#AND THEN it got me thinking about this passage from his dark materials

[vamprlestat]

design for the track ‘fall for me’ by sleep token | whale fall | from here to eternity, caitlin doughty | midtnight mass, mike flanagan | the amber spyglass, philip pullman

#i was reading about this place will become your tomb and how they used a whale fall as the design for fall for me #and that instantly reminded me about from here to eternity #that book made me realize i want a natural burial #like just wrap me in a cloth and bury me in a hole in the ground and let nature consume me until there’s nothing left #and later that same day i rewatched episode 4 of midnight mass which has that amazing riley monologue about what happens after we die #AND THEN it got me thinking about this passage from his dark materials #that was probably the first time i came into contact with the idea of our atoms going back to the world when we die #little old 13 years old me read that and still thinks about it today #anyway #the whole idea of our bodies having a purpose in death #love that #sleep token has me constantly receiving psychic damage since i started listening to them about a month ago #sleep token #caitlin doughty #from here to eternity #midnight mass #his dark materials

[familyvideostevie]

Steve taking care of you when you're sick. He'd be so sweet and soft with you.

this is self-indulgent bc ive got cramps right now, so here's a wee blurb of steve being lovely to you when you're on your period! fem!reader, fluff __

You cuddled in bed for an early evening nap about an hour ago and blink awake to the soft sounds of the TV through the closed door. It's almost dark out and the passage of time is disorienting for a second.

The day has been a wash. You've done everything you needed to and no more but your sour mood and achy body make you feel rather useless. The persistent dull pain in your abdomen and lower back makes every position uncomfortable and you know there's not much to be done but hope it fades soon.

But it sounds like Steve is home. He must have popped his head in and seen you sleeping and known to leave you alone -- you'd warned him yesterday that you were liable to be a bit testy until your period finished. He's never minded.

So you know he won't mind you now. The TV sounds only a bit louder when you open the door -- he clearly kept it low -- and see him spread out on the couch watching a nature documentary. You shuffle your feet and he tilts his head back immediately to look at you over the arm of the couch. A slow smile spread across his upside-down face before his brows draw in worry.

"There she is," he says. "Did I wake you? Sorry, I tried to keep it low."

You walk towards him, fingers tracing the shape of his face when you reach the couch. "No," you tell him as he closes his eyes for a second at your touch. "Well, yeah. But it was time to get up anyway." He reaches up to bracket your wrist with his long, warm fingers and slowly brings your hand to his face, planting a soft kiss on your palm. It's an uncharacteristically tender gesture from him. Not that Steve isn't tender with you all the time -- he just isn't always so forward with it. Except when you're not doing well.

"How are we feeling?" he asks. We. Like your pain is his, like he can take it from you if he so chooses. Like you're a team against anything that hurts. Which, you think, you certainly try to be. You wrinkle your nose and consider how your traitorous body.

"Better than this morning," you say. "Cramping still." He starts to sit up to undoubtedly find you some painkillers or a heating pad but you put a hand on his chest before he can get very far. "Can we just..." you begin. "Just sit on the couch? Order takeout, maybe?"

Steve settles back into the cushions and nods. "My plans tonight are to be wherever you want me." You complete your journey around the sofa as he keeps talking. "And I think we still have some ice cream in the freezer if you want." He makes a grabby motion at you. "Well? Are you gonna come here or what?"

You laugh, but another wave of pain washes over your lower half and you wince. Steve all but pulls you down into the couch on top of him. He lets you adjust yourself, legs tangling with his and your ear on his chest, right above his heart, so it beats in your ear as look at the TV. You wiggle your hands under his back so you're holding him tight.

"Comfortable?" he asks, amused. You hum. "Do you want me to--"

"Yes," you say into his sweater. Steve knows the drill by now. One hand settles itself on your neck, gently stroking your hair. He slides the other under the soft material of your sweatshirt, palm flat. His pinky and ring finger dip below the waistband of your sweatpants so he's covering as much of your sore lower back as he can. And he's so warm. It still hurts, sure, but it hurts less because of Steve. Or at least that's what you've decided.

"What're we watching?" you mumble. He lightly kisses the top of your head. "Can you turn it up?" He reaches for the remote, careful not to shift you too much.

"Penguins. You'll probably cry."

You scoff. "So will you." He laughs and it vibrates your whole body. "PIzza later?"

"Whatever you want, baby," he says, voice soft. "Except mushrooms."

You know if you looked up he'd be grinning. You squeeze his torso in retaliation. "How dare you keep a girl from her vegetables!" you tease.

"If you had good taste I wouldn't have to." His fingernails scrape your scalp lightly and you hum again, enjoying the banter and his touch.

"I love you," you say. Steve knows it, you tell him so every day. But you love him extra right now as he tries to fend off your cramps and teases you about your pizza toppings.

"And for some reason I love you even though you like mushrooms," he replies, but you hear his heart pick up just a bit under your ear.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #blurb #emma's asks #anon ask

[flash-the-readies]

Pink Floyd Songs I recommend that are not “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2″, “Money”, “Wish You Were Here”, and so on

So I was inspired by @afemalesebastian​ ‘s post about the Kinks and decided to do the same with a band that I have spent extensive time with and feel confident saying that I know their catalogue fairly well. Anyways, go check out all the Kink’s bangers they mentioned.

This is my personal list and isn’t based on anything other than “I really love this song”. I tried to stay away from the big four concept albums of “Dark Side”, “Wish You Were Here”, “Animals”, “The Wall”... the only advice that can be given for those is: listen to the whole album. One last thing, all songs are best experienced through headphones.

The Entire “Hour With Pink Floyd” KQED radio set

Setlist: Atom Heart Mother Suite; Cymbaline; Grantchester Meadows; Green is the Colour; Careful With that Axe, Eugene; Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

I Attached a link to the Youtube playlist because I don’t think Spotify has these versions, and also it’s great fun to watch. This setlist includes a. lot of early 70s Pink Floyd concert staples. Early 70s live Floyd was unmatched, the studio versions do not compare. You never realise how beautiful a song Green is the Colour is until you listen to it live. I have so many words for this set nghhhh. Also, Grantchester Meadows is one of my favourite songs. It’s straight up pastoral poetry and is steeped in nostalgia. I like this version best, and I love when Roger and David share vocals

If - Atom Heart Mother

Here’s a theme for you: I’m a whore for Roger’s folksy songs, whoops. The three “solo” songs on the album are so worth it (If, Summer ‘68, Fat Old Sun), but I personally have to pick this one. It’s so fucking tragic and simplistically beautiful. Got some of that introspection and isolation, good tea. Inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s poem by the same name. Also the slide electric guitar is a real treat... also, Roger’s voice is so soft ;-;

Point Me at the Sky - Single

I like it, okay. It’s like a little novelty song, okay, back when Pink Floyd was still trying to write singles. Also holds some themes on the passage of time and blah blah which is seen extensively in Pink Floyd’s catalogue

Biding My Time - Relics

Okay.. It’s kitschy, I know. It’s got that jazzy feel (curtesy of Rick and his trombone) and that blues feel. Once again with that wacky jam session in the middle that defines early Pink Floyd. Also go off Nick with the drums!

Pow R. Toc H. - Piper at the Gates of Dawn

I’m a whore for weird mouth noises, and this has an abundance of them. Once again with the quintessential Floyd jam session. I’d say mono is best here since stereo is a bit mind-fucky (y’know early stereo is a struggle.. although I wouldn’t say it was too horrible with Pink Floyd), anyways, if you’re in the mood for weird sensory stuff, then stereo is great... this song is just a sensory nightmare, so tread carefully.

“The Pink Jungle” from their “Man and the Journey” suite, 17. September 1969 Amsterdam show, is EXTRA demonic and chaotic. Warning tho, there’s some slurping noises at the end. Nick carrying the band fr

Pillow of Winds - Meddle

although to be honest, the entirety of Meddle is where it’s at. Considering I listen to this song every night I had to include it. A love song :D, and it’s really pretty and drowsy. Again with the pastoral poetry, a very ambient piece (that’s just Pink Floyd in general) and the ever present themes of anxiety

Here’s some definitions since I’ve been asked a couple of times:

eiderdown: a quilt filled with down (originally from the eider) or some other soft material.

eider: small, soft feathers from the breast of the female eider duck

Wot’s...Uh the Deal - Obscured by Clouds

Another fan favourite. It’s just so beautiful. The whole album is really pleasant listen and has so many hidden gems. Again with the passage of time, steeped in a deep sense of melancholia with a sprinkle of wistfulness. The steel guitar solo is also a real treat. I also like Burning Bridges, Stay, Childhood’s End, Free Four a great deal and,... I’m giving Free Four it’s own spot on this list. 

Free Four - Obscured by Clouds

this is the cheery song about death an the passage of time. The Hand-clapping just gets me, y’know. And the EMS VCS 3 synth is so crunchy, It’s great. If you you’re one of those people tired of Roger “whining” about his dad, then here’s an alternate take on that. Me? I’ll take any number of songs about Roger’s dad and trauma though

Nobody Home - The Wall

Okay okay, I chose a Wall song, BUT I would call this one a Wall Deep Cut, and It’s one of the most beautiful songs in their catalogue. There’s just this overwhelming sadness to it. You’ve got your nods to Syd, you’ve got your empty comforts, isolation, a non-ending, just a beautiful string of words

What Shall We Do Now - The Wall

THIS song. Yep, the one most people prefer to Empty spaces and... It rocks SO HARD. Added a link to the audio on Youtube since it’s not on spotify. Roger has a version of it from his Wall tour, but I prefer the one from the original Pink Floyd shows. The drums are phenomenal, the aggressiveness (not often associated with Pink Floyd), the flow of the lyrics, the deep growl of the guitar and the vocals (particularly in “shall we drive a more powerful car”). The animation that accompanies it in the film is one of my favourites. Talk about coping in unhealthy ways 

The Gunner’s Dream - The Final Cut

Yes yes yes it’s that infamous album...I get it.. love it or hate it, I personally adore it. If there’s one song on the album I think you should listen to, it’s this one right here... I’d also say it’s one of THE SADDEST songs in their catalogue. This bloody song has made me cry multiple times. Again with the dissolution of the post war dream and an anti-war anthem. Makes reference to the famous lines:

That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England

 from Rupert Brooke’s poem, “The Soldier”. 

I’ll say, Roger’s vocals really go with this one, they’re so raw and oozing of emotion. Also that sax solo??? mmm yum

Not Now John - The Final Cut

Another uncharacteristically aggressive song. But oh man, the field noises in this are SO GOOD it makes me cry (in a happy way this time). You have to have to have to listen to this with headphones. Whoops I included two Final Cut songs, but I love that album

Poles Apart - Division Bell  

I’ll say, this is my favourite song on the album. Also David talking to Syd and Roger, so hey. I love his voice on this album, and the wistfulness in this song speaks to my heart. There’s also this chaotic instrumental ambiance bit in the middle that’s giving haunted merry-go-round lost childhood kind of vibes, and I love that.

