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nikethestatue · 3 years

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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.

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!”

173 notes · View notes

suchalonelysunflower · 3 years

Text

Take Your Feelings, Put Them Into a Song (A.I)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Wallows! Fem! Reader

Requested: yes!

Summary: Y/N Sixx, bassist from the famous band Wallows, is helping 5SOS write their latest album CALM. If only she could keep her crush on the drummer under control…

Warnings: Fluff. Language. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word Count: 4.6 k

Author’s Note: IM BACK! Remember that Reblogs, Likes, Comments and Feedback are very important! You have no idea how much they help 💕 Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋🌻✨

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

anon: Can you do a one-shot where the reader was born on 1996 and she’s the daughter of Nikki Sixx and Brandi Brandt and it’s the bassist and songwriter of Wallows (…) and she helps 5sos write songs for the album CALM and starts dating Ashton and the fans go nuts (in a good way) with shipping? There’s no drama like it was in EUH

It was another boring day in the studio and you would literally prefer to do anything else than to listen to Cole talk about the last date he had instead of working on your new song. But inspiration was lacking between you and your bandmates and you really had no other choice since you already took that time on the studio’s schedule.

One would believe that you would be used to dull times in the studio, having spent a lot of time on them while growing up with your parents, but boredom was a cruel crime inside your head and today your patience was running thin.

“Hey, peanut!” Dylan called your attention “Everything good there?”

You were laying on the sofa, looking at the ceiling for some kind of saving grace, but Dylan’s voice brought you back to your reality.

“Are we going to get something done today?” You asked with a sigh, with your eyes still glued to the ceiling “Cause we are really just wasting time by now and I don’t think Cole’s last fling will bring any kind of inspo into our little group”

“Hey!” Cole protested, earning a chuckle from Braeden.

“Whatever,” You said, already getting up from your spot “I’m going to take a walk”

You took a deep breath once you closed the door to your private room. You loved the guys, you really do, but sometimes people can be too much, especially people who you spend every single day and hour with.

Memories from the past year started to fill your mind and you smiled when thinking about how much your little band has grown. Wallows was now everywhere, you created a name for yourself without using your parent’s influence and you were so damn proud of that, yet when moments like these come around - the moments where you just need to breathe to escape the reality for just a while - you start to reflect on every choice you made and if they were the right ones.

It’s the overthinking that got you to write those first lyrics in the first place, the ones that were put into songs and now were, somehow, all over TikTok with thousands of people relating to them. So maybe, overthinking now might not be such a bad idea after all.

“It’s a terrible idea if you think about it for more than one minute, mate”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that voice, thinking that maybe you were finally going crazy or someone could’ve read your mind. But it wasn’t until you heard someone else answer that you realized it was a conversation.

“Well, I don’t know what to do with it anymore!”

You turned your head to the left and smiled when you saw the little sign that said “5SOS now in session. DO NOT DISTURB” And realized that your other favorite boys were back in town.

Of course you ignored the sign and knocked on the door a couple of times before opening it shamelessly.

“Well, well, well…” You said with a teasing smile as you leaned over the door frame “If it isn’t my second favorite Aussie band”

The faces of two of the members of said band light up once they realize it was you, quickly getting up to wrap you in a hug.

“Mini Sixx!” Calum said, ruffling his hand through your hair “About time you came to visit us”

You pushed him and Luke away from you “And you should’ve told me you’re back from your break! I could’ve escaped Dylan and the other minions earlier”

“Rough session?” Luke asked, seating down and patting the place next to him for you to sit on.

“Oh, you have no idea”

You loved the 5sos guys, it was impossible not to. Ever since you met them at a label party in 2015 when you were introduced to them because you were the same age as half of the group, you knew that they were made to be on the stage.

It was easy to become their friend, given their welcoming attitude and easy-going smiles even before they found out who your parents were. It was nice for a change not to be Y/N Sixx, daughter of the famous bassist of Mötley Crüe and famous Playboy doll Brandi Brandt, for a moment and just be Y/N, a bassist that had a lot to give to the world. And with the boys you didn’t even have to try to be someone you were not, with them everything was just so… real.

