erza shared the same sentiment with her, likewise. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Natsu nearly lost his hold onto the bucket of popcorn, his mouth opening up into a wide gape. "Wow! So cool!" The pink-haired male then turned his head away from the screen, for an instant, before he grunted. "I wish the ice princess was here to see this…he's totally missing out on it!"

His attention was turned back to the screen, right away, as an explosion happening in the movie had ripped through the theatre's speakers. It had amazed everyone watching, including him.

---

A pair of dark-coloured boxer briefs joined the pile of clothes on the seats—only for a pair of high-cut panties to end up on top of it, not more than a second afterward.

Breathy moans left the blunette, as she found herself on top of her lover, facing his fully-erect phallus below. "Mmh…Gray-sama…"

Said raven-haired male gave a low groan, when he felt her fingers wrapped around his shaft, and ran them up and down all over it. His sights were focused on her heavily-dampened entrance, leaking with clear fluid that trickled down her inner thighs.

Juvia squealed, when she felt the warm blade of his tongue press against her outer folds, as it swiped across them.

His fingers latching onto the supple skin of her thick thighs, Gray could feel her body tense, and shift around, while he repeatedly swiped the tip of his tongue against her cleft. Satisfied hums muffled out from him, as he dipped his tongue into her inner folds, earning him a squeaky squeal from his blunette lover. His satisfied hums shortly cut into quiet groans, when he felt the familiar, wetly-warm sensation of her mouth against him.

Suckling against the tip of his shaft, Juvia pulled back a bit, only to sweep her tongue up the side of it. She could hear her lover's moans of approval from behind her, underneath, spurring her to keep it up. Gray gasped, and hissed out, when he felt her mouth take in more of him, forcing his trembling grip on her thighs to loosen slightly.

The blunette hummed delightfully, feeling every twitch and pulse of his cock, as she bobbed her head up and down. Suddenly, she could feel his tongue all over her clit, again, forcing out a muffled cry from her.

Stifling out a chuckle, Gray pushed more of his tongue inside her clit, sliding it around her inner walls. Pulling away from his phallus, Juvia released another cry of pleasure, having felt a surge of energy rush through her body. "G-Gray-sama!"

Low, teasing hums left the raven-haired Fullbuster, while he continued his oral ministrations on her. He then groaned lowly, when he felt her lips brush against the side of his shaft. Softly moaning, Juvia swept her tongue along the length of it, and gathered the pre-cum that seeped from its tip. She relished its musky scent, and its mixed taste of salty-bitterness, before taking him into her oral cavern again.

Retracting his mouth away from her entrance, Gray panted rather briefly, before he called out her name. "Juvia…I want to put it in, now…"

Taking her mouth out from his phallus, the blunette steadied her breaths momentarily. "Yes…"

---

Lucy looked around, for an instant, before turning to her pink-haired boyfriend. "Hey, Natsu," she asked, "I'm heading out to the washroom, right now. Is there anything you want me to get, over at the concession stand?"

His lips broke into his usual grin. "Could you get me a large soda, please? All this popcorn is making my mouth dry."

Pouting at her pink-haired boyfriend for a brief moment, Lucy sighed, before she brought herself off from the hood of their car. As she began making her way towards the washrooms, however, she directed her sights at the vehicle where Gray and Juvia were, for an instance. She then turned away from it, before continuing her way.

---

Their hushed moans and panting grew louder, cutting through the heavy air around them.

Juvia whimpered, as she felt the tip of his shaft rub repeatedly against her cleft.

Hovering above her, Gray held his cock with one hand, guiding it towards her entrance. The raven-haired male held back a strained grunt, slipping the head of his phallus in.

"A—ahh!" A breathy cry left the blunette's gape, with the sudden intrusion forcing her back to arch. She threw her head back, lengthy strands of wavy blue hair spilling and fanning outward, as the rigid sensation of his shaft reached deeper through her love canal. "G—Gray-sama!"

Almost immediately, his low, delighted groan followed. Gray relished the wetly-warm and silky sensation of her inner walls that welcomed and surrounded him, sending a shiver through his spine.

The young, dark-haired Fullbuster steadily drew his hips back, before thrusting them forward rather quickly—forcing moan-like grunts from both lovers, nearly at the same time. He repeated those very movements of his hips, building up the pace of his thrusts, as he leaned in closer towards her.

Juvia wrapped her arms instinctively around his neck, along with her legs around his lower waist, having felt his lower torso press against hers. Her lilting moans came out in heavy huffs, barely keeping her eyes locked towards his, while she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. Her eyes fluttered to a close of her own volition, upon feeling his lips passionately seize over hers.

Their tongues swirled and clashed, with their gasps and groans pouring out into muffles. "Mmm…Gray-sama…Gray-saamm—a-ah…"

"Mhm…Juvia," her lover murmured into their kiss, driving his hips back and forth against hers. "Juvia…"

Said blunette could feel every flex of his lower muscles, as her shapely legs rode over his hips. Bringing her arms under his, she pressed the tips of her fingers against his rigid upper back, digging her nails against his skin.

Gray grunted and nearly growled out, upon feeling those very nails being dragged down his upper posterior. It was a signal from his lover underneath for him to pick up the pace even more.

Their mouths broke away from one another, as soon as he began buckling his hips roughly against her. Juvia cried out, throwing her head back again, while she let her arms fall away from him, and rest outward on either side of her head.

She pressed the back of her head against the fur of the mat below, with her tongue sticking out from her gape. "G—Gray-sama," she squealed out, having felt his hips rock right against her. "O—oh, y-yes!"

"Mmngh!" His light, guttural growl came out through gritted teeth. With his bent arms propping him up, Gray angled his hips more against hers. He plunged his hips in and out, reaching deeper into her love canal, while he ran his hands all over and through her thick, but silky strands of hair at the sides of her head. "Ah…fuck…"

The blunette below him responded with another squeal-like cry, her mind swirling and having been dominated with such pleasure. "Juveeen!"

---

Stepping out of the washroom, Lucy began making her way towards the concessions stand. As she did, however, she slowed to a stop, having turned her attention to the silvery sports utility vehicle again.

There was a wide stare in her eyes, having spotted said parked vehicle shaking around a lot. She blinked a few times, before her cheeks were filled with such rosiness.

'Is it just me,' she thought in her mind, 'or, did I…?'

Shaking her head around, the blonde silently recomposed herself. Turning her eyes away from that vehicle, Lucy continued towards the concessions stand, on her way back to her boyfriend's car.