Take it Back - Division Bell

Big fan. It’s like a tragic, wistful environmentalist love song. Note the nurse rhyme “Ring a Ring O’Roses at 3:02).

Embryo

specifically the 30. September 1971 BBC Radio session. But “Picnic” is also a classic version, and shorter. The jam session goes so hard!  And then you feel like you’re just chilling, floating in embryonic fluids. I can’t stress enough how much I love this song, I have been working on learning it on bass. This other version includes children laughing and such as well as the same feedback on Echoes (16. July 1970) ... wow, turns out I just like creepy haunted children field sounds.

Okay, this was a lot longer than I was expecting and it took ... way too long to complete. But that’s my list! ... I have concluded that I just like sad songs, whoops. Here’s a spotify playlist. Not all of the versions I mentioned here are available, so I put alternate picks.

#pink floyd #text post #irving rambles #classic rock

[therizino-ao3]

Hermit Horror Week 2023

Day five: Echoes

Summary: It’s weird. When Impulse hits this bit of wall, he hears the knock echo. Which, shouldn’t be possible, given there isn’t any space behind it.

Read on ao3

Contains: being watched, someone living inside your house, losing a stuffed animal, theft, gone-off food, panic attacks

Now, things go missing all the time. Impulse likes to try and keep organised, but he isn’t perfect! Sometimes he misplaces things. Sometimes things are “misplaced” by Zedaph or Tango or someone else needing certain materials from his storage system. And, that’s fine! Impulse has plenty, he’s willing to share, but when he can’t find one of his stuffed animals, it’s kind of weird.

It was a gift from Zedaph, by the way, in case you were wondering why a grown man had a stuffed toy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he knows Scar loves that kind of thing, but this one held sentimental value. It was a sheep, a bit of merch based off Zedaph’s “Is that sheep looking at me?” gameshow. Impulse never moved it from the shelf in his bedroom, but now it’s gone.

His fingers stroke over where it used to be. The place it was is obvious: a patch of dark, clean wood in the midst of an otherwise dusty shelf. It wasn’t that important but, now that it’s gone, he feels a gaping pain in his heart. It’s not fair. Why was it taken? Where is it? Who has it? He sends some frantic messages into their group chat and collapses onto the bed and into a rough sleep. When he wakes up, none of the hermits know where the sheep could be. Impulse feels like crying.

That was the most major theft. After that, it was little things. Tiny, tiny details like trying to find pens which should have been on his desk or some of the more obscure spices in his cupboard not being there when he dares try a bit of home cooking. He was just forgetting where he moved things to, he told himself, he is getting a little old. That doesn’t really help. The idea that he’s losing his memory is just as horrible as thinking someone is taking things.

If this is some kind of prank, he thinks, it’s pretty messed up. He’d rather have his base filled with sand and have to spend hours unearthing it, than whatever weird psychological thing is happening here. Maybe this is Cub’s doing – it has the hallmarks of being mildly annoying and oddly specific. But, this is too basic. Cub would go all out: move his furniture slightly, take items of greater and greater difficulty to take, and leave a bunch of cryptic signs around. No, this is far, far odder. Impulse still doesn’t really get it.

The tiny things disappearing continues for another month. It’s not that it’s unnoticeable or Impulse doesn’t care, it’s just that he’s been so busy that it hasn’t been a priority. He’s certain it’s another player now, or something like that. He would’ve thought the hermit would have upped the stakes or revealed themselves by now, but no. It continues the same way it always has been.

He’s rewiring some redstone in his base when he hears it. The sound of a pickaxe breaking into something hard, like stone, the crashing and crumbling. He stops. None of his machines make a noise anywhere close to that, it’s got to be another player. He inhales. He crawls out of the circuitry he was tangled in and yells, “Who’s there?”

He scrambles out and continues shouting, trying to get the person to reveal themselves. They never do. After about an hour of flying around his base and searching for people, he gives up. He never even heard anything beyond the first noise. He slumps and cries. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional over this, but he can’t help it.

The next day, he’s feeling even worse, thoroughly frazzled. He won’t be able to get any work done like this. He needs to find solid evidence there’s someone in his base.

They’ve got to be hiding somewhere, he knows, they must have some secret passage or tunnel or something when they sneak into his base, for him to not have found them by now. So, he searches. He begins at the edges of his base, feeling his way around, searching for trapdoors or anything suspicious, knocking on walls. The first few hours are fruitless.

He pauses. When he hits this bit of wall, he hears the knock echo. Which, shouldn’t be possible, given there isn’t any space behind it. He gulps, some cathartic but negative feeling washing over him, and he grabs his pickaxe.

He smashes through the prismarine, mercilessly, watching as the thick wall turns to chunks to shards to fragments. It’s left as a mess on the floor. Spruce wood planks, scarred by Impulse’s attack, are revealed. He never placed those there. He switches his pickaxe to an axe and forces his way in.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting - some quick, messy tunnel, maybe – but this isn’t it. The smell hits him first: mould and gone-off food and sweat. He’s in someone’s home. Well, home is a bit generous, he’s in someone’s living space. There’s couches and paintings and rugs but also candy wrappers and dirty laundry and unknown stains. He takes a few steps, feeling nauseous. He can’t quite comprehend it – someone was living here – and he had no idea. He continues onward, feeling like he has no choice. He sees some pipes, taken from his storage system, siphoning off resources to whoever lives here. They aren’t even using the stuff, is the thing, with piles and piles of rotting pumpkins collecting in a crate. He’s going to throw up.

The rooms and hallways keep going, how is it this elaborate? How did Impulse never notice? He wants to claw his hair out. There’s one room with a parrot and jukebox, which he supposes is nice, but the innocence and wholesomeness of it makes it worse, somehow. His least favourite find is the peak holes. Tiny little trapdoors and gaps looking out into Impulse’s base, presumably for the sole purpose of watching him. By the thefts alone, he knows this has been going on for ages, but he suspects this person has been here for even longer. Weeks and weeks of someone watching him, without him knowing. He’s shaking now.

On the topic of thefts, at least his suspicions were confirmed. Throughout the rooms, he finds little things he had stolen, most of which he didn’t even realise were gone. He’s not sure if he wants them back, anymore. He finds most of the things in the bedroom. Some of his books crammed into a bookcase, trophies and cards displayed on a shelf as if they were earnt by this mystery person instead of Impulse, and his sheep plushie in the middle of the messy bed. He picks it up. He wants this back, at least. It has some hairs on it, human hairs. Hurriedly, he scrapes them off. Its fur is a little messed up from being in the bed, the person probably cuddled with it in their sleep. He doesn’t want to think about that. He sits in the centre of the room and hugs the toy to his chest.

He needs to talk to someone, right now, he thinks distantly. He needs support. He pulls out his communicator. His fingers are trembling. Zed isn’t too good with serious things and Tango’s too solution-oriented, he texts another friend.

<ImpulseSV>: i;.m not feelinhg great rn somethings happehned come over pleasd <Grian>: ill be right there! :)

#inspired by that whole s7 base within a base thing #grian was the one building in impulse's base btw #always wanted to do some horror with that concept! #btw my last post was day 4 I just completely forgot to edit the title. sorry #hermithorrorweek2023 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #fanfic #therizino writes #impulsesv #panic attack

[thefirstknife]

So, given the relics seem to be confirmed as body parts of some type, whose body parts *are* they? And are we facilitating their resurrection by bringing all their parts together like Exodia the Forbidden One?

Given the many recent nods and various hints, my vote is on Nezarec. Especially since Drifter said the relics remind him of "something from a long time ago." It can be a hint to the ice planet (given the planet's ties to Darkness), but since Drifter is the only person to have ever mentioned (and visited) something called the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec, it makes more sense that it reminds him of that:

"He says he's seen the deep side of Jupiter. Been to the Core Mines of Saturn. Name drops old myths no one's heard—the Luvial Crux, the Shift Chasms Below Elios, the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec. Goes on about the Idols of Lower Sul, the Treasure of Exodus Prime, the Solar Engine of Dead Star-Six.

"I think he's making most of it up, but he's got relics and etchings. He's got materials not of this system—odd metals, obsidian flames, thought engines, edible null cakes and a stuffed something that looks like a rabbit bio-fused with a cephalopod. He keeps all this stuff to himself—his 'gets,' he calls 'em.

Not only did he speak of the place, but he had items to prove that he's not lying, including "relics." The person narrating this lore tab is Shin Malphur, btw, so it can be considered reliable (especially since he didn't believe Drifter until Drifter showed him proof).

The "tomb" imagery fits with these reliquaries much better than the ice planet. Nezarec apparently had multiple tombs and it makes sense that any place where a reliquary of him would be placed to be considered a tomb. It would explain the "fourth" tomb.

There's been another mention of tombs this season: the seasonal exotic, Delicate Tomb. We have no clue who is narrating the lore tab for this weapon, btw. But it's something that's still "alive" and able to whisper. Just like the relics. From the quest for the catalyst:

"Nice-lookin' weapon, Guardian," he says. He takes it from you and tests its weight. "Very..."

A strange look crosses the Exo's face. "Huh," he says quietly, "though I heard something."

And Nezarec's Whisper:

On the floor, a length of unidentifiable metal caked in centuries of dust catches her eye. A glaive. Eris lifts it into her hand. Striations of red illuminate on its surface and throb like a heartbeat. The glaive's power feels faint—distant—and yet, an ember of something terrible still burns within.

A similar lingering power is also implied in the Delicate Tomb lore tab:

I am made finite. Personal. Bright and delicate to hide my true form. An intimacy.

They think me contained, but I am instead diffused, as vapor upon the wind.

Once again, I am becoming.

From what can be understood here, the fusion rifle, Delicate Tomb, is yet another relic. It was deliberately crafted to appear "bright and delicate" so it could hide the true form of the entity within. It also implies that the weapon gives people the false safety that the entity is contained inside, but it's clearly not as it can very much influence things around it. The last sentence also parallels something from the original mention of Nezarec, Nezarec's Sin exotic:

"He is that which is an end. And he shall rise again." —passage from Of Hated Nezarec, a pre-Golden Age text.

I'm not sure about the nature of us assembling him and what will happen when we do. I am still reluctant to say that we may see Nezarec as an actual talking, walking character. I would love that, but I don't want to hype people up. So, are we gonna put him together and he will show up and we'll have to deal with him somehow? No clue. But the relics whisper and this weapon whispers and his glaive still holds power and most of this lore indicates that this entity, whatever he is, still has power and some form of existence.