Just like now, where you were allowed to complain about your lovely bandmates to them and they would complain just as well, with no judgment nor responsibilities, just three friends letting out some steam due to the stress of your careers.

“-And basically we don’t know what else to do with the song” Luke finished his rant on the missing piece of their new song for their next album.

“And you have the lyrics ready?”

“Yeah, me and my girl wrote it a few weeks ago but the melody is just…”

“It’s missing something” Calum finished for him with a sigh.

You hummed “Can I see it?”

The two Australians got to work, playing the song with the piano and the guitar and you came to the conclusion that they were right: there was something big missing.

“So it’s a ballad,” You said, thinking of ways to fix it.

“Technically yes, but when you play it like that it sounds incomplete and the lyrics won’t work with another type of rhythm” Luke sighed “We’ve been at it for days now.”

You stayed quiet for a while, reviewing the lyrics and melody more carefully now, analyzing the situation with different approaches but without getting anywhere. It was a beautiful song, it truly was, but it needed something else, something that could create a “boom” sensation for whoever was listening.

Something like…

“Hey guys, have you finished with the- Oh, Hey, Y/N/N!” Ashton said, opening the door and finding you with his bandmates in deep concentration.

Bingo.

“Uh, why are you smiling at me like that?” Ashton asked you with a chuckle, but you didn’t even address him as you turned to Luke and Calum.

“It needs drums”

“What?” The three men said in unison. You rolled your eyes and snatched the notes from Calum’s lap and started to sing the melody.

“Here!” You pointed out “In this part, before finishing the first chorus: I already made, already made that…” And then you started to make drum noises and movements with your arms for them to get the idea.

In a matter of seconds, Luke got up from his seat and walked towards you, taking the notes from you and reviewing them with new eyes, smiling as he got the idea.

“Ha!” He laughed loudly, “You’re a fucking genius!”

“Thank you,” You said with a smug smile as you, Calum and Luke started to discuss the arrangements.

“Wait, hold up” Ashton interrupted the chatter “Y/N, I appreciate you trying to help and no offense and all but I think this isn’t your place to just decide something like that,” He said, pointing to the three of you.

You rolled your eyes. You’ve dealt with stubborn people before, but Ashton did take a spot on your top three and you knew just how to handle him.

“Wow,” You said sarcastically with a teasing smile “One would think that by being half of the rhythm section you would have more… I don’t know, rhythm?”

Ashton crooked an eyebrow and you and you knew you had him in the bag “I just don’t think-”

“You don’t think?” You said, getting up from your chair and walking up to him to be almost chest to chest. You looked up to his eyes and challenged him “Or you just can’t handle the fact that I might’ve had a better idea than you”

You could see by the sparkle in his eyes that he has taken the challenge to heart. He took a step closer to you, almost pressing his body completely against yours, and smirked.

“Want me to prove you wrong, princess?” He teased but you didn’t back up.

“I’d like to see you try, darling”

Ashton’s smirk widened as he took a step back, turning his head towards Luke and Calum who were watching the scene with intrigued eyes and knowing smiles “Get your asses back in the recording booth”

He followed them as they walked into the big recording space they had, but not before sending you a wink seconds after he closed the door.

You were thankful he didn’t see you blush.

Once they were all set with their instruments - Calum on the keys, Luke on the guitar, and Ashton behind his drum set - You pressed the buttons of the console that would make it possible for you to hear them at the other side of the mirrored glass.

“Okay boys, show me what you got”

You became an official 5SOS songwriter after that day and even Ashton had to admit that you were adding so much more to the band lyrics and melodies since you started to work with them.

Every day you would find yourself walking towards their studio after your band’s session and you start to work wherever they left off. It was a simple dynamic that worked wonders for everyone and after every session, you would get even more inspired to write your own music for Wallows, so it was a win-win situation, not to mention, spending time with your new co-workers; especially a particular drummer that grew closer to you that you would’ve ever imagined.

When you first met the band you hit it off pretty quickly with Luke and Calum, them being the same age as you and having pretty much the same interests; then came Michael that shared a similar sense of humor with you and with whom you discussed videogames with. But Ashton was always the one that you consciously tried to not get too close to.