---

"Aah—ah! Ah!" Squeaky, delighted cries escaped Juvia's gape, as she tightly bunched the fur around her fingers, with her bent knees digging against it. "Gray-sama!"

Her lover groaned loudly in response, from behind. His hands gripped around her waist firmly, while he rocked his hips back and forth. "Fuck," he hissed out. "You feel so damn good…"

The sounds of bare skin slapping against bare skin reverberated throughout the vehicle's interior, as Gray kept up the same highly-passionate pace of his thrusts. His dangling necklace swung around, with each drive of his hips, while he leaned forward over her.

At almost the same time, her heaving, enormous breasts swayed back and forth from every thrust he made. "Y-yes," she panted out at his remark, in between her moans. "Gray-sama…ah…also feels so good…hah…inside of…Juvia-a—ahh!"

She could barely feel his arms suddenly wrapping around right below her chest—before they pulled her body up towards his, without warning. The azure-haired female cried out in surprise at this, as her hands left the mat, while her back was pressed flush against his solid chest.

With both lovers remaining on their knees, Gray continued to thrust roughly and deeply into her, while his hands roamed all over her ample mounds. Simultaneously, he buried his face against the crook of her neck, nuzzling against it, before leaving deep kisses against the side of her neck. "Hah…Juvia…mmn…Juvia…"

All his touches and kisses, combined with the sensation of his solid phallus in her, had added further to her pleasure. "Oh, yes," she panted out lowly, feeling his breath fanned over the shell of her ear—right before his lips pressed against the side of it. "A-ah! Gray-sama…yes…more…"

She brought her hand over the side of his head, while he kept running his fingers around, and grasped all over her breasts.

That moment didn't last long, however, as Juvia felt him pull her back down to the mat, without warning. Another squeal tore from her, with both lovers having fallen onto it, together.

--

Returning to her boyfriend's car, with a large cup of soda in her hand, Lucy seated herself onto the hood of it, beside Natsu. "Hey," she greeted him with a soft smile, before handing him the cup. "I got you your soda."

"Thanks," he returned with a grin, taking a sip from it, before he raised his eyebrows at her. "Uh…have you seen Gray or Juvia over there, by any chance?"

The rosy blush returned on Lucy's face, upon hearing their names. Putting those thoughts about them aside, the blonde did her best to answer that. "N—no," she initially stumbled, shaking her head—only being able to feign earnestness in the tone of her voice, afterward. "No, Natsu," she nonchalantly replied. "I haven't seen them there."

He kept his eyebrows raised at her, above his stare. "…Huh." He then shrugged his shoulders, before turning his attention back to the movie.

Lucy quietly sighed to herself, with a hand over her chest. She then turned her head away from her boyfriend, casting aside her eyes, deep in thought.

---

"Oh, yes!" Her squeal-like moans pierced the air. "Oh, yeees! Gray-sama…more!"

Her raven-haired lover underneath her complied with a deep grunt, as he picked up the pace of his thrusts even more, buckling his hips roughly against hers.

With his entire back against the mat, Gray had let the blunette lay over him. His hands lifted her bent knees upward, and spread apart, from underneath her thick thighs.

Juvia continued to cry out her lover's name in between her gasps and moans, feeling his heavy breath fan out over her skin from behind her, to her left. "Yes...Juvia wants more!"

A low grunt came from the dark-haired male under her, as he felt the tingling sensations gather at the base of his spine, where they started to intensify. He could tell that the pressure in the piths of his core was about to snap.

"F—fuck," he hissed out through gritted teeth, rocking his hips wildly against her. "Juvia…I'm...I'm gonna—!"

The cries of his azure-haired lover above him grew louder, as she writhed about against his torso from underneath. "Oh, yes! Oh, yeees!"

With a final rough, jarring buckle of their hips together, both lovers immediately reached the peaks of their shared pleasure.

A prolonged, but strained cry left Juvia's widened gape, her tongue sticking out of it, while her eyes rolled back. While throwing her head back, she arched her posterior more, with her body held in place. For the entire moment, there was a sheer amount of pleasure that coursed through her nerves, overwhelming her mind, as she felt an extraordinary burst of energy deep in her lower core—before its incredible warmth eventually radiated outward, and pooled around.

At the same time, her lover underneath had let his immense pleasure be known, with primal grunts, groans, and growls through gritted teeth. His jaw clenched tightly, as he held onto her thighs, feeling the burn of every muscle tensing in his body. Much like what the blunette experienced above him, Gray had also felt such incredible warmth surrounding him closely—along with the feel of liquescent heat pulsing out through his tip, in spurts.

With the final waves of their pleasure having fully cresting over, and subsiding, both lovers sunk back down on top of each other for a moment. Their chests heaving, the two of them began catching their breaths, feeling the built-up sweat on the skins of one another.

Her panting coming out in huffs, Juvia brought her hand over her lower belly, where she felt the warmth that still emanated from there. She held back a light giggle, before turning her head over to face his eyes. "Gray-sama…"

He returned her gaze with a suave grin under his loving stare. "Juvia…"

They then slanted their lips over each other's, sharing a slow, simmering kiss, before they pulled away from one another.

Sitting up, Gray leaned against the rear of the front seats, as he brought a hand over the side of his lover's face. "That felt really good."

The blunette responded with an airy giggle, resting her hands over his torso. "Juvia thinks the same way, as well." She then squeaked, when she began shifting her hips around, feeling their fluids leaking out from underneath her. "It seems like Gray-sama came inside Juvia a lot."

"A lot?" Gray raised his eyebrows above his widened eyes, as the sudden realization had finally reached his mind. He then brought his hand over his forehead. "Ah, shit…"

"Eh? Gray-sama?" Juvia raised her brows curiously at him. "What's wrong?"

The raven-haired male sighed. "I just realized we didn't bring any protection with us," he explained, frowning. "I didn't even bring a condom with me."

Juvia blinked at her dark-haired lover for a moment, before her eyes softened towards him. "That's alright," she smiled at him, reassuringly. "Juvia remembered to take her birth control, before this."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You did?"

She nodded at him. "Even if Juvia didn't," she answered, "it would still be considered a 'safe day' for her, since Juvia did check the calendar, very recently."

Gray had stared at her for a moment, blinking, before he gave a quieted sigh of relief, relaxing against the rear of the seat. His attention was then diverted back to the movie playing outside, as his ears picked up the soundtrack blaring through the speakers.