The one thing that I've been thinking about now is how it's more or less established that Nezarec was a Disciple in charge of the Lunar Pyramid. And on Nezarec's Sin, the text telling us about him is "pre-Golden Age." Somebody on Earth (? presumably) knew about Nezarec (somehow?) before the Traveler ever came to us. It reminded me of how strange the Lunar Pyramid is, deep inside the Moon, too deep to have gotten there by simply crashing. It's more or less in the core of the Moon. Unless they handwave it as the Pyramid getting inside paracausaly, it couldn't have gotten there by having crashed in the Collapse. Not only is it too deep and there is no proper impact crater, Nezarec (and the Pyramid?) were known to someone before the Collapse. Before even the Golden Age.

I think that Pyramid, and Nezarec, have been in our system observing us for a very, VERY, long time.

That's just a little side note about something that's been bothering me pretty much ever since I first saw the Pyramid on the Moon. How did it get there and when.

Bonus:

😂😂😂

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the plunder spoilers #nezarec #drifter #lore vibing #long post #ask #truly is some bitch in there #i'm gonna have to re-examine all moon pyramid lore from this perspective now #like the k1 research team and the anomaly and the hive being attracted to the moon and all that #phew boy #delicate tomb

[multicolour-ink]

A scene from Book 3 of His Dark Materials - and how it inspired the Mario Dæmon AU

I would like to start by quoting a passage from chapter 37 of Book 3.

"Will put his hand on hers. A new mood had taken hold of him, and he felt resolute and peaceful. Knowing exactly what he was doing and exactly what it would mean, he moved his hand from Lyra's wrist and stroked the red-gold fur of her dæmon.

Lyra gasped. But her surprise was mixed with a pleasure so like the joy that flooded through her when she had put the fruit to his lips that she couldn't protest, because she was breathless. With a racing heart she responded in the same way: she put her hand on the silky warmth of Will's dæmon, and as her fingers tightened in the fur she knew Will was feeling exactly what she was."

Ok, so I am fully aware that this passage is describing two lovers. A romantic scene between teenagers, to be precise; but I remember when I first read this as a kid, it was the actual interaction with the dæmons that caught my attention.

And I also remember thinking "Surely this wouldn't just work with lovers? What if there were family members who could touch each other's dæmons? Can this also happen with platonic love? Is it just romantic love?"

And (because I have been so fixated on the Mario franchise since I was very young!) I also thought "What if this happened with Mario and Luigi?!"

I couldn't understand at the time why I was so fixated on this idea so much - and it wasn't until today, after being reminded about the AU and thinking over it, that I finally got it!

In the context of the original characters, Will and Lyra are unique in that they are of few people who have grown and experienced so much together in a short space of time. They have seen and learnt things only the two of them can understand together. And in turn, it created a bond between their souls unlike any other.

I think that's one of the important things to take away from this scene. To become so close and vulnerable with someone to the point that you can hold and touch each other's dæmons: your own soul. A part of your very own nature.

Going back to Mario and Luigi - the two of them, as brothers, have experienced and grown together. They know each other so well, and they've seen each other's good and ugly sides. It would make so much sense (as I have noted in my post here) if they were more than comfortable linking together spiritually. Heck, if they can already sense each other, that means that their souls are already bound together!

So it would not surprise me, that if they were to have dæmons, they wouldn't even think twice about holding or touching each other's. They wouldn't even be scared. Holding the other's is like holding another piece of themselves. It's just safe with the person they love and cherish more than anything.

link to au here

#look - any obvious biblical references (which the books are full of) does not apply here #it is irrelevant to what I am trying to get across #a sense of strong love - a sense of being so close to someone that you wouldn't want to be a part - can be platonic or romantic #THAT'S what I'm trying to get across #super mario #mario #luigi #mario and luigi #the super mario bros movie #super mario movie #mario movie #his dark materials #daemons #mario daemon au #super mario au #mario au #au #platonic love #souls #brotherly love #please don't tag as ship #stg #the super mario bros movie spoilers #super mario movie spoilers #mario movie spoilers #mario movie 2023 #the amber spyglass

[astriiformes]

Ooh, how bout 3 and 29 for the ao3 wrapped questions?

Answered 3!

29 - Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Cheating a little here and posting two just because they have hilariously different vibes that I think, collectively, really showcase some of my strengths as a writer -- I'm realizing with a lot of what I've posted this year and last year that one of the things that makes me stories distinct is a real blend of dark, heavy elements (often whumpy, always very hearfelt) and comedy

For the former category -- I still really love all the speeches from the resurrection scene at the end of Aurum Horizontale, but Keyleth's turned out especially poignant, I think, because it walked a very fine line calling attention to the irony of the whole AU concept without feeling too heavy-handed about it:

“Maybe I was just dumb,” she said. “Maybe I was… I was imagining things, when we talked. But I’ve never been very good with people, and ever since our first conversation it was so exciting, feeling like you and I just… clicked. Like we understood each other, even though we’re such totally different people. And I always thought… I always…” Giving a particularly loud, choked sob, Keyleth picked up one of Percy’s hands and held it for a moment, like a lifeline. It took a while for her to gather herself to continue. “I was probably just being stupid,” she said. “Like, how could I know? But sometimes, I found myself thinking that hey, in another universe or something, where I got to see you more than like, one night a week, and we could go get stupid levels of drunk together and I could hug you and where you weren’t stuck in a living nightmare, we could’ve been each other’s best friends. I think… I think I thought about that a little too much, honestly. About coming here, and freeing you, and getting to take you to my favorite shitty bars, or maybe even Zephrah someday. And maybe you don’t want that. Maybe that part was all in my head. But I guess… I guess I’m just not okay with living in a universe where I never get to find out, you know? It was always an “if,” and it’s still an “if,” but if I never find out for real… I’m going to live a long time, probably, and I don’t want to spend all that time wondering. I don’t want you to be gone.”

And as for the latter, comedic category all the chat sections of Several Witches Are Typing were a lot of fun to write -- I would never write a full chatfic, I think, but as an important element of a larger story where it thematically "fit" it was a very fun exercise in character voices to try to figure out how all the kids would text (Tragically, I failed to predict the wildly out-of left field nonsense that is Hunter's actual, canonical texting style, but I'm not even mad because it's funny and perfect)

Anyways, this was a favorite of those:

9:53PM 9/21/20 - lyregirl💖: hey caleb 9:53PM 9/21/20 - lyregirl💖: u know all the coven heads 9:53PM 9/21/20 - lyregirl💖: im dying to know if you have dirt 9:56PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: What does dirt have to do with my rank? 9:57PM 9/21/20 - griffin_mama: She means like do you know anything embarrassing about any of them 10:03PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: Terra talks to her plants all the time. 10:03PM 9/21/20 - hello_willow: hey, i talk to my plants😕 10:03PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: Captain, I can guarantee that you are infinitely more normal about it. 10:03PM 9/21/20 - hello_willow: oh well thank you  10:03PM 9/21/20 - hello_willow: 💚🌱 10:05PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: Kikimora’s ringtone is “Material Ghoul.” 10:05PM 9/21/20 - lyregirl💖: 🤣🤣🤣 10:05PM 9/21/20 - griffin_mama: No WAY 10:06PM 9/21/20 - griffin_mama: What about Belos 10:06PM 9/21/20 - lyregirl💖: omt yes tell us about the emperor 10:09PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: That would be a betrayal of his trust in me. 10:09PM 9/21/20 - griffin_mama: Wow you must know something REALLY embarrassing 10:09PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: No. I just respect him. 10:10PM 9/21/20 - griffin_mama: sounds like something somebody who knows something super embarrassing about the Emperor would say 10:11PM 9/21/20 - Guard102311304: It does not.

#'it does not' still makes me laugh every time #slowly learning that my niche as a writer is 'earnest dark comedy' and honestly i can live with that #ask meme #my writing

[smzeszikorova]

2-In-One Tag Game 🙃

So I got tagged for two different games. @writingpotato07 tagged me for Last Line, and @the-stray-storyteller tagged me for Heads Up Seven Up. Which made me squeal with joy, but also I'm kinda unsure what to do since these games cover pretty much the same ground. I've technically got two WIPs if we're counting Theodore Diaries (which, as I mentioned before, takes place in the middle of Book 3 from the perspective of a character I haven't introduced yet), but pretty much all my lines in that document are very spoiler heavy. So instead, I'm thinking I'll post my last seven lines from P&K 1 and call it a two-for-one. Unless you all revolt, in which case I'll post both, but don't say I didn't warn you about the spoilers.

Thanks so much for the tag, by the way! The fact that y'all actually wanna see my most recent writing really motivates me to write more stuff (that way I won't just have chapter 4 material to draw from).

Tagging @sunhunger, @bookish-galaxy, @god-of-identity, @graciecreates, @the-child-of-darkness, @unluckybasil, @moonandris, @aye-write. If any of you are interested, take your pick from these two tag games. Better yet, do both! If you don't want to/if you've already been tagged, no pressure! I'm also leaving this as an open tag for anyone else who wants to participate! :D

I'm not exactly sure what a line is in the context of prose, so I'm just gonna post the last seven sentences.

Be warned, this passage is very new, so what you're seeing is basically what my writing looks like unedited. I promise it's better after I've had a couple days to revise.

Ok, no more blabbing. Here we go!

From Pemoki and Kenacia:

“That soon?” Lyn’s eyes widened. “Catherine—” But before he could say anything else, Catherine stood on her toes and kissed him, and again his eyes went dark. "Try not to count the seconds, love," she said. "Just hold me. Relish every moment you've got left with me, and then take comfort in the knowledge that there'll be many, many more when I return."

#p&k #original fiction #writing snippet #tag game #heads up seven up #last line wip #last line tag #2 in 1 #yeehaw i guess #sappy on main #am i good at writing alloromantic shit? #we shall see #oc: lyn leures #oc: catherine leures

[ribbondee]

An Interesting Arrangement, Chapter 9

Was she in over her head? 

More than likely yes. 

Was she still going to go through with it?

Also yes. 

Cyli simply stared off into space as she sat at the dining hall’s table, while Pac helped himself. 

It was honestly a bit nauseating to watch him eat so much without so much as a five second break. Surely his stomach would be full or even ruptured by now! But nope. He continued to scarf down food as if he would never get to do so again.

He was about to gobble down an entire pie tin and all, when he stopped and noticed Cyli wasn’t eating. “You ain’t gonna eat”, he questioned.

“No…”

“But your stomach growled earlier!”

“I know.”

“Then eat! Come on, it's great!”

“I’ll be honest with you- watching you eat so much like that is making me lose my appetite. Have you no sense of table manners either?”

Pac stopped, then he began to scowl. “What do I look like, some sorta fancy person?”

“Well you ARE the heir to the throne, so I guess you are. Why not, you know… act like it?”