In all honesty, he intimidated you but not in a bad way. He was smart, talented, and super funny, not to mention also ridiculously handsome. But he was also stubborn, a little bit egotistical, and the only one that could keep up with you in a battle of wits, teasing, and sarcasm. And you knew that if you mixed that all together it might mean trouble, especially when he smiled at you like that.

Of course you had a crush on him, who wouldn’t? But the fact is that you know what it is like to date in the industry and having feelings for a member of another pretty famous band might bring some tension to the table, so it was safer to play the crushing card and just stay friends. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself every day since you started to see him regularly and spend more time with him than with any other of the two bands.

Speaking of…

“Earth to Y/N?” Called Braeden waving a hand in front of your face “Is anybody there?”

You blinked a few times before pushing his hand away with a scoff “Very funny, B. What’s up?”

“You spaced out again” Cole added, fidgeting with his drumsticks “Just when we were going to start complimenting you on that bass line you wrote the other day…”

You smiled as you threw a pillow at him that he was able to easily dodge “Sorry, I was just-”

“Thinking about a particular drummer again?” Dylan teased, to which Cole added.

“I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall in love with me”

You searched for other pillows and started to throw them at your band members, giggling as they started to throw them back at you and starting an improvised pillow fight in the middle of the recording booth.

“Hey, Y/N/N! I was wondering if you-” Ashton’s sentence was cut short as he opened the door and took in the scene that was in front of him.

You were so busy chasing Breaden with a pillow on each hand and a devilish smile that you didn’t even notice when the door opened or that Ashton was standing there, smiling at you with his arms crossed as you aimed at your bandmate's head.

“Oh look, peanut!” Dylan said teasingly “You knight in shiny armor is here to-” But before he could say anything more embarrassing, you threw a pillow directly at his face to shut him out.

You quickly turned your head to Ashton who was fairly amused by your battle skills and smiled at him.

“Hey!” You said breathlessly after chasing down the others.

“Hi,” He smiled back “Am I interrupting something or?”

“Nah, you’re good,” You said, throwing one last pillow at your three friends that stood in a corner blowing teasing kisses and puppy eyes at the two of you “These assholes and I are done for the day” You commented before said assholes started to pout and complain, but you were already out the door before they could say something embarrassing again.

“So…” Ashton trailed off, starting to walk alongside you with his hands in his front pockets.

“So,” You said, drifting your eyes from him and praying to the universe that he didn’t hear anything or else it would make the blush on your face even pinker “You needed me for something?”

You wanted to get the topic of work right there in the open as soon as possible, not wanting him to notice how nervous you got when you were alone with him. At least when you were talking about work you leveled the ground in some parts.

“Actually, I’m going home early today” He smiled softly “Luke and the guys are working on a love song that’s just way too happy and butterflies - in - your -stomach like and I didn’t think they needed me there if I can’t bring nothing to the table”

“You’re not a lovey-dovey feeling kinda guy?” You teased by bumping your arm with his, earning a “hey” from him “I actually get it, I’m not that kind of person either”

“It’s not like I don’t like it, it’s just that-”

“You process your emotions differently, and it’s easier to write those when you think of love in other stages and/or mixed with other complex emotions because-”

“Love is not just one-sided! Yes!” Ashton celebrated, amazed that you could understand what he was saying “I knew you would get it”

That comment made your cheeks heat up as you looked at him, all dimpled smiles and light chuckled as he looked at you with sparkly hazel eyes. Oh no…

“Well,” You said, breaking that little moment “If they are going to work on that all day then I guess I would head home, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to provide anything else either”

“Actually,” Ashton said as he stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the exit, making you stop as well and turn to him “I was wondering if you would want to get some coffee with me now that we are both free. Of course, if you really are free and have nothing else to do and want to actually drink coffee or tea… or maybe not and you’re not that type of person and-”

“Are you asking me out?”

Ashton stopped his rambling and looked at you with an incredulous smile and lightly blushed cheeks.

“I- well, yeah,” He said shyly “Yeah, I am”

You smiled and softly chuckled “Look at the famous drummer all nervous” You teasingly took a step closer to him, not knowing where this confidence was coming from, and he did the same “It’s just me, you know?”

“And that’s exactly the reason why”

“Do I make you nervous, darling?”