Sitting up higher, and turning his head around, for a moment, he was able to make out the screen through the windshield. "Huh," he noted, "the movie's already over." Another wave of realization then hit him like a ton of bricks. "Oh, shit! I just realized, we have to meet up with the others—"

Hearing her giggle, the dark-haired male turned to his cobalt-haired lover, as she wrapped her hand around his shaft. "J—Juvia?!" His eyes widened incredulously at her, before he let out a soft groan, having felt her fingers squeeze lightly around the base of it. "W—what are you—?"

Without a word, the blunette swept her tongue along the sides of his phallus, collecting the remnants of their mixed fluids that gathered there. She could feel his body twitch, and could hear his moans coming out in huffs, as she took him into her mouth again.

Moving her head up and down a few times, Juvia finally pulled her mouth away from it. "Sorry," she panted quietly, with a cheeky grin at him. "Juvia just wanted to clean up Gray-sama, before we head out."

She then gasped, as she peered back down at his phallus, which had now been re-erected at full-mast. The sight of it aroused her even further than it should, forcing her to lean in towards it.

Gray choked out a gasp, when he felt her wrap her breasts around him. "Wait—wait a minute!" He grunted at the sheer supple softness of her cleavage firmly surrounding his cock. "I thought you wanted to clean me up!"

Juvia giggled naughtily, as she rubbed her mounds all over his shaft. "Well…Juvia lied about that," she whispered, before leaning in, with her lips suckling around its head. "Juvia just wants to pleasure Gray-sama, one more time."

With one eye closed, Gray could barely keep the other open at her, as his fingers dug into the mat below. He leaned up against the rear of the seats, letting himself fall to the incredible sensation she was giving. 'This woman…!'

---

"Hey, ice-prick!" Natsu glared at the raven-haired male in front of him, his hands akimbo to his sides. "Where have you and Juvia been?!"

The two of them, fully-dressed in their casual attire—before the movie started—stood together, directly across from the pink-haired male and his blonde girlfriend.

Gray glared back at him, with an annoyed expression on his face. "What do you think, flame-brain? Juvia and I were watching the movie inside my car!"

Along with Lucy, only Gajeel, Levy, and Jellal watched the increasingly-awkward exchange between the two, staring blankly at them.

"Gray, Natsu," Erza chided them, as she stepped in between them. "That's enough—both of you!"

Right away, the two had backed off at the sight of her scowling expression that signaled her annoyance at both men.

The redhead then turned to the pink-haired male. "Natsu," she began. "Gray's allowed to watch the movie, the way he wants to…do you understand?"

Natsu fully acknowledged her with a firm nod of his head, the sheepish expression remaining on his face.

She then turned to the dark-haired Fullbuster. "But, Gray…you have to let all of us know ahead of time, if the both of you aren't going to watch the movie right beside us—is that clear?"

Gray nodded his head at her, with slight chagrin. "Yes, Erza."

Levy sighed at the situation between the two having yet been resolved by the redhead, subtly shaking her head. "Anyway," she remarked, "I actually did find the movie to be quite engaging."

"Yeah," Gajeel agreed beside her, "I liked how those action scenes came out."

The pink-haired male raised his arms in an energetic manner. "That was awesome! I liked that part where they fought that dragon, near the end!"

Lucy gave a small chuckle at his reaction. "I actually did think the dialogue wasn't well-written," she added in. "But, for a summer blockbuster…I thought it was alright."

Jellal simply nodded at that. "So," he concluded, "I think we all agree that this was worth the general admission."

"Indeed," Erza nodded beside him, with a slight smile. "And, I suppose we'll all meet up next time for the next movie that all of us would want to watch?"

Everyone else agreed with her, with a few laughs and smiles around. "Yeah!"

After bidding their farewells and 'good nights' to each other, all of the pairs parted ways to return to their vehicles. As Gray and Juvia returned to his car, their hands linked together, Gray could feel her suddenly snuggle up right against his side.

The blunette giggled at him. "Juvia couldn't wait to go watch another movie with Gray-sama, again."

Gray grinned at her, as they stopped by his four-wheeler. "Well, if we do," he teased, "are you going to behave, when we start watching?"

Juvia winked at him. "That depends on what Juvia really wants with Gray-sama."

The raven-haired male smiled and laughed, with her also giggling, before he leaned in to press his lips affectionately against her cheek.

#fairy tail #fanfiction #oneshot #lemon #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #jerza #jellal fernandes #erza scarlet #gajevy #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden

[tomtenadia]

Let’s get married

Rowaelin month - Day 1 a song fic.

So, for my first fic I will transport you to Scotland but I have to give a brief introduction. The song is from the Proclaimers (an amazing Scottish band) and it’s actually called Let’s get married. The scene happening in the fic is based on a scene from the movie called Sunshine on Leith - a movie set in Edinburgh with songs from the proclaimer as soundtrack. You can watch the scene HERE. The fic is set in Glasgow and our gang are all Scottish. Now because of that you might need a few sentences explained

I dinnae ken: I don’t know.

Away an bile yer heid: get lost

Taps aff: when in Scotland the thermometers get to 15C for us it’s warm and taps off means clothes off because is far too hot.

mad awe it,: very drunk

Gie-in it laldly: go for it The Glaswegians have their own beautiful slang and I love them madly. Aelin starts singing Flower of Scotland... that is our anthem. we sent the English homeward tae think again.” : this is taken from a line of Flower of Scotland “and I will definitely walk 500 mile with you and then I will walk 500 more.”: this comes from the song 500 miles, still from the Proclaimers. This is heavily Scottish and I hope it makes sense and you find it funny

The pub that night was crowded. Fenrys and Connall were busy behind the counter serving the patrons ready to let go on a Friday night after a week of work or university or the crowd coming back from Murrayfield after the rugby game. Their pub was in the university area of Glasgow. Hillhead was famous for its pubs and restaurants and they hit the jackpot when they decided to open the pub there. Slowly their friends had also become regulars and brought more friends and soon the word spread.

“Any idea when the gang is coming?”

Fenrys finished drying a few glasses “I dinnae ken, Rowan said he was going to text me as soon as the train get in at Queen street station.”

The brothers went back to their job and waited for their friends to finally decide to show up.

It was an hour later when the twins spotted the three couples plus Vaughan and Gavriel enter the pub.

Fenrys waved at them and pointed at a table in a corner. It was their table. Whenever they knew the group was going, the twins would always reserve that spot for them. 

“Ah, you are finally here.”

Aedion sat down quickly “It’s pure baltic outside.”