Pac narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re sloppy, rude and don’t seem very responsible. AKA, you don’t seem like leader material to me, let alone leader of Pac World material.”

Pac could feel the blood rushing to his face- both from anger and… that feeling. The same feeling he had when she had told him off the first time. So bold, so honest, so brutal! Her words stung quite a bit, but deep down he knew she was right. He was speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Cyli could see his face heating up, and she smirked while folding her arms. She had him there. She also knew he likely wouldn’t dare tell his dad if he truly was that taken with her, lest she get hurt as a result. 

In the meantime, she decided to get back to planning on how she was to somehow help Mr C escape. It certainly would be no easy task, as everyone knew the building was armed to the teeth with highly trained soldiers and security cameras. Perhaps a power outage? That would take care of the camera problem, but not the soldiers. She was alright with self defense, but she wouldn’t be able to take out all of them at once. Mr C probably wouldn’t be much help in that regard either, as he was clearly past his prime (not that she would actually tell the poor guy that). 

The only other person who could possibly help was- him. Her eyes drifted back to the young heir, who was still sitting there with his mouth agape. His facial expression combined with his blush was honestly hilarious, but Cyli couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty after saying such harsh words. 

She was against the idea of getting help from the likes of him, but he knew the layout of the building, and since he apparently liked her he might be susceptible to suggestion perhaps?

“Hey.”

Pac closed his mouth, and blinked a few times. “Hey!”

“Y-yeah?”

“Since you took me on that tour, you clearly know a lot about this place.”

Pac’s face lit up. “You betcha! There isn’t a single nook or cranny or secret passage I haven’t explored!”

“Great! Then maybe you can… help me with something.”

“Ooh what is it”, Pac said eager for more mischief. 

“Here, come closer.”

Pac gladly did so, and Cyli leaned forward and began to whisper… “we’re gonna sneak Mr C outta here.”

“WHAT?!”

“Ow! Loud much?!”

“No way! You want me to-” “Shhh”, Cyli hissed pointing at the room’s camera, which likely had a microphone. Pac got the hint immediately. 

“Why”, he whispered.

“I can’t tell you”, she whispered back.

“He makes my toys and stuff for my dad! Are you crazy?!”

“If I can’t convince you, maybe he can. Let’s go see him!”

“But what about dinner?”

“Can’t you think about anything else but food?!”

“Well what else is there?”

Cyli facepalmed. “Let’s just go.”

“Fine, but I’m not changing my mind.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dungeon was as cold and dark as when they were in it last time. Mr C was of course still in his cell, working on his latest project. “Well look what the cat dragged in”, he said without turning around. 

“I need you to convince Pac to help us”, Cyli said. Mr C turned around, and sighed. “What’d ya go tellin’ HIM for? For all we know he’ll go tattle on us and we’ll BOTH be in trouble!”

“I thought about that, but we also probably can’t do this by ourselves.”

“Fair point, but trying to convince that lemon menace of anything is like talking to a rock.” “HEY”, Pac shouted.

“Probably not the best choice of words, sir. We are trying to convince him after all.”

“Alright.” Mr C wasn’t sure how he was gonna do it, but he was still going to try.

“There are other people that need my help.”

“So”, said Pac.

Well that didn’t work. Another idea popped into the old man’s mind, a drastic one. But should he really…? No. Telling him would more than likely break him, and probably turn him against his own father. He would hate to emotionally manipulate someone like that, even if it was for the sake of a better tomorrow. But… there was a chance it would work. 

Mr C just sat there, eyes shut. “Sir”, Cyli said concerned. 

“Alrighty”, he said, opening his eyes. “Little miss, you should probably go back upstairs for this.”

“But-”

“No buts. Upstairs. Now. It’s for the… plan.”

Who was she to argue then? She went back up the stairs, leaving the pair alone.

“What I’m about to tell you is going to hurt, but you have to promise me you absolutely WON’T confront your dad.”

“What?”

“Promise me now.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I guess Pac World is doomed. I suppose it doesn’t matter whether or not you go to your dad, you still need to hear this.”

“Hear what? Just spit it out already!”

“If you insist. Your parents…”

Pac winced a bit.

“What did he tell you about them?”

“That they… died in battle.”

“That’s what he said?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Hmph, of course he would…”

“What?”

“My boy, that is a lie. A great white one. Yes they are dead, but they didn’t die in battle, although that would have been more merciful.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“My boy, this is something I should have told you ages ago… brace yourself.”

“Okay?” “Your daddy killed em”, Mr C said as bluntly as possible.

Pac just stared. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m not going to sugar coat this. Your parents are dead because of that egg bastard.”

“You’re lying! HOW CAN YOU LIE ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!”

Mr C sighed. “Since when have I ever lied to you? Pac my boy, my words as true as I am green. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long… But I just didn’t have it in me to crush you like this…” Mr C began to close his eyes once more.

He wasn’t lying, and this revelation hit Pac like an armored truck full of lead. “What”, he murmured. 

“Had 'em all killed in cold blood for no reason other than spite”, Mr C spat. “He let me live for whatever reason, possibly just to make me suffer. And suffer I have.”

Mr C closed his eyes even tighter. “I’m sorry”, he said, “you shouldn’t have had to find out this way. But your dad is a monster, and the sooner you realize that the better off you’ll be. You have no idea how painful the idea is of you growing up to be anything like him; heck, you probably already have. But you’re still young- you still have time to turn around. Betrayus chose his path, as can you. Please, I’m begging you, don’t make his mistakes.” A single tear fell from his eye, rolling down his cheek.

“Every night for fifteen years I’ve begged for your parents’ forgiveness, for not doing something to prevent this. Now look at you- a bonafide Pac Brat. But like I said, it’s not too late. If you really do love that girl- no, if you love Pac World, you’ll help her free me so things can get better. Please. Be the person your parents would have wanted you to be- a hero.”

Pac was frozen in place. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a choking sound. His eyes got wet, it was his turn to cry. Seeing this made Mr C tear up more, it truly was painful to watch young Pac find out this way. 

“No”, Pac said quietly. “NO”, he said louder. Mr C just sighed again. “I’m sorry…”

Pac tried to say something else, but all that came out was a sob. He was filled with so many different emotions at once, all of which were stronger than even his most violent tantrum. Sadness, grief, anger… ANGER. He had spent fifteen years of his life being raised by the man responsible for the deaths of his parents, who had lied to him about it to boot. He had bonded with that man during those years, he loved him! But, all that love began to melt away like butter, and was now replaced with something else- pure hatred.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not exactly satisfied with this because it feels kinda rushed, but I can't think of any ways to improve it so I'm posting it anyways. Oh well. Next chapter might take a while.

#pmatga #pmatga au #twisted fate au #pac man and the ghostly adventures #pacman #fanfiction

[gerec]

37, 38, and 49 - for the fic meme

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

I'm not sure why but not very many people read No Rest For The Weary, which is a (rare from me) post-Dark Phoenix canon compliant fic where Charles and Erik are living happily together in Genosha. I really enjoyed writing them in a mature, committed relationship, and showcasing how great and powerful they are when they use their powers together as a team. Perhaps it's because Logan is Charles' ex in the story and the plot is about his rescue, and readers misunderstand it as a love triangle. But really Logan is just the catalyst for dragging up everyone's excessive baggage and maybe giving them a chance to heal.

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

Answered here!

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Right so I literally have a dozen little snippets of different ideas where I'm writing to see if it will actually turn into a full fledged story and I started one the other day about Erik's time in the Pentagon. It reads like a character piece (which it's kind of meant to a little) except it's also dirtybadpornz lol:

They serve him a meal of creamy potato soup and breaded pork cutlet tonight, which Erik eats methodically with his plastic utensils, the tray perched on his lap. There’s also a slice of apple pie and tea to wash it all down, and he finishes all of it, unable to bear the thought of letting food go to waste. He’s spent enough long months and years going hungry not to appreciate every single bite, a full stomach more comforting than the actual taste of his meal.

And they help to break the monotony of each day spent in his cell, with nothing to do but read, meditate and exercise to keep his body in shape.

He knows that it’s Thursday, because he’s always served this particular menu on Thursdays, and that’s another thing to appreciate about the constancy of his routine. There are never any newspapers in his reading materials to mark the passage of time, and only the strict adherence to a schedule keeps Erik rooted in some semblance of reality and normalcy inside his concrete cell. In the beginning he had tried to keep track of the days passing by in his head, though he gave it up as weeks turned into months and then months turned into years.

(What he’s never given up hoping - even now, after everything – is that Charles might come for him some day.)

Thursday is also bath day and after dinner, Erik is escorted by two guards to another concrete room on the same level, where he’s given soap, shampoo and a plastic tub filled with warm water. They’re too afraid to afford him any privacy, and he has to complete his ablutions under two pairs of watchful eyes. Still, it’s not a new experience for Erik to be treated this way; his time in the camps have inured him to the constant scrutiny of suspicious armed guards.

He lays down on his thin mattress, under his thin sheet, and closes his eyes to another day.

#gerec rambles #cherik #questions for fic writers #memes #thank you for the ask!!!

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 12 August 1837

7 55

11 50

slept with A- fine morning F69° now at 8 55 and sat down to breakfast with A- G- came soon – out at 10 – with Mark Hepworth on the embankment in front of the house – it looked tremendously dark – I went to see what was to be done when the carts could not drag thro’ the clay of the embankment – stuff to come from Northgate – the words hardly out of our mouths before a tremendous thunder shower came – with thunder and lightning – I got wet in getting to the west tower – the red room passage all open – the rain pouring in, and down thro’ the red room floor into the drawing room – a terrible mess – my magazines lying on the drawing room floor obliged to be laid before the upper kitchen fire – a perfect river running thro’ the entrance passage from court to gardens – the old china closet front (window frames unglazed) open, and the rain pouring in – one tremendous crash of thunder about 10 ½ just as I had finished changing my dress – then sat 1/2 hour with A- at my desk at 11 10 still raining but not heavily – coping out business letters and considering letter to be written respecting the Infant Graham’s money till went down to Mr. Charles Priestley at 1 50, and he staid till 5 ¼ - § vide next page  sent for Mr. Charles P- to sound him about taking the Northgate hotel – began about the tap – would it be in his way? – should I let it or not? – mentioned what had passed with Thomas G- on the subject – yes! CP- would take it – but could not give me much for it – one thing led to another – the tap would be worth more it to sell both ale and spirits – and he said something about giving £60 a year for it – I fancy but am not certain, spirits might not be included in the sale at this rent? However I might tell the tenant whoever he might be he (CP-) would take the tap, and give the utmost it was worth – I wish, said I, you would take tap and hotel too – this led to a long conversation much to the point and partly desultory – the hotel would be a very serious undertaking – would require a great deal of capital – the landlord of the Barnby moor Inn on the London rood had on retiring got £24000 for his stock in trade furniture and wines and farm stock (£8000 for the farm £16000 for the house and cellars) – I said the capital required for the Northgate hotel would not be so great as was supposed - £3000 (allowing £500 for wines) would suffice for the beginning – said I would myself advance capital towards furnishing – would CP. take the hotel in that case – still he declined it – I then turned to the 2 letters (applications) saying I particularly wished to consult him (CP.) on the application from Liverpool – the one from London was read 1st, and CP. thought this much the most business like and valuable – he spoke so knowingly, it was evident he had been making inquiries previously on the subject (no doubt he applied for the George Inn – when I said what its tap let for £100 a year) he gave no particular answer; but I saw from his look he knew the rent whatever it might be) – we talked over Mr. Carrs’ proposal – said I must try to gain time – I must try to get the coaches but put off their being given up to me as long as I can – it was not the passengers but the mileage (horses) that was the object – it was a poor coach that did not make £100 (a hundred) a year – Innkeepers got cent per cent on wine – talked over CP.’s brewery – answering very well – brews 6 loads i.e. 6x14 bushels? = 84 bushels per week – could do more business if he had capital – but has laid by something every ½ year and is contented to get on by [degrees] pays two hundred a year rent for his brewery his expense rent, delivery, labour and materials = £1800 a year – lives for next to nothing – his wife rheumatic since they came here, but always