“Let’s say that if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have rambled like that, princess”

You pressed your lips in a thin line and smiled as you looked away from him, blushing like a teenager on her first date.

“So…” You trailed off.

“So?”

“Lead the way”

From that moment both of your routines changed once again. Now you took time off the studio at least two times a week to go with Ashton on those small friendly dates as he took you out for coffee or just simple but meaningful talks.

Soon enough you lost all the doubts that made you nervous around him, seeing how easy it was to talk to him and how much you had in common in more aspects than just music. You became more comfortable around him and your level of teasing and playing grew alongside your relationship, not to mention the level of teasing and playing you received from your band members and the other 3 Aussies who joined in on all the fun.

You were used to blushing and dismissing comments about your - undeniable - crush on the drummer, but Ashton didn’t seem to be affected by them at all. On the contrary, Ashton played along and even seemed like he was enjoying it. Like in one particular occasion where you were working on a song together and Michael said:

“Oh my god, date her already!”

Ashton didn’t blink an eye before responding “I’m trying! But she just wants to focus on the harmonies”

And you’d be lying if you said that didn’t put a smile on your face.

Yet, you kept it all professional while being in the studio; no need to mix your personal lives with whatever was going on down there, that’s why those coffee runs were your favorites.

It was an unspoken rule between the two of you that “work-talk” was forever banned from those outings.

“So what are we going to talk about?” You asked him the first time you went into his favorite coffee shop.

“Us” He simply answered, unaware of the butterflies he just set in your stomach.

“Us?”

“Yeah, I want to get to know you better, princess. Who is Y/N Sixx?”

“Who is Ashton Irwin?”

“I asked first”

“I asked second” You countered

Ashton smiled widely “You think you’re clever…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think” You answered, casually sipping on your coffee “I know I’m clever just like I know you like me that way”

You were testing the waters back then, hiding the shaking of your knees under the table as you longed to know how he felt about it. But the way he smiled and how he blushed a little bit made all your fears go away.

“Yeah, that I do”

Your cheeks turned red whenever you reminisced about that moment - or any moment that you spent with Ashton for that matter - which gave you the perfect idea for a song.

“I don’t want to kill my time with somebody else…” You hummed to yourself as you wrote down what you think is the chorus to a new song.

You told Ashton that you were not the type to write silly love songs or very uplifting songs; but there was something in that memory, something in that feeling that you couldn't ignore or just let it be without doing something about it. So, you started to write it.

You couldn't separate the feeling from the art, after all, feelings were what led you to dedicate your life to music. People would say it was because of your parent’s influence but they had little to nothing to do with your decision. This was you, the authentical you writing whatever came to mind and then sharing it with the world and only a few people will get it in its entirety. And surely Ashton was one of them.

“Dadadada something, want you all to myself”

“Wacha doing there, princess?”

Speaking of the devil.

Ashton smiled at you as he hunched over the table you were working on, trying to peek at what you were writing. You lifted the notebook and pressed it against your chest faking offense as he giggled.

“Didn’t your mother taught you not to sneak up on people, darling?” You asked as he walked around your workspace and sat himself down on the chair next to you “Besides, you’re late. You were supposed to meet me here like half an hour ago!”

“Aww, sorry Sixx” Ashton pouted “But there were no chocolate chip cookies left in the shop so I had to go around town to get you some” He then put a bag of freshly made cookies on top of the table with a cup filled with coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“Of course I did! You always only eat chocolate chips cookies in the afternoon”

He started to giggle again, ignoring the way you were looking at him “How did you know that?”

“C’mon, Y/N/N, every time we go for coffee you order two, one for the coffee and another one for the road. And every time we cater something you never touch anything but those cookies”

“I never knew you were so observant”

Ashton shrugged “I just pay attention if I like what I see,” He said nonchalantly with a wink, making you blush instantly, but you covered it up with an eye roll.

“God, you’re terrible” You scoffed.

“I’m honest!” You shook your head and went back to writing, but Ashton was not going to let that go so easily. “Look, how else could I know that you always put an extra bag of sugar in your coffee?”

“‘Cause I always drink the same thing,” You said without looking up from your notebook.