“Away an bile yer heid, Aedion,” Vaughan pushed him playfully “Rowan is about to go taps aff.”

The silver haired man scoffed “you are mad awe it, already.”

Fenrys joined them all a moment later “all right savages, here are all yer drinks.”

The blonde man distributed the drinks and sent a kiss in the direction of the ladies.

Rowan sat at Aelin’s side and kissed her head and she gave him a wide grin. 

They had all gone to the rugby game in Edinburgh and Scotland had won against England and the day could be easily marked as a national holiday.

Aelin stood and rose her glass “O Flower of Scotland, when we will see your like again…” within seconds the pub started singing and joined in and the entire crowd sang the Scottish anthem out loud. Aelin had offered her hand to Rowan and he twirled her around and kissed her. A lot of people in the pub were just like them back from the game and had jerseys and flags and started waving them in an outburst of patriotism and celebration and the small added bonus of pissing off any English in the pub.

Eventually the song died down and everyone went back to their seats but Rowan was still standing and then with a swift jump he went on the counter. Aelin gasped. Her usually very restrained boyfriend had taken the celebration for a rugby victory a bit too far.

Fenrys grinned and joined him and Rowan grabbed the towel he had on his shoulder and turned to Aelin who was sitting once again “We’ve been going together too long to be vague,” he grabbed the cloth and placed it on Fen’s head as a head piece then he jumped off the counter and took a step towards Aelin who was suddenly speechless “When there’s something to say, it’s not now then it’s never,” swaying his hips he walked around the three ladies and playfully squeezed Aelin’s arse “So I’ll say it straight out ‘cause I have no doubt, no doubt.” Rowan then grabbed Aelin’s hand and pulled her away and in the mean time the pub had stopped and had started singing as they recognised the popular song from The Proclaimers “Let’s get married,” he shouted, making her twirl, pushing her away and then back to him again. Aelin laughed and Rowan walked away, climbing on chairs and making funny faces at her. He then jumped and kneeled in front of her “I love you and I want to stay with you.”

She laughed and almost took his hand but he moved again and with his hands he encouraged the patrons “Let’s get married,” they all shouted.

Fenrys jumped down and the two danced together “have kids and grow old and grey with you.”

“Let’s get married,” they all joined in, even their friends now.

They all sang another verse and Rowan was once again at her feet “Let’s get married,” he grabbed the washcloth from Fenrys and wrapped it around her writs “we are ready for tying the know,”

“Let’s get married,” shouted the pub now fully involved in the crazy proposal by Rowan.

“Set the seal on the feelings we got,” he moved to Aelin and kissed her.

“Let’s get married.”

“We can make each other happy, we can make each other blue,” this time he grabbed his girlfriend by the hips and lifted in the air and turned on himself with a delighted Aelin in his arms “Yeah, it’s just a piece of paper but it says I love you.”

Gently he sat Aelin on the counter and he grabbed Fenrys on his arm and the two started a duet “For the days we can do no wrong, for the bad times, for the moments when we can’t go on,” they walked back and forth and danced too. Fenrys blowing loving kisses to Rowan “for the family, for the lives of the children that we’ve planned. Let’s get married.”

Rowan went on his knees and extended a hand to Aelin “Come on darlin’ please take my hand.”

Aelin placed her finger on her lips and pretended to think, then stood on the counter and looked at him “And I’ll be the one who’s by your side, I’ll be the one still taking pride,” Aelin climbed on the counter and went on all four and started crawling to Connall and stole the shot of whisky from his hand and drank it “when we are old and they ask me ‘how do you define success?’” She jumped down and stopped in front of Rowan and looked at him. Blue eyes meeting green “I’ll say you meet a woman, you fall in love you ask her and she says yes,” a tiny nod of her head and then her lips met his in a sizzling kiss and the pub erupted and started singing the whole chorus again.

But in that instant Aelin and Rowan had eyes only for each other. He held her at his chest “Let’s get married, buzzard.”

He stooped and kissed her again, then they walked to their friends who were waiting to congratulate with them.

Fen went to Rowan and patted his shoulder hard “I approve how you used my pub, but you could have told me, I would have had streamers and balloons.”

“Fen, you can’t keep a secret,” added his twin.

“I love the song and the Proclaimers,” added Lys, taking Aedion’s hand.

Rowan looked at Aelin and deposited a quick kiss on her forehead before pulling her close to his chest “It was the first concert we went to together after we started dating.”

“And we slow danced at our seats in a corner of the Hydro at the notes of Sunshine on Leith.”

Gavriel laughed “now you two,” and he pointed at his son and Lorcan “have to try and top this. A proposal on the day we beat the English? Fen, we need more beer.”

Fen climbed on the counter and shouted at all the patrons “Aye, listen up, tonight is a great night,” the place fell silent and all eyes turned on him “Scotland won at rugby and we sent the English homeward tae think again.” The crowd erupted in loud cheers and glasses were clinked “But most importantly Aelin, after three years of living with that grump of boyfriend has decided to tie the knot with him. The poor woman,” he smiled and turned to his friends “I love you both and I wish you all the best in this new adventure.”

The couple smiled, but Fenrys poured himself a dram of whiskey “For Aelin and Rowan,” he rose the glass in the air “ Gie-in it laldly!!!”

The crowd cheered and followed and they all drank and toasted at the evening.

It was many hours later when they finally left the pub and Aelin and Rowan were now walking hand in hand along the Clyde towards their flat. The air chilly and threatening snow, and the sky clear. Rowan took her hand and stopped just under the imposing structure that was the Finnieston crane. The place where he kissed her for the first time three years before.

She brushed his cheek and he closed his eyes for a second, then all of a sudden he was on one knee, and a black box appeared in his hand.

When he opened it, a silver band appeared “Aelin, my love. Three years ago in this very spot I gathered all the courage and I kissed you. You are incredible, funny, have so much sass to drive me crazy.You are my everything and as the song says, I want to grow old with you, through the bad times and the good ones,” he grabbed her hand “Aelin Galathynius, let’s get married.”

Aelin pulled him up and rose on her tip toes to kiss him “Let’s get married, buzzard.”

With shaky hands he placed the ring on her fourth finger and then lifted her in his arms and kissed “and I will definitely walk 500 mile with you and then I will walk 500 more.”

And with the giant crane reflecting his imposing picture in the calm waters of the river, Rowan danced with the love of his life in his arms.