SH:7/ML/E/20/0110

contrives to look after her house – 8 children – I congratulated him on doing well hoped the brewery would eventually pay better than the glass house and he seemed to hope and think it would – he seemed in very good spirits and said perhaps all was for the best – I said it was generally thought his failure bankruptcy did no discredit to his creditors than to himself – Mr. Price the York country joint stock banker seems to have behaved very ill, as I had understood from Mr Harper – but CP. appears to think he (Mr. Price)will not gain so much by it as was supposed – the concern is falling off in some respects – mention of Mr. Henry Priestley he was bound with CP- for five thousand pounds but CP. had paid and ought to have had by this time a balance of a few thousands – the 64ft. fall of water in Crag valley had been sold for £3500 – Mr. Rawson had offered at £700 for it – after higgling and trying to take advantage – some man had offered a mere acknowledgments of a few shillings a year and Mr. R- seeing a sort of beginning for taking the water offered by little and little having 1st tried to get the 1st refusal (as he did for my coal) this let poor HP. into the idea that the fall was of some value – he had it valued and it was sold at the above named just before his death or funeral I forget which – Mr. Edwards and his son Charles executors and trustees – consulted CP. about what answers should be sent and by whom to the applicants – his advice excellent and ready – took – wrote rough copy of 2 letters (to London and Liverpool) according to his dictation – and, with a little shorting and correction of style, wrote the former and sent it last night – the Liverpool letter I think of turning over to Mr. Parker – on the subject of farming and hay, CP. said I should mind that mine was put together in proper order; for at 13/. per D.W. mowing making and carting and stacking the man who took it could not make his own of it – I said yes! he could – I should always mow early – have all done by 13 July in the fine long-day season, and my new hay-barn was very conveniently situated – besides the man was one of my tenants who lived within sight of his job – Mawson – mentioned his having the Stump X Inn – his rent and the 5p.c. additional to pay for the new building which would make his rent £140 per annum – took CP. into the west tower to shew him where all the wet had come from – (thro’ the open roof of the red room passage) and asked him to look at the new brew house – the copper he said should be a yard higher, and the [?] lower down – the proper temperature of the water before putting in the malt and mashing, should be 168° to 171° this very nearly indicated by the commonly used sign of seeing one’s face in the water as in a mirror – i.e. the steam being so abated as to allow one to see ones self –

SH:7/ML/E/20/0109

then had Booth Firth junior, [Culpan] brick-layer of the garden walls, and Parkinson – and afterwards Mawson and then Riley for Hilltop and busy settling with them till 7 – after banking hours – no money except gold by me for small bills – wrote and sent by Booth note to ‘Mr. McKean Yorkshire District Bank Halifax’ saying I should be much obliged to pay Mr. David Booth the bearer and my clerk of the works the enclosed check for £134.2.6 being one hundred in a/c for himself and ten pounds in a/c for Culpan garden walls, and the rest as by bills for Parkinson for work done at Shibden hall – top terrace walls – paving thro’ the barn (taking up and resetting) and the carriage court cistern arches – DB. had given Mr. Harper his accounts up to midsummer andat that time £333 the balance against me – gave Firth a check = £130 and Mawson for £67.18.0 as by SW-’s measurement for the Lodge road stoning and draining and Haybarn road thro’ the wood forming and draining and platform sods taking off and walling on the embankment in front of the house – (above 1200 yards super of sods at 2 ½d.) – A- returned between 6 and 7 – at 7 altered the style and curtailed the letter suggested by CP. to the London applicant for the hotel read it to A- and Mr. Gray (had the latter into my study) and sent the letter off by Frank tonight to ‘Mr. J. Hodgson, 69 Quadrant, Piccadilly, London’ – the hotel new and not quite finished – I am in treaty for nine old established coaches – not only a good opening for wine and spirit trade but the best cellars for the purpose (built expressively for the purpose) form part of the building – the success of the undertaking depends upon the capital at command and the exertion of the individual – the hotel has every modern convenience in superior style, and a casino, a splendid room, capable of dining 300 persons – no yet able to fix the rent but will do it as well as I can for the encouragement of the tenant – many advantages that can only be explained and understood upon the spot – dinner at 7 40 – coffee – skimmed over the newspaper – A- and I came upstairs at 10 ¼ - I sleepy lay on my bed in the blue room 20 minutes till A- came to say she was ready for bed – then undressed and sat undressed in my study from about 11 to 11 ¾ writing all but the 1st 11 lines of today and tidying my desk of bills etc fair before noon (very heavy rain (vid. line 4) from 10 am and thunder and lightning F56 ½° at 11 ¼ pm – note from Mr. Parker about one pm? while Mr. CP was with me enclosing Mr. Carr’s proposal respecting selling me his furniture coaches etc

[writingonpaperpetals]

Reader Who Makes Preserved Flower Epoxy Resin Charms + Receiving A Gift From The Reader

Type: Blurbs

Characters: Ningguang, Ganyu, Xiao, Childe, Jean, Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc, and Eula

Notes + cw: Apologies if some seem longer than others, tiny death mention cw in Zhongli’s but that’s it maybe

Ningguang is aware of your craft. She buys everything you ask her for your hobbies, even setting aside a room in the Jade Chamber for your work. She is always ready to offer you monetary advice if you want to earn money from your craft, but understands if you do not wish to go down that route and does not pressure you over it.

Upon being gifted the preserved glaze lily pendant, Ningguang holds the trinket close to her chest. Anyone can go out and buy her an expensive trinket, but a handmade gift from you is priceless. It shows her you are willing to dedicate hours of your life towards her, crafting something that comes from your own efforts. She keeps it tucked close to her own heart, viewing it when she misses you.

Ganyu finds your work with resin concerning for your health, but respects your dedication to the craft. She finds your passion genuinely inspiring. Upon being gifted a qingxin flower paperweight, she treasures it gingerly in her hands. For the first few weeks she stresses over keeping it looking nice and fearing the day she gets too hungry and tries to eat it, but as the weeks pass these concerns melt away. Her hands wrap around the paperweight, and she always smiles seeing it on her desk. It makes her stresses go away. And maybe a little hungry.

Xiao is silent, inspecting the small qingxin flower charm in his hand. “It’s...beautiful.” He whispers, his voice barely audible. His mind worries it might get shattered and bring you misfortune. He would never forgive himself if that happened. He thinks of giving it back. He doesn’t want the things you spent so much time and effort on to get damaged or even tainted by his karma. Then your hands clasp over the one holding the charm. “You’re even more beautiful. Keep it.” You say. Xiao is unable to protest against your request. How can he, when you told him to keep it just now?

He wordlessly puts it away in his pocket.

Later he hangs it off his sash.

Childe smiles brightly as you present him a preserved sweet flower with starshell pieces floating in the resin, making it glitter in the sun. “Thanks for the good luck charm, sweetness. I’ll keep it close!” He holds it up to the light, watching the sun shine through the flower. The clear resin reminds him of the unforgiving ice of his homeland, the starshell bits freezing cold diamond dust, but the sweet flower blooming within will always remain eternal. Resolute and undying.

Yes, he thinks, this is a fine gift from you. He has it molded to a pin and kept on his scarf, proudly wearing it like a medal.

Jean becomes briefly speechless when presented with the dandelion puff resin necklace. She wonders how much time you put into it for her and almost feels embarrassed accepting it, but she knows it would break your heart to refuse it. She finds it quiet pretty, the sunlight refracted in the resin making the dandelion puffs shimmer bright in her hand. “Reader, thank you very much.” She says.

Lisa catches a glimpse of the necklace and won’t stop teasing her about it, making Jean flush red. It’s such a romantic gesture out of the romance novels she’s so fond of reading. It also reminds her of your own smile, sweet as the gentle path of a dandelion.

Zhongli’s slitted eyes trace over the epoxy resin preserved petals and leaves in the bookmark you present him. He can easily identify silk flowers, glaze lilies, qingxin flowers, sweet flowers, mist and fire flower petals in the bookmark. He knows the exact places those flowers bloomed as well. He treasures such an item. Zhongli is always willing to tell you the best places to get the prettiest flowers and the ideal preservation conditions to keep them fresh looking until you preserve them.

One day, he can hope to preserve your wedding bonquet this way. So he can remember the happy times you shared with him when you’re gone.

Kaeya chuckles when presented with the resin preserved Calla Lily trinket. The resin is clear with mist flower petals framed around the single calla lily bud.

“I don’t need a good luck charm when I already got the best one right next to me.” He teases, hooking an arm around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He holds it in his palm, admiring its beauty. Kaeya then smiles at you. “I’ll keep it close. It reminds me of you, after all.” He keeps the charm hanging off his belt next to his vision.

He feels a little less lonely whenever he’s wearing it, and he appreciates that so much more than he can ever outright say.

Diluc, much like Ganyu, worries for you health but remains supportive of your passion. Everything you make is a reflection of you, and he loves it all. He always offers to buy you resources you need. When presented with a charm you made, he handles it gingerly in his gloves. A flat rectangle with a falcon feather and small lamp grass buds in the clear resin. He holds it as if it’s a delicate piece of glass and not a chunk of firm material.

“Sucrose helped me treat the lamp grass with something to help it glow in the dark even while dead in the charm, but I made it small if you want to hide it away for stealth purposes.” You explain. “Or just don’t expose to light.” Diluc nods. He doesn’t say anything.

“Is something the matter?” You ask, worry setting in that he doesn’t like it.