“Yeah, a mocha latte with extra chocolate drizzle and no foam. Honestly, how can you handle that much sugar?” You were about to answer but he caught you off. “But that’s not all you drink, whenever you have a bad day you always order a cup of mango and ginger tea because that’s your mother’s favorite drink and it helps you calm down. You also don’t want anyone to know that you’re having a bad day but the minute someone looks away your smile starts to flatter until you’re back in the conversation”

You stopped the writing completely as you turned to him, suddenly feeling how your heart started to jump all over your chest as he kept talking, eyes never leaving yours as he gave you a soft smile, almost as if he was remembering all those moments with you.

“You draw flowers on the corner of your notebooks whenever you feel bored. You love the sad songs on the radio and you know every single word to Lorde’s Melodrama, yet every time you have to choose a playlist you put 2000’s pop and R&B songs because it hypes you up. You hate awkward silences unless you are the one being quiet. You help Dylan dye his hair every time he asks you to because you would trust each other with your lives, you give Cole relationship advice because you care about him and he always appreciates your advice more than anyone’s and Braeden is your best friend because you always say that he is one of the few people that could make you laugh in a bad day and you have no idea how much I want to be included in that list”

“Ashton-”

“You write better with dim light, it helps you concentrate on your work. You say you don’t believe in astrology yet you check your horoscope every day. You want to make sure that everyone has a good time and feels included, that’s why you always make conversations with Micahel about games you never even heard before or let Luke braid your hair when he’s bored or how you switched topics when you noticed that Calum was not engaging as much in a conversation. You literally take care of everyone but you never let anyone take care of you, and when we do you get all shy and you blush as you say thank you and you have no idea how fucking adorable you look”

You sat there speechless as he spoke. You felt the back of your throat dry as you tried to find the right words to answer all of that.

It was too much. The fact that he knew all of that and how he said it like he was just talking about his favorite things in the world, it was just too much but at the same time, you want to hear him say that again.

A weird sense of joy and shyness came over you as he set his hazel eyes on yours. You gave him a small smile as you averted your gaze to the floor.

“Wow, I-” You started “I never thought someone noticed all that”

“How could I not?” You heard him say “You’re all I can think about and to say that I don’t notice you is like saying I don’t notice the sun in the sky or the stars at night. You’re the brightest light out there, Y/N, you shine everywhere you go”

You noticed how he pulled his chair closer to you and suddenly you felt how your chair started to slowly turn his way until you were face to face.

Ashton carefully placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head until you were finally looking into his eyes again.

“There she is!” He smiled when he noticed your blushing cheeks and gleaming eyes.

“What do you mean when you say I’m all you think about?” You asked expectantly, curling your fingers nervously on top of your thighs.

Ashton chuckled. “Well, if you didn’t notice, I really fucking like you, Y/N”

You looked up at him, smiling with hopeful eyes and feeling as if a weight was lifted off your chest thanks to the joy you were experiencing while hearing those words.

“You do?”

“Unless you don’t like me back and I just spilled my feelings for nothing-” You smacked him playfully in the arm “Ouch! I’m kidding! Of course I like you! Fuck, Y/N I’ve been falling for years now and I thought I was being pretty obvious”

You laughed “I thought you were just playing!”

In an instant, Ashton pulled your chair closer and grabbed you by the hip, lifting you up and making you sit on his lap as he hugged you by the waist and you placed your arms around his neck.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” He said, “I’ll do anything to prove it”

“Well,” You said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and knocking your forehead to his “How about you help me finish this song and then you take me on a date? Cause I’ve been falling for you, too and I don’t want to waste any more time”

Ashton hummed as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, kissing it softly as he murmured “Will I get to kiss my princess at midnight?”

“Maybe… or you can take your chances now if you’d like”

He smiled.

“I like those odds”

And just before you know it, he softly pressed his lips against yours; finally creating a happy beginning for the two of you.

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161 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Stars Aligned Chapter 3

(Please do not ask when the next chapter will be, I do not know. Links to AO3/FFN will be included in reblog.)

Here’s the thing. The very, very, stupid thing. Despite all his planning for this trip, Danny had no idea what his birth family looked like. Presumably, they also had no idea what he looked like.