Tags:

@rowaelinismyotp​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @whimsicallyreading​ @elentiyawhitethorn​ @aelin-bitch-queen​ @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity​ @acreativelydifferentlove @mis-lil-red​ @thegreyj​ @sailorsassley​ @leiawritesstories​ @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire​ @sv0430​ @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon​ @rowanaelinn​ @backtobl4ck​ @susumaus98​ @gracie-rosee​ @mybloodrunsblue​ @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah​ @whoever-you-choose-to-love​ @theywillnotsingforme​ @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water​ @goddess-aelin​ @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @rowaelinscourt​

#rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #roweaelin #rowaelinmonth2022 #rowaelin month 2022 #aelin galathynius #aelin x rowan #Scottish rowan and aelin #rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month

[eolewyn1010]

Farewell, Darkover - part 7

There's a real piece of sugar I found in the process of writing my Darkover reminiscences: MZB's own Darkover reminiscences, a retrospective she had penned down in 1980. Oh, darling, do tell. From the mouth of the beast herself. Time to get nasty.

First of all: When she writes in her own voice, she sounds mind-bogglingly similar to Stephenie Meyer, of all people. I cackled. MZB was a fucking Suethor. The same self-importance, false modesty, immaturity, the same condescension toward "cruel editors", the endless "oh, look, how special I am, how educated I am, how many important people I know!" It would be cute if I didn't wanna stomp on her face. Admittedly, it feels good to be able to talk about her like that - what's she gonna do, climb out of her misty sepulcher of oblivion and haunt me? It's a relief that she isn't someone I would have held in high regard, even without knowledge of her crimes. But let's look at some tidbits of this.

"I have referred to the Darkover books as "the series that just growed"."

So, I found zero hints at all that "growed" was ever the correct past tense for to grow. It's always been grew. Am I petty? You bet I am.

"A good part of the credit for encouraging the Darkover series to continue must go to Donald A. Wollheim"

I feel bad for the poor man, having his name attached to yours. I have great respect for Wollheim, and if I thought the Darkover books were way better written than the Avalon series, I have zero compunctions to credit your editor for it.

"with a sick husband and two very small children to support"

I wouldn't exactly call your husband sick. That implies an absence of responsibility, and I think he should very much be held responsible for his actions- oh, you were talking physical health. Carry on. And quit acting like the caring, loving mother; the sheer mention made me grab for a knife. I read what Moira wrote. I can't stand that hateful, homophobic fury, but I have a pretty good inkling who made her that way.

"when I protested, rather diffidently"

Aw, she wants us to think she has a shred of humility. Meanwhile, I think I should go poop on her grave.

She then goes on to tell us how she doesn't actually think her books in terms of series and prefers self-contained stories and thus didn't write Darkover in a way that one book had to rely on its predecessor to be understood (I hope she has to watch the entire MCU in hell ad nauseam), which is fine; just her overblown style of talking about herself is annoying to read. She also shoves in a quote about oatmeal that she doesn't bother to give credit for and I don't recognize; I suspect it's to make her look smart and to make those look dumb who are not in the know. Well, shove it.

Next, she gets really patronizing to fans who'd love them some consistency. Because she can't be arsed.

"Admittedly the inconsistencies are many. Some are minor, and they occurred simply because I have a very faulty memory with a self-correcting mechanism."

...

Bitch. I started to reconstruct the Comyn family trees and a timeline for Darkovan history at age 11. Surely you could have helped your faulty memory by writing things down??

More about how she doesn't like writing series, how she hates cliffhangers... my God, Bradley, this is a retrospective! You don't need to pad your word count here, too! Then a long story about how she had to give up on becoming a singer (which puts her hang-ups in the Darkover books about female singers constantly in peril of being considered better prostitutes in a very strange context; any complexes there, by chance? Gonna go with yes, as there are numerous female characters in her books that put everyone to awe with their singing in ways that more conventionally beautiful women couldn't with their looks), and how she always wrote, from childhood onward. Yeah, so did I. So did many. It's not that unusual. Almost everyone I know on tumblr wrote from childhood on.

"Well, in my middle teens, [...] I started to write fantasy novels with a framework of science fiction."

Heh. I also liked to call what I wrote in my teen years "novels". I assume it's nice when you get published and can feel verified in your blown-up presumptions.

"[Around age eleven, I did] an ambitious project called Ten Tales of the Ancients, which had a short story about a girl in ancient Rome, and one in ancient Greece, and one from an Arabian-nights kind of world, and then I ran out of ancient civilizations and gave up."

...Is that a shoutout to the American education system or what? Not sure if I would have gotten to ten civilizations at that age, but come on! Mayans? Ancient Egypt? Ancient China? Mesopotamia? I feel like her interest in ancient cultures may have been limited. Research is haaaaard, you guys!

Then a lot about the Fantasy and Sci-Fi writers that influenced her. I don't recognize most of the names, might look into those at some later point. The development of the whole Darkover idea via cannibalizing her older stories, that's fairly standard.

"During this time I also managed to read a few books on writing and began to get some foggy notions of what a plot was [...] I was beginning to learn how to plot, and how to tell a story"

By the time she wrote The Mists of Avalon, she had already forgotten it again.

...and I'm setting a cut here. My God, she's being wordy. Next up: her introduction to writing smut!

#Darkover #Marion Zimmer Bradley #hell is too good for MZB #The Mists of Avalon #books

[unknownjpegs]

patron/deal

“You have siblings, don’t you?”

The young man pauses at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her at its crux. Jacqueline follows his path towards the exit. Beneath her skirts, she hovers centimeters from the ground.

“I do — I mean, yes ma’am, I do.”

She smiles benevolently, pats his hand several times. As the bear in the foyer opens the door for him, she thanks it.

“I could tell. You have that look about you, sweet thing. Your mother raised you all proper, I can see that much.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Xavier responds kindly. He bows a little, perhaps feeling awkward for maintaining some of the contrite energy up all the way until now, when they’re prepared to part. She’s been perfectly reasonable with him, hasn’t she? Been kind. And if not that, surely better than his prior experiences with the folk. Hag and red caps and the ilk of them all. Jack is better. She has the nice house in the upper city, and she’s not an untrustworthy medicine woman if her floors are marble. Her hair blonde and thick with taken-care of shine if graying. Her advancing age is acceptable because the wrinkles are gentle and from smiling, naturally. They’re deep but prettily painted at the corners of her eyes, her mouth. She is, to all perception, the picture of a graceful, privileged yet wisened elven noblewoman.