Diluc begins shaking at your words, eyes watering. He’s unable to hold in his feelings.

“It’s beautiful. I’ll cherish it.”

Eula holds the teal dandelion puff and dark blue mist flower petal charm in her hand. She folds her fingers over it. Her grip on it reminds you of the crushing way she destroys the symbol of her family when bored. The strength and passion behind that simple gesture always entranced you. Here, though, you get a safe, protective sense from her strong grip. As if her fingers are a jealous snowdrift burying a mountain peak from the world so time could never mar it with its passage. A part of her almost doesn’t want to wear it but keep it to herself so it wouldn’t get damaged. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. She slides it in her blue hair.

“No words could ever convey how much this means to me.” She says. “I’ll proudly wear it always.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #eula x reader #petal writes #ningguang x reader #ganyu x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #jean x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #i hope i did a good job on xiao’s and diluc’s parts

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

#john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

[in-slytherin-we-trust]

Once Upon a One Night Stand (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

-> Draco and Y/N thought they got away with it until morning comes and a small mistake gave them away.

Warning: Cursing and mature content! Read at your own discretion

This is my first attempt at smut so please don’t come at me if it’s bad 😣😅 feedbacks are much appreciated!

It started as a one time thing, an unforseen aftermath of a celebration gone utterly wrong. Y/N was feeling brave and decided to downed shots after shots of firewhiskey that Slytherin has managed to smuggle into Hogwarts for this one purpose only, an after party held at the Slytherin dormitory celebrating the end of their O.W.L. examination week.

Y/N guessed that they were feeling rather generous since they opened their door for other houses, Gryffindors included. But after the amount of stress and anxiety that they’ve all been under, a common ground and mutual understanding was formed, at least just for the night. And who is she to deny herself the pleasure of getting the full Slytherin’s legendary party experience?

And so Y/N along with the rest of the fifth year students made their descend from the Gryffindor Tower, down into the viper den in the dungeon. Slytherin promised them all the party of a lifetime and they indeed delivered. As soon as the bare stretch of stone wall opened and revealed the passage behind it, smoke invaded their noses, an unmistakable scent of marijuana mixed with cigarettes. Loud techno music blaring from down the hall.

The state of the Slytherin common room was atrocious. All the black and dark green leather sofas had been pushed back to create an empty space for a makeshift dance floor in the center, one that is already swarming with partygoers. Dancing, grinding, and bobbing their heads along to the rhytm.

So much was happening that Y/N nearly got an instant headache, each and every one of her senses overwhelmed and assaulted. Even starting to regret her decision of coming down here since she’s so out of her elements. At some point in the night, she lost sight of all her fellow housemates and that’s when she decided to just might as well get herself hammered. To take advantage of the free flow alcohol in the form of a fountain on one corner of the room. It has been enchanted so that it will never ran out.

Once the firewhiskey had settled into her system suddenly her surroundings wasn’t all that terrifying, she’s one with the crowd now. As intoxicated as they all were, if not more. She found her feet taking her to the very center of the dance floor, somewhat aware that she’s probably pulling some off beat dance moves but she couldn’t care less.

“My my.... look at you, Y/L/N. Now I can say that i’ve seen all there is to life and die with no regrets” A voice called out but it sounded like it’s coming from everywhere. It sounds familiar but she can’t put a face to it due to how out of it she was.

Y/N spun around to find the source, swaying dangerously, her balance betrayed her. But luckily solid warm hands reached out and steady her. Y/N gave the stranger a loopy grin, “Thanks... umm... who are you?”

“By Salazar, Y/L/N. How much have you had to drink? you’re blind drunk” The voice said again and is that concern that she detected in the tone?

Y/N’s eyebrows scrunched in contemplation, “I don’t really remember, I could barely remember who I am” She replied sheepishly.

The stranger snorted, “I believe it definitely takes an awful lot for you to forget me”

She threw her hands up in exasperation, “Can’t you just tell me your name already? all this thinking made my head hurts, you’re making my head hurts”

He chuckled, oh yes it’s definitely a he from the tenor of his voice, “I do love to pull your strings and make your head hurts daily, but this time i’m afraid the alcohol is to blame and not me, darling”

Y/N groaned, letting go of all efforts of trying to put her scrambled mind together, “I give up, i’m too far gone for this”

She felt the man put his hand on the small of her back, guiding and parting the crowd for her. “I think that’s enough partying for you unless you want to experience a hangover that lasts for weeks”

“Yeah I think you got the right idea” Y/N muttered as the numbing effect of the alcohol dissipate, giving way for the pounding headache to take over.

She closed her eyes, putting her chin on top of his shoulder and let it rest there. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, hanging on for dear life. Letting him continue to navigate the both of them wherever he wishes to take her which is probably a bad idea but now the line is pretty much blurred.

When the sound of the party seemed far away before disappearing completely, she peeked one of her eyes open, finding herself standing in a different room.

Ancient four posters bed with green silk hangings is the first thing she spotted. Silver lanterns hung from the ceilings. The walls are decorated with Slytherin crests and medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins.

Y/N gulped as she realized that now she’s standing inside one of the bedrooms in the boy’s dormitory. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of both hands, trying to get somewhat level-headed to assess the situation. As some sliver of consciousness creeps in, she staggered back from the person that just minutes ago she had latched herself to.

“MALFOY?!?! It’s you?” She half screamed at her silver haired nemesis.

“Geez, Y/L/N. A thank you would be nice” He replied as he rolled his eyes at her.

“And why would I do that? for all I know you could’ve taken me here to take advantage of my drunkenness!”

He faked a wounded look, “Really, Y/L/N? contrary to what you may believe in, I don’t need to take advantage of a drunk girl to find someone to sleep with”

Y/N crossed her arms in front of her chest, still skeptical about the whole thing, “Then humor me, Malfoy. Why did you decide to save me?”

“I was with Theo when I saw you all alone, dancing like a mad woman. I ought to just leave you alone but then I noticed that you’re not with any of the Gryffindorks and with the state that you’re in, you’re one step away from making a fool of yourself. Me being the gentleman that I am decided to do you a favor just this once” He answered nonchalantly, as if it’s no big deal at all and this is a typical behavior from Draco Malfoy.

Silence enveloped the room for some minutes, only the sound of the Black Lake water lapping against the windows was heard. It helped calmed some of her frayed nerves despite the laughable circumstances that she founds herself in. Y/N stared at his face and found him staring back at her, waiting to see her reactions.

“I can’t believe that i’m saying this.... but thank you, Malfoy” She finally said, giving him a small smile.

Draco found himself taken aback by her smile, she never smiled at him, until now. It made him feel all weird and mushy inside.

He cleared his throat, an attempt to pull himself together. “Do you think you can make it back to your tower?”

Y/N frowned, despite the fact that she has gained some sobriety, hauling her ass back up is too big of a challenge. With her headache and unsteady balance, it’s more likely she will topple over and just let herself sleep somewhere on a random castle hallway. Just imagining about the trip that she has to make from the dungeon to the tower made white spots appeared in her mind. But clearly staying here is not an option too right?

“I.... I don’t know” She said defeatedly, shoulder slumping like she can’t believe that she got herself into this mess in the first place.

“You know what? just sleep here. This bed can fit 4 people, we can sleep side by side without having to touch each other” Draco said, and he quickly cut in when he saw her opening her mouth. “—Spare me the arguments, you and I know you’re in no condition to make your way back safely to your dorm”

Once again she founds herself loss for words, too perplexed at how the night keeps on progressing. As hard it is to admit, but Malfoy has a point and he’s doing a huge favor for her. The least that she could do is not be a bitch.

“Okay... thanks again” Y/N said with finality, assuring herself that this is for the best.

“Good, i’m not in the mood to argue. I have some spare shirts in my wardrobe that you can use to sleep in, what you’re wearing right now doesn’t exactly make a good sleepwear” Draco replied, letting his eyes trailed over the lacey material of her crimson dress. “Not that it’s not a good one” He throwed in for good measure.

Y/N raised an eyebrow his way, a taunting smirk making its way to her lips. “Was that a compliment that I just heard?”

His only reply was a “Don’t get used to it”.

———————————————————————

Y/N opened his wardrobe, greeted with the assortment of black and green clothing, of course. The materials are all soft and light, at least he has good standards. Y/N spotted a single white shirt tucked on the back, that one’s good enough for her instead of having to endure a possible torture from Malfoy if she wears his house color. She grabbed it and make her way inside his personal bathroom.

Once inside, Y/N peeled her dress off, relishing in the feeling of the cool night air hitting her skin and the marble tile under her feet. She put on Malfoy’s shirt, it’s big enough that it managed to cover her fully, the ends settling on the middle of her thigh. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, spicy and earthy. It suits him, despite their difficult relationship she always thought that Malfoy smells bloody good. And now she’s wearing one of his shirts, life is weird indeed. After making sure all is good she stepped back into the bedroom.

Finding Malfoy who has also changed into his emerald pajamas. Merlin, he looks good. Y/N had to take a few deep breaths to settle her frantic heart. Thundering in her chest with every step that she took that brought her closer to the bed. Malfoy already lounging lazily on top of it but his eyes are closed, but she can see that he’s aware of her presence.

“Are you decent?” He asked.

“Yeah I am” Y/N replied, leaning into one side of the bed. Just one hop away from laying down beside him in the seas of silk.

Draco opened his eyes and felt his stomach drop, suddenly finding it hard to breath properly. Y/N glowed in the faint moonlight that shone through the water, the too thin material teasing him, giving him glimpses of all the curves and dips underneath as she shifts from one foot to another. Biting her lips as she waited for him to invite her up. “Bloody hell, Y/L/N. Are you trying to kill me?” He murmured breathlessly, so soft that it’s almost a whisper.

Y/N, very much aware of the power that she now holds by the looks of it, smirked at him. “Can I sleep now or do you still want to stare some more?”

Not trusting his voice to remain steady, Draco just gulped and patted the empty side of the bend, beckoning her to do as she wishes. But his eyes remained, watching her, roaming all over. As if choosing to ignore the fact that Draco’s in the verge of bursting, the minx decided to crawl her way on top of the bed slowly instead of just haul herself up like a normal person should. Draco even sent a prayer for himself so that he can get through the night.

Y/N settled and make herself comfortable, patting and fluffing the pillow for show. Then she laid down with a contented sigh that sounded more like a moan at this point. He felt himself growing harder with each passing second. Gripping the silk sheets to maintain some semblance of restraint.

“You doing okay over there?” She said tauntingly, mustering an innocent look on her face as if she doesn’t enjoy this game of cat and mouse that they’re silently playing.

Draco let out an angry grunt, turning his body to the side so that she can only sees his back. Hiding his flushed face away from her sight. Oh he’s definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

“Alright then, goodnight Malfoy!” Y/N said chirpily as she pulled the blanket to cover herself.