But Jacqueline has also spent such time around and amongst the fey. Tethering herself to the workings of the realms beyond, tethering those forces to the leash wound tight, tight tight around her dainty fist. And that tethering, to those traveled enough to see the veil waver at its silken edges, unmakes things. Reworks them. Twists awfully and sculpts ethereally.

Jacqueline is not a hag or a red cap or woad or petty, mischievous pixie. But she knows of them. She has become of them.

So when Xavier begins to wind his scarf back around his neck, his belly warm and full of tea, scones, honey lavishly drizzled atop each until the crumb soaked sticky orange, Jack stops him in his tracks. Before he can cross the threshold of her home, return to the world as he knew it previous to dealing with her, she commands him to.

“I’ll never do this again,” she promises. She assumes now that he can feel how his muscles have all tightened, locked him in place. The magic washes over his body and Jack watches it, the shimmering friction as two very different worlds rub together. “You have my word on that. Just a reminder.”

“What —“

Oh, but bless him. He sounds more confused than anything.

Jack comes to stand before him, her angular chin tilted down. This close, he must see the ring of sick magenta flaring about her irises. He might develop a touch of fey to him, in time; pink-tinged ears, freckles turned all manner of inhuman technicolor but only in certain weathers, places, lights. Funnier, stranger things than that. Frogs calling his name in the swamp, a tinkle of laughter every time a cupboard door opens by his hand.

Or perhaps, like some who deal with the folk, an indeterminate amount of time from this day, eons past his death, his bones will be found hollow and fuscia and smelling somehow faintly of clove-spiced sugar and vomit.

Jack smiles up at her new beneficiary, her friend, a comrade for whatever whimsy she’d bestow. He has a choice — he’ll always have a choice.

But…

“An admirable mission. I love a bit of revenge as much as you, young man. You best remember that.” He stares at her, eyes wet and wide and wild, cornered but sparking with that otherworldly power already. “Worry not. No harm will come to you or yours, Xavier, from my hand or a hand of my command.”

At once, her sweet smile drops. Something fanged and awful peeks out beneath the meat of her — Jack can see it reflected, if only for a second, in the reflection of his eyes. They’re a pretty shade. Matilda has a lovely satin robe about that color, she thinks. And the market is on yet another fortnite. Wonder if she’d like a pair of slippers to match?

Xavier’s terror sinks deeper when she snatches his chin.

“But be warned thus: that is graced by a heavy unless. If you find yourself too far from my approval, I will free you of the burden of my mercy. I will find each and every single one of your siblings. I will have done to them things that will make you wish you’d stood here before me, in this parlor, and slit your throat open instead.”

Xavier balks at her, then snaps his mouth shut. He nods firmly.

*

Matilda adjusts on the plush bedding, tucking long bare legs beneath her to get comfortable. She jostles Xavier, who sleeps face-first in a rose-blush mess of sheets and blankets he’d stolen from the armoire in the corner.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want. I saw how you two were earlier. Whatever happened—“

“We’re on…” he pauses, muffled voice trailing off entirely for a beat. “Well, we’re on terms, at least. Not sure if they’re good or bad.”

She pats him on the head. “Safe to say good, if your insides are still on the inside, and not glued to the outside.”

Xavier groans in disgust. “Please, why would you say — when’s Lark back? Oh, gods. I can’t deal with this much longer.”

“You’re right. I’ll tell you the story of the man who stole the butter tray from the dining cabinet, and you can be assured what was peeled from him was —“

A large hand slaps over her mouth, covering the entire lower half of her face. Matilda flashes her very best youngest sibling eyes before snapping her head away and sinking her teeth into the fleshy part of his thumb.

“Mother!”

“Madam Rhoades—Jacqueline, ma’am she bit me!”

#writing #ua #xw #jr #bg3 au

[dzcool3]

author notes on pages 2162 of homestuck driving me insane. so much nep <> equius lore

Nepeta x Equius is a good character relationship. I don't mean just that it's entertaining, which it is. It stands out for other reasons. For one thing, it's a strong example of moirallegiance by troll standards. This is a minor point, though. For reasons that are hard to explain, this relationship is of cosmic significance in the grand scheme of the narrative. Arquius x Davepeta, as the terminal for their combined trajectory, illustrates its significance by seemingly placing it on near-equivalent terms with Dave and Dirk's relationship. Why the hell should this be true? Perhaps it's premature to say. I'll save that for the Act 6 book babbling. More generally, key relationship pairs bring a lot out of certain characters, even minor ones. For instance, you could write dozens of paragraphs of meta on Vriska alone. But the moment you stop writing about Vriska in a vacuum, and start writing about Vriska x Terezi, the avenues of analysis seem endless. It's a circuitous, psychologically tortured mutual arc of competitive codependency, which on closer inspection serves as the axis around which virtually the entire plot revolves. Equius and Nepeta bring things out of each other's arcs in a similar way, relative to their lesser roles in the story. They could have ended up being merely two fairly shallow extras swallowed up by a huge ensemble, but the interactions they have make it much harder to write off either of them individually.

We don't know much about Equius yet, but we get an awful lot of info about him with this excerpt. He's racist, a huge snob, doesn't like swearing, is stern and controlling, has a patronizing fondness for Nepeta, and thinks archery is cool because of its association with nobility. Combine this with the snapshot of his room we'll see soon, and suddenly we have an extensive character portrait. This was all important to establish quickly, because it helps us understand in record time that Equius is in fact one of the greatest characters ever created.

But wait, there's more. He also sweats a lot, he can't actually wield a bow and arrow because he's too strong and just breaks them, and he detests cruelty to animals, which he adores, especially humongous, nude, anthropomorphic beasts, which is something we don't need to get into now. There's plenty to say about Nepeta too, but when they're talking, it seems Equius starts to bury her in the contest of absurd, eyebrow-raising character traits. In this sense, she's sort of the straight man of the duo's relationship. But then, that's not a bad way to describe what a moirail really is. It's playing the stable, calming straight man to a more erratic or extreme personality, to help keep them grounded.

Much of Hivebent involves observing the characters we're in the process of getting to know find out how they're either not on the team they thought they'd be on or won't enter the session in the order they believed. Sometimes people get tricked, sometimes they get sabotaged, and sometimes they get ordered by an abusive friend who has no real power over them, except the power of sheer insistence they have grown accustomed to successfully asserting over the years. Also, there's no such thing as an abusive relationship for trolls, just lots of arrangements that are "normal" due to their terrible culture. There you go, that's my red-hot take of the day for you.

Equius says he appreciates that Nepeta's angry. I guess meaning that he respects an angry disposition, like his own. Especially early on in his characterization, it's suggested he has anger issues (like him taking his rage out on robot dummy combatants). But I'm not sure this trait holds up. Over time, he seems to show a lot more passion about his weird stuff, his passion for archery and muscular horse men, his submissive obsessions, his deference toward those higher on the hemospectrum and fetish-like indulgence in depraved attraction toward those lower. Ultimately he comes off more as a ridiculous nerd, with a soft spot for a lot of silly and creepy shit. My view on this is, it's not that the text lost track of the fact that he was supposed to be angry. It's more that this was his initial state of mind early on, and the more he started blowing off steam with his various indulgences (Aradiabot, etc.) the less he had to be mad about. We just meet him at a really high-strung point in his life. I think it's more accurate to say his "anger" is a form of hyperintense focus on being stern, aloof, proper, and averse to nonsense, which is a facade serving to cover up his inner personality, which is barely in control at all. Like Nepeta suggests, deep down he wants to play the kinds of silly games she plays. He wants to let go completely, and indulge every ludicrous and depraved whim he has. His arc tends to be more about caving to these indulgences, and all the mixed consequences that follow, than resisting them.

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn��t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[ptergwen]

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

-

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker au #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

[glowingbadger]

Let's talk "Fertility Saint Cichol" for a bit, shall we?

No one requested this, I just wanted to let my mind wander on its own for once lol.

Seteth (FE3H) x GN Reader

cw: cock worship, deep throating, me being a shameless size queen

NSFW 18+

* and spoilers I guess idk

You've only been in Seteth's quarters a handful of times before, and always with him present. Today, however, it seems work has kept him late, and so you meander around his room, trying to occupy yourself without being overly intrusive as you wait to meet him for tea. Truthfully, there isn't much to see. A tasteful four poster bed with curtains drawn, several bookshelves, a work desk- as if he needs more opportunities to work, you think with a bemused smirk.

So, to keep busy, you choose a light bit of reading at random from an uncharacteristically unruly pile on the floor beside Seteth's desk. It appears to be an anthology of some rather fantastical tales centering the saints. As you skim through, you can't help a grin. Evidently, Cethleann was 9 feet tall and her hair was a literal flowing waterfall, while Indech once gave birth to a pegasus (the pegasus later rejoined his physical form somehow- it's rather vague about this point- which is why we've never seen physical evidence of it, so this text claims).

And then you reach a collection of poems dedicated to Saint Cichol. Your eyes scan the page, narrowing as they proceed. With each line, your face warms to a darker shade of red. It's... shockingly salacious. A fertility God? Goddess blessed manhood of awe-inspiring proportion? Virility that fills barren riverbeds?!

You're so consumed by the collage of erotic imagery conjured into your mind that you barely hear the door open behind you.

"My apologies for the delay. I hope you haven't been waiting terribly long."

"Oh- not at all!" you say, turning to face Seteth as he enters. The stress of the work day is smoothed over by the warmth of his smile on seeing you. But he must notice something strange about your expression, as his brows furrow in curiosity. Then, he notices the book in your hands.

"Goddess help me- of all of the books you could have-" he quickly strides towards you and seizes it from you, tossing it back to its pile, "Please assure me that you didn't take any of that- that filth to heart." he says, his face twisted in exasperation as he runs a hand through thick green hair.

"Seteth, relax," you say with a gentle smile, "I figured it was all a bit..."

"Baseless conjecture is what it is- and heretical, at that," he says with disgust, crossing his arms and rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "Clearly I ought to have been more prompt in disposing of these particular texts."

You sympathize with his frustration, to be certain. Still. Your eyes can't help wandering up and down his frame before you and... you wonder.

"So... there's no truth to anything in there?" You step towards him and silently urge him to open his arms to you. He sighs and leans back against his desk with his hands gently at your waist.

"Nonsense, all of it- particularly that part about 'barren riverbeds' or some such." Despite his mood, his face flushes red at the reference to such claims on his own potent virility. You're not even fully conscious of the smirk spreading across your face, but you lean against him and run your hands slowly up his firm chest. Seteth has been rather demure about intimacy thus far. As of yet, you've hardly even seen beneath the starched collar of his robes. Perhaps this is the time to learn a little more about him.

"That book claims that you're the patron of fertility." you prod further. His chest rises as he inhales slowly, and you swear you can feel his heart pounding beneath your touch.

"Yes, well- it was a... fringe belief several centuries past. I am- Saint Cichol is the only noted figure in the church known to have produced a child," you hum with interest, and by now, your body rests against his, and your hands have traveled down his torso. Seteth rambles on, glancing to the side and attempting the same tone he would use with a student, "the elemental association with the earth was also a factor, so I- I was... often prayed to for blessings of..."

One gentle hand reaches below his belt, and you gaze up at him for any sign of resistance or hesitation. He doesn't stop you, and doesn't look like he wants to. Your touch travels beneath his outer robes, between his thighs, where you immediately feel the heat of his manhood beginning to resist the confines of his clothing. You palm the impressive bulge, noting that even half-soft, he carries more than most men do at their full size. Seteth's posture stiffens, his eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you. With an odd rasp in his throat, he whispers your name. Then, he pulls you close and kisses you with an intensity you'd always suspected he had in him somewhere.

As his lips press to yours, massaging yours slow and firm, your tongue grazes his, tentatively at first. He responds enthusiastically, tilting his head to kiss you more deeply and running his tongue sensually against yours. You moan into his mouth, the friction between your bodies absolutely intoxicating, and your hand begins to stroke his manhood more firmly from atop the barrier of his clothing. His length hardens to your touch, growing in your hand as though to plead for more. Parting from his lips just enough to speak, you murmur,

"How long has it been since someone properly worshipped you, 'Saint Cichol?'"

Seteth's voice catches in his throat as he repeats,

"Worshipped...?"

Before he can question you further, you carefully lower onto your knees before him. Your touch is slow and indulgent as you enjoy the feeling of his now-massive cock straining against his pants. Looking up to meet his eyes, you see him thoroughly transfixed by the sight of you prostrate beneath him, and your lips curl into a wolfish grin. Both of his hands come to grip the edge of the desk behind him as you part his robes and tug down the hem of his trousers.