Draco stayed silent, thinking long and hard on wether or not he should reply, but not even a few minutes after that, he found her already asleep when he glanced her way over his shoulder. But still he offered her a “Goodnight, Y/N” despite knowing that she wouldn’t even hear it.

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes passed but Draco can only toss and turn in his side of the bed. He is hot and bothered and despite how hard he tried, he cannot ignore it any longer because his problem isn’t going anywhere.

He pulled the blanket off himself, lowering his feet to the ground, and slowly walked towards the bedroom.

He has something to take care of.

———————————————————————

Y/N found herself awaken from her sleep and she too is confused as to why. Everything is in place, there’s no sign of anything that might’ve stirred her awake.

She looked to the clock across the room, it’s 2 in the morning. As she about to go back to sleep, she heard it. A faint moaning.

Y/N turned to the side and saw that Malfoy’s side of the bed is empty, she reached her hand to touch the silk. It’s not warm anymore. Meaning it’s been a while since he got out of the bed. But it’s 2 am, where could’ve he gone to?

Then she heard it again, another moan but this time louder, needier. She recognized that voice, it’s Malfoy’s. What in Godric’s name is going on?

Y/N lowered herself onto the floor and followed the source of noise that leads her straight in front of the bathroom, the door ajar like Malfoy couldn’t care less about leaving it like that.

She steeled herself before taking a peek and the view that greeted her, made her turn a bright shade of red.

Draco fucking Malfoy, sat perch on top of the bathroom cabinet. His pants and underwear pooled at his ankle. Eyes closed and heads thrown back, mouth opened into a perfect O shape. She can see trickle of sweats rolling down the side of his head. And his hand... gods his hand... is gripping his impressive length, stroking it up and down impatiently.

“Y/N....” He moaned out. Is he really moaning her name right now?

Her mouth feels dry as her eyes roamed all over him, an ache forming in her as she takes in the look of pleasure on his face. Her own panties growing damp from arousal.

“Malfoy?” She breathlessly called out, hating how timid her voice sounds.

Draco’s eyes snapped open in alarm, realizing that the object of his desire is very much awake and standing in front of him, caught him in the middle of the act.

“Fuck, Y/L/N. I’m so sorry, I thought you were asleep and I was just.... I was just” He trailed off, not knowing what to say to get himself out of the grave that he had dug.

Y/N bit her lower lips again, a force of habit really. Gods she wants him, she wants him so badly. An internal battle is going on inside her head between her logic and desire.

“Dammit woman, stop biting your lips like that, fuck you have no idea how that makes me feel” Draco said again.

And that was it, the desperation and plain need in his voice is what sent her tumbling down the point of no return. She felt her feet acting on its own, bringing herself in front of him. Even sitting down he still towered over her.

Y/N leaned in, then whispered to his ear. “Then tell me, Draco. Tell me what you feel? what do you want?”

“I want to take you over and over again until all you can remember is my name. I want to bend you over this counter and pound into you hard, then I want you to ride me, on my bed. Watch that perfect tits bounce up and down, watch that pretty pussy gets soaked and filled with my cum”

Y/N moaned as he listed all the dirty details, how much he wants her, he needs her. Suddenly even this thin close is too much, she needs to feel him. Skin to skin, all pressed up until she can no longer differs where she ends and he begins.

“Yes...” she moaned lewdly. “Yes... please, Draco”

He cupped her chin softly, angling her face so they see eye to eye. “Are you sure, darling?”

“More than anything, take me, Draco”

And that is all the confirmation that he needs before he leaned in and kiss her, taking the time to trace the curve of her mouth. Licking, biting, nibbling. Making note of what he needs to do to earn that sweet sound of hers. To hear her beg for more.

He let his fingers trailed down, from her collarbones to the valley between her breasts. He made teasing circles around it then he flick her nipples, once, twice. Watching as it rise and grow hard under his fingers.

Then he trailed lower, to where she needs him most. A sense of pride filled him when he felt how soaked she is, she’s literally dripping. “You’re so wet for me, darling” Draco murmured as he nibble on her ear. He ran a finger over her clit, keeping his stroke light and teasing. Slowly rubbing circles that sends jolt of pleasure coursing through her. “Draco, please” She whispered out much to his satisfaction.

“What do you want, darling? you have to say it or else I won’t know” He teased.

“Dammit, Draco. Just fuck me already, I want to feel your cock pounding into me” Y/N half shouted, her insides are begging for release.

Without bothering to reply, Draco maneuvered her into a bending position, and buried his cock deep into her.

“Fuck you’re so big” Y/N moaned, letting herself adjust to his size.

“And you’re so warm and tight, darling. You feel soo good around me”

As she gave him a sign to go on, Draco slowly thrust in and out, setting a pace that droves the both of them crazy. They moaned each other’s name, over and over again like a prayer.

And true to his words, Draco took her, again and again. Made her his in every way. Up against the wall, on the bed, against the window. As if they couldn’t get enough of each other.

As exhaustion finally took over, Draco pulled her into his arms, letting her head settle on his chest. She looked up at him with those mesmerizing (Y/E/C) eyes, filled with bliss and contentment. He would bet a good amount of his fortune that his eyes mirrored hers.

“Sleep my sweet villain, my darling goddess” He murmured to her as he pressed a kiss on top of her head.

And they both drifted off to a much needed rest.

———————————————————————

Y/N stayed throughout the weekend in Draco’s bedroom, but then Monday arrived and they have to go back to reality after staying for 3 days inside their bubble.

To be honest Y/N doesn’t know how to proceed with the whole thing, what would she even do when they meet each other in the hallway or worst in class? what even are they? there’s too many questions but so few answers. And the fact that the both of them woke up late doesn’t leave much room for them to iron out the details first.

First class of the day is Potions so at least they just have to make their way towards the classroom since it’s close enough to the Slytherin dorm. Draco and Y/N got ready in a hurry and they both sprinted to Snape’s class, making it in record time. Draco let her enter the class first since walking inside together is out of the question.

Y/N made her way to her table, her Potions partner, Dean Thomas is already sitting there, and he smiled when he saw her coming.

“Morning, Dean” She said to him as she set her stuffs down.

Dean was about to reply when something caught his eyes and his face turned white as a sheet. Before Y/N can ask him about it, Professor Snape has walked into the room and took his place in the front.

His eyes roamed over their faces, making sure all is accounted for, when he stopped at her. Eyebrow raised and a look of pure judgement on his face. “Miss Y/L/N...” He started.

“—Looking at your tie, should I just assume that you’ve decided to move to my house or?” Snape said, drawling out every word.

Every eyes turned her way and as she too looked down at the source of problem, she is mortified. Her tie is green, nope not her tie, it’s Draco’s tie that she’s wearing. They must’ve accidentally grabbed the wrong one when they got ready in a hurry. As if the color isn’t obvious enough, the letter D.L.M. is embroidered on the tie in silver thread, making sure that everyone knows who exactly it belongs to.

As she glanced towards Draco’s table where he sat beside Blaise Zabini, she founds Blaise chocking back on laughter and Draco’s face is as red as her Gryffindor tie.

“And you too Mr. Malfoy..” Snape continued. “Should I have a word with Professor McGonagall about you wanting to transfer house?”

Before she can hear Draco’s reply, Dean whispered to her. “Soo you and Malfoy huh?” He asked with a shit eating grin.

“Please shut up, Dean”

#draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy prompt #draco malfoy drabble #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter 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!”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #elain archeron fanfction #acotar fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #la dolce vita #sjm fanfic #acotar #acosf #elriel modern au #nikethestatue #nikethestatuewriting #elain x azriel #azriel and elain #azriel acosf #elain archeron and azriel

[starshipsofstarlord]

𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑈𝑆𝑇

Summary: Kaz had faced two of his fears - almost watching you die and going against his touch aversion. And now he has to deal with the consequences that not only burden him, but also yourself

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, touch aversion,

Word Count: 3255

Masterlist Link

The night, it’s integrity toiled with you, as you say at the camp, with Inej planning on abandoning you all, and Jesper missing that bleating goat. It made you wonder of what direction that you should pursue going in, as you ogled up at the glittered sky, the sequinned stars glinting mischievously back at you. You were nothing other than a speck in the world, as they were in the laminated skyline, the Saints and dark generals were the ones that whisked you down such demeaning paths. The crows were to scurry from their brash threats and existences, the journey of catching the sun summoner had been all for nought.

Not a kruge had been earned in your name, the small bump of adventure had inevitably ended up as being a waste of both resources and time. And now the task of returning through the dreary and life threatening fold lay at your feet; such a plain that was created from pure evil was nerve wrecking. You’d never be considered as one of the goods that served the gods, but you were nowhere close to the Darkling’s maleficence. Had he not only taken hostage of a symbol to all geisha, but your veins were adeptly black, and the toxic venom was spreading with each hour that sourly passed. None of your fellow murder knew of the state that was combusting you; you had saved Kaz, with no regrets of doing so. That dagger had landed in Aleksander’s shoulder, and he had spread his shadowing cloud over to you, tormenting you with the image of complete destruction.

You were lucky to have escaped from his entrapment, Kaz had saved you, whisking your from the overbearing plough of suffering, even grabbing you with his glove covered hands, pressuring himself to do such an act to keep you alive. Though, you didn’t know how much longer you would remain so, and that was why you were gazing up at the constellations; hoping that you’d end up in their blazing glorification. Perhaps you’d survive, nothing was known of your current condition. Or you’d be cursed, turned grisha or something significantly worse. One thing that you’d learned on this gruelling mission was that anything was possible, even Kaz had made a step in his discomfort to rescue you, hauling you away from your inevitable doom by the arm, and stepping into the shrouding darkness. If it had not been for him, then you’d surely have composed into a defiled corpse, ripped apart by the darkness that Aleksander exhibited, and had enhanced through ancient looms that had been integrated onto absorbable parchment.

“I see that you’re less tense; does this mean that you are no longer mad at me?” His voice rang in your ears, prompting you to grind your teeth together as though you were mashing up crystals of salt. Eternally, you were grateful for the risk he had taken to ensure that you would not meet whichever saint you believed in once you travelled through the ropes of pitch and certain demise. You refused to give him the source of satisfaction of giving him your undivided attention; most feared him enough to comply and give him all the attentiveness he demanded as he struck his cane upon a surface, however, unlike those commoners, there was nothing about Kaz Brekker that struck fear in you. He were merely a man, whilst albeit had done some unforgivable things, had suffered same as everyone else, but terribly more so. “I’ll take your silence as a no then, should I?”

In turn, you crossed the folding origami of your arms over the expanse of your chest, and continued to ogle your pupils up towards the passageway of luminescence that hung like a chain in the velvet sky, causing Dirty Hands himself as he had been known, to release a heartfelt huff of frustration. It had taken quite the toll on him to oppose his own serious paranoia, and yet here you were, ignoring him after the cold events. Gulping, you couldn’t help but have annoyance seed in you as he continued to hover his presence beside you, he was using the tactic on purpose, full well knowing that it would eventually have you splintering until you cracked. You’d always had a soft spot for Kaz since the day you had met him; he was so brutally concurred with the ways of making a victim squeal like a sow giving birth, yet there continued to be an innocence within him, of which he hid from most. It was quite the contrast, as were his child like eyes that bore into you like his wish was to make you frail from poised embarrassment until you disappeared into a fine speck on the shoulder of his coat.

That was an irrational thought though, Kaz Brekker simply wanted to know, and not for the first time, why you disposed of reciprocated speech, and chose to pretend to be deaf to his consolation that he was attempting to reprimand with you. “Because if you remain to be angered with me saving your life, then, I would like to know. I’m not going to scoundrel around your presence all evening, we’re going to have to start moving sooner rather than later if we ever hope to get upon the route that I have planned. As useful as your combat is, and irreplaceable as I may think you are at times, I will allow you to go on your own path as you wish. You aren’t the only one that wants to part from the crows; Inej also has intentions to. If this is also because of the sun summoner, then they are freely your beliefs, though I certainly think you have the strength to strive towards something controversially more.” Inej leaving - that was news to you, and thus you finally surrendered, turning to him with spite written upon features, and commenced in supervising his lean form with integral eyes.

“To where do you have plans to go Kaz?” In turn, the volume of your sound increased, as you marked him as your target of choice. “And you’re right, I am pissed that you decided to save me rather than prioritising your own life; if anything were to happen to you, I’m not sure how I’d handle it. I have an inkling of a feeling that I wouldn’t even be able to. That’s because if you weren’t here I’d probably go crazy and envelop myself in a spiralling madness of which I’d be averted onto a path of nothingness. You are the one that has gifted me with a purpose, and time and time again you continue to preserve my life and I’m not sure I can cope with that. Just knowing that you are willing to throw yourself in the eye of danger to ensure that I do not meet my eventual end that is coming anyway. And worst of all, you faced off against that no good, dirty grisha, murderous General. Do you have any idea of what he would have done to you if he were to explicitly, and cruelly as are his routines, contort your body into the whim of his Darkling abilities.”

“I have an idea or two.” He admitted, toying with the fingers of his gloves, relieved to not see what lay beneath the leather. He stared at you in the face, feeling sickened from the sight of the creases that promoted your frown that was directed thoroughly towards him. It wasn’t a good feeling to be on the other end of your diverging glare, it was making him conflicted with the perishing of his emotions. A part of him was laughing inside that he was intimidated by someone, a woman no less, the other was rather impressed with your ample stubbornness. Now that was one thing that the two of you had in common; you both stood like stone, shadowing behind your beliefs or there lack of, as though Medusa had fixed the pair of you with her grey glazed glare, and forced you to be the way that you were. “And it was in fact you who decided to save my life first, I was merely returning the favour.” He now took it as his shift to allow his eyes to travel up into the beyond, the highlights that flawed his irises being triggered by the ambience that strobed in the frustrated sky, that was getting more antsy by each second that passed.

“I saved your life because I care about you, not because I value your skills and require them. That is a vast difference that separated us from being merely a single detail in a rope of stars. We’re separate in thought, and consolably close in real time and space, that fate has chosen us to be. We were both close to death in that second, he could have tarnished us both if that were his main priority, and we should be thankful that he realised that we were not lying when the admittance of not knowing of Alina Starkoff’s whereabouts fell off our tongues like misconducted liquor.” Your voice cracked, thinking about Kaz dead was the last thing that you wanted to obscure your mind, however it was the only thing that was roaming around the space like a moth darting around in a light fixture, having fallen captive to its own instinctive nature to fly too close to the example of fire. “Never, and I mean this Kaz, step in the path of death that narrows in my sights; I’d rather it be me than you of whom takes a fall into such a never ending abyss. You’re the face of this operation, and I am merely a killer that you decided to take under your wing whence times got too tough for either of us to cope alone.”

“I am not bound to make any promises, especially when you speak of accepting death so gracefully. And to answer your prior question, we are returning to Ketterdam, and I- i um-“ he fidgeted, his jaw contained to clench and release in a rhythm as he attempted to get the words out. “I need you to come with me on this, trust me, I have a plan, one that does not involve you dying. There will be no funerals that parallel this task ahead of us, if anything happens, you are my priority.” The heart felt ropes of words interlocked, much like the passage of beaming stars that made a blanket in the material of the sky; they shon stirringly in the abyss of the above, daring to deter you as its source of focus, causing you to freeze up as Kaz spoke his difficult to say words. “And when we get the one million kruge, that is when I will allow you to go out on your own, then you will have the expenses to protect yourself, and disappear if we cannot manage to end this eternal wrath that the grisha and hierarchy establish through the existence of the fold, they turn the tides of where whomever can go, and if they are gone, you shall have the freedom to venture to the place that your heart most desires, you’d no longer have to be trapped by my side similarly to my cane.”

“Everything that you are saying is tipping my head upside down; that I out of everyone, am your priority and that you are to set me free like a bird that has been trapped in a cage? Perhaps, this is a situation that it seems not you have enquired to think of, but I do not want to leave your side, even if I can. If I so much as wanted to, I’d have taken the chance to wrangle free in the midst of the journey from Ketterdam to these exasperating lands that want us to be persecuted for this job that we have taken underneath our midnight wings, though if you hadn’t noticed, I remain here. And whilst I wouldn’t have been peripherally if you weren’t to have saved me from my possible annihilation, I still have no intentions of abandoning you in any way, although that resolutes from you openly willing to take the risk of your own life in order to preserve my own. Never, and I compensate that with defiance, do that again.” You swiped your finger towards him, watching as the crease between his brows stiffened and grew deeper like a crescent that exhibited itself in the lawns of time, he poised his head back at your jurisdiction, clearly offended by your selfless demand.

“I cannot make that promise, there are little to no things that I have connective nurturing for; money and wealth stomp on nearly anything, but to me your life is priceless, even if your opinions do not retrograde the same reflection of worth.” His palm was shaky beneath its armour of leather as he went to reach for your hand, it took him a minute or so until he paid the dues of contact, but he faced his greatest fear, and denied avoiding contact. The prospect of Kaz touching anyone, let alone it being you, stirred a strange sensation through your body, as though you were being electrocuted via a storm, more specifically, a bolt of lightning that shot down from the angry clouds, shooting adrenaline and a high pulse through every limb of your form. “Do not mistake me for not having care towards Inej and Jesper, but without you I’d lose the path of succeeding through all my personal struggles, because you are the one thing that reminds me to continue to fight all of the harms in the world that wish to prosecute us, as though we are rodents that climb out from the sewers and run through the streets, poisoning them. There is a strong suit that wraps around me, stubbornly suffocating my interests, so that I have an avoidance of ever allowing anything to proceed to happen to you - get that through that steel skull of yours, you are smart and strong and my number one mine of gold for me to protect.”

“Kaz…” it felt like a forbidden sentence slipping off your tongue, simply by saying his name. You gave his hand a squeeze, noticing how he stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed a second later, getting used to the notion of silent amorist exchange; his blue eyes scalped every inch of your face, staring at the skin that compressed against your bone structure, the twinkle of the stars illuminating each distinctive feature that condoned your image. “I don’t know what I should say it’s - it is like we have been risking everything for nothing. And I am no gold mine, I cannot get us all that kruge, and I sure as hell can’t beat against the most powerful grisha known to man. I may be strong, but I am not strong enough. I may be smart, but certainly not smart enough. Overall, to everyone I am missing something, and it makes me wonder what else you see in me rather than an opportunist that can bring men to their knees in a second by sweeping beneath them, ready to swipe anything of value that they carry within the income of their pockets.” Drifting on their own accord, your eyes diverted once more to gaze up into the magnificent scenery that stroke above; each star was different within its placement, as well as how much it glowed under the pressure of insistent staring. It was as truly beautiful sight, and as you accorded your eyes to focus on the chord of light, Kaz’s eyes remained tuned upon your perseverance.

“The fact is you could bring any man, including myself,“ he gulped for a moment, feeling just how cheesy his words were as they spewed out, before he continued. Each word he spoke with giving you a new light that you saw Kaz under, he was not just a ruthless killer that likened to getting his hands dirty on a job, he was human like everyone else, many people seemed to forget that. But he had never appeared more humane as he did in the second with you, his hand clasped foreignly in the clasp of your own, and his eyes void of all intent, they were pure and for a second juridical with the haven of content. He wasn’t envisioning good, he was allowing himself to see what was right in front of him. “To their knees.” He finished his sentence, only to go on and elongate the mercenary like talk that he often had a problem with discussing. Though now could be the last moments that he could open up in such a way; it was uncertain how the turn of planned events would turn out, sailing through the fold was a danger all in itself, a toiling threat that was pushing you all forwards with a stern hand on each of your backs. “And you don’t even have to lift a finger to do so, every emotion you make me emit makes me possess a vigil weakness that I try to keep hidden, but in order to get the last of my strength through it, I acquire to get this off my chest before we venture to our next route. I care deeply for you, when I’m around you it feels like I am beneath water, the liquid gurgling in my lungs like sickening liquor. I have never felt this way, not have I ever had a desire to be monitored by these virtual sources, but they’re here, as are we.”

Taking a sturdy breath, you raised Kaz’s gloved hand and aligned it with your lips, gently pressing a kiss to the material that separated your skin. “You will not lose me Brekker, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve gotten this far, and that’s impressive all on its own. The trip back to Ketterdam cannot be as difficult as our journey here, we endured betrayal from that oaf that helped us cross the border, we got in and out of the Little Palace unscathed, and escaped the General on another account. I’d say that’s quite impressive, and behind every ploy you have been the grand mastermind. So let’s go home, and we can pick this up from there. ‘Tis a shame though, the stars don’t quite shine as bright back there, but we’ll have each other, and that is enough to brighten and guide me through the nights.” His lips stretched at the sides, depositing an appearance of relived thought. There had merely not been much of a fight between you on the situation, if he were to have pried any further about your safety he was sure there’d have been, but things had settled before they reached that stage. The primary battle though was to be against one of the most powerful grisha to walk the earth, of whom was keeping the Sun Summoner hostage. But as you had supposed, things would work themselves out. “I’m going to check on Inej, I won’t be a second.” He remembered the smile on your face as you trekked off, it was a notion to which he analysed that you were one of the few people who were kind to him. Once you were out of his vision, he looked up at the stars. There may have been no saints resting up there, but it sure was a peaceful view.

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