The sight of that tower of flesh springing free to loom over you immediately sends urgent arousal flooding through your burning body, and you fail to hold in an excited whimper. Your pupils grow wide as you size him up with unabashed hunger in your gaze, and you can't even bring yourself to notice how tightly your fists are clenched around the front of his clothes.

"Goddess, Seteth-!" you gasp out, bringing a hand to wrap around his cock at the base, "You're so big...!"

He clears his throat, shyly turning his face away, as though he could possibly hide his conspicuous blush and flustered expression.

"I, er... thank you, I suppose..." he says softly.

"I can't even get my hand all the way around it..." you go on with evident awe in your voice. Slowly, savoring each impossibly thick inch, you slide your hand up the length of his shaft and down once more. Seteth inhales deeply. He must be rather sensitive; in fact, you wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't been with someone intimately in some time.

"Are you... are you certain that you want this?" he asks, finally allowing his eyes to meet yours directly. You almost laugh.

"Seteth," you say as though scolding him, "I'd want to pleasure you regardless, but now that I know you have such an incredible cock, I can't think of anything I want more." He bites his bottom lip, his knuckles white as his fists clamp hard on the desk. Your smirk becomes only wider and more devious. Despite himself, he's clearly enjoying your praise.

"I can certainly see how this gorgeous cock would inspire... devotion, of a kind," you say, your hand traveling his length once more, this time merely to appreciate its shape and size. He groans softly, still fighting desperately to hold his voice in. With a feather-light touch, you run a single finger along the underside of his shaft, tracing a prominent, bulging vein. "I've never seen another that's even come close to yours, Seteth," you say, jerking your hand slightly at its base, "it almost seems a shame to keep it all to myself. Surely there are plenty who would like the chance to worship and adore their beloved Fertility God."

If your blaspheming bothers him any, he can't bring himself to reprimand you for it. Instead, he murmurs,

"I've no desire for any but you."

In reply, you press a chaste but lingering kiss to the crown of his cock. Seteth utters a shaky sigh of pleasure, and his length twitches subtly in reply. You raise your eyes to look up at your Saint.

"Can I taste it?"

"You may." he says softly. His stern brow is deeply creased with intense focus as you begin to work your lips around the head of his cock. It strikes you immediately how even wrapping your mouth around him only highlights how thoroughly this massive pillar puts any other to shame.

Seteth breathes out your name in a low, heated voice you've never heard from him before as you suck at his tip. Your lips seal around the ridge of his crown and you circle and flick him with your tongue, lapping at him all over until you feel his member throb for you. Each twitch and flex of his length is more powerful and more potent than the last, driving you to keep servicing him, to seek out those wonderful affirmations of pleasure.

By the time you dare to try taking him further into your mouth, your body leans against his legs, your hands clinging to his muscular thighs for leverage. Though, perhaps you've become over-eager; as you push yourself onto him, his cock burrows deeper and deeper, hitting your throat and then continuing to fill it. You struggle to open up for him as much as possible, grimacing as you fight your gag reflex. You're just barely past half of his full length, and he's pressing out against your throat enough to create a visible bulge. Seteth's body arches and his head tilts back as he groans your name. Then, you're forced to release him and come up for air.

Panting softly, you mutter,

"Damnit, I can't even reach the base."

"You... should not force yourself..." Seteth manages between strained breaths. As he steadies himself against the desk, you switch your focus for the time being. You begin at the root of his cock and drag your tongue up along the underside, following that same lovely vein you discovered earlier. With open adoration in your eyes, you go on to service him thoroughly with your tongue, licking and kissing every powerful, masculine inch of his rod. Then, when he's well and completely covered in your saliva, you grip the base and lead the tip to your mouth once more.

Dedicating yourself once more to your worship, you suck on his cock eagerly while steadily stroking what amount of it you can't reach in your hand. Your saliva slickens his shaft so that your hand can pump him steadily as your lips and tongue adore his tip in tandem. Seteth gasps aloud, his head leaning back once more to moan out his pleasure into the quiet of his quarters. Just once, you feel his hips buck toward you just a little- but he grits his teeth and holds himself in place, evidently worried for your comfort even now.

You increase your pace, wrapping your mouth tight and warm and wet around his enormous member, ever encouraged by Seteth's beautiful moans. Your tongue presses along the bottom of his shaft, causing him to rub firmly along the top of your mouth with every pass, and by now, you've even surprised yourself with your near obsessive desire to please him. Perhaps there was something to this "Fertility God" angle after all.

"If you... if you don't stop, I-!" Seteth bucks against you once more, and once more he fights to keep himself still, "I won't... be able to hold back...!"

Needing a way to assuage his doubts without pulling away from your sacred duties, you redouble your efforts instead. You take his thick cock into your throat until it hurts, threatening to make you choke each time you force yourself onto him, but you hold fast. The full length swells and throbs from tip to base, and Seteth is crying out your name like a plea. The strength of his grip actually causes the desk supporting him to creak, but you can't be bothered to care- you need him to cum for you, you're desperate for it.

Then, finally, with a tortured groan and a few choice words you didn't realize Seteth had in his vocabulary, his body trembles and his orgasm takes hold of him. Thick, hot cum pours into your throat, and you immediately swallow the first couple of shots, but it's not long before you're completely overwhelmed. Perhaps you should have eased up, rather than continuing to stroke and milk him with your free hand, but the dizzying thrill of his climax seems to be affecting you as well. When you simply can't take any more of him in your mouth, you pull away and allow him to spill the rest across your chest.

You look up at him from your worshipful position beneath him. You imagine you make for a sinful sight, subservient to his cock and now a mess of saliva and cum. And there is a moment- a brief, fleeting moment- when you can see something fiery and animalistic in Seteth's gaze as he regains himself enough to check on you. Yet he quickly suppresses it, and says,

"I- I apologize, I allowed myself to get carried away, and-"

"Seteth, please," you say with a laugh as you shakily rise to your feet, "it's just a bit of cleanup. A small price to pay for the chance to finally pleasure you."

He smiles sheepishly in return, helping to steady you, then placing a light kiss to your lips.

"I hadn't realized that you were so eager for the opportunity," he says, stroking a lock of your hair back into place, "If you will allow, I'd be honored to clean you up a bit and then return the favor."

"That sounds positively divine." you reply, and you're swiftly lifted into Seteth's arms and carried towards his private bath. Your knees still ache from the hardwood floor, but you hardly consider it for a moment. You're already looking forward to the next opportunity to show your devotion to your Saint.

#seteth #seteth x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #feh #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #not sfw writing #fire emblem smut #seteth smut

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

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