As much as Danny would like to blame this on a wizardly aversion to the internet and photographs, he couldn’t. Danny could have sent them a picture of himself through the mail at any time. Even if wizard mail involved owls for some unexplained reason. But he didn’t. Because he was dumb.

And his equally dumb wizard family had also failed to send any pictures.

What were they thinking? Did they assume they’d somehow recognize each other on sight? Was that a wizard thing? Did they expect to spontaneously develop blood-relative telepathy? Was that a thing?

Danny did not know what to expect. He honestly didn’t know enough about wizards.

The end result was that Danny was standing in the middle of the wizarding world’s equivalent of an airport, which involved way more open fires than could possibly be safe, and people stepping into those open fires, which, again, could not possibly be safe. Of course, Danny had done it, as uncomfortable as it was for his core, and anything that used internal combustion was technically also using fire as a means of transportation, so Danny might have been a bit of a hypocrite, but still.

But, back to his dilemma. He, a dumb teenager, could be expected to do dumb, thoughtless things and make easily avoidable mistakes. It was basically a requirement. His actual family, who probably could have realized the error, didn’t want him to go and could be forgiven for any oversight. But dumb wizard birth family had at least one semi-competent adult in it. Supposedly.

Despite himself, his desire to kidnap his brother increased. Even though it would most likely cause an international incident.

He sighed. Maybe he should just follow the crowd and see if anyone stopped him. After all wizards might have magic blood-relative detection something or other.

He trudged along, pulling his trundle suitcase behind him. Silver lining was that whatever happened, he didn’t have to spend hours in a metal tube breathing recycled air. Silver lining. Silver lining. Silver—

Ah. Hm.

Danny blinked at his name written in large letters on a square of poster paper. His first and middle names, that is, and his bio-family’s last name.

He was highlytempted to turn around and go back home, but there was his twin, holding the card and looking fragile and hopeful, standing next to a tall woman with greying black hair.

He sighed. He was doing this, then.

“Hi,” he said, “you must be Draco. I’m Danny. And, uh, you must be Narcissa Malfoy?” He sort of held his hand out, feeling awkward.

“You can call me mother, Deneb,” said Narcissa. She sounded slightly tearful.

“It good to meet you, Deneb. Er. Danny.” Draco’s eyes flitted up to his mother.

“Yeah, um. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Malfoy, but I don’t actually know you. And I’ve got a mom.”

“Yet,” interjected Draco. “You don’t know mother yet. That’s what this visit is about, right?”

“Right,” said Danny. “I’m… really looking forward to it.”

Draco looked relieved. “Excellent. Well, then, Looky can get your luggage and we can floo home.”

A very small, rather wizened person stepped out from behind Draco’s legs.

Okay. Danny had questions.

Danny did not particularly care for the answers to his questions.

Draco didn’t know why his twin had stopped talking to him before they’d even gotten home. He had, to some degree, expected rough spots. Merlin knew his family didn’t get along perfectly. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hoped he and his twin would have a special connection. That they would mesh.

That… wasn’t happening. In fact, this was rather… awkward. Painful, almost.

He thought back to what they had been talking about. He didn’t think he’d said anything particularly objectionable. Had he hit on some chip on the shoulder those squibs had inculcated in him? Well, he thought, rather shamefacedly, he shouldn’t think of them like that. They hadn’t been the ones to abandon Deneb – Danny – just for not being immediately magical.

“Right,” he said, as Danny stepped (jumped, looking slightly disturbed) out of the fire. “Let me show you your room. We’ve had the house elves clean it out.”

Something on Danny’s face went dark, but he visibly controlled himself. “Thank you,” he said. “And, um, thank you, Looky. For your help.”

Draco frowned. He was confused, and he didn’t like feeling confused. He knew muggles didn’t have house elves, of course, but still. The concept wasn’t that hard to understand, was it? Although, it was possible Danny had never come across house elves at all, even second or third hand.

He supposed they might be unsettling if they were the first magical creature one came across. Ugh. He’d never tried to put himself in the position of someone learning about magic for the first time. Why would he? That was mudblood business, and he’d never associate with one of those.

But Danny was in that position, just about.

That meant it was Draco’s job to help Danny understand.

Danny was hoping he was misunderstanding something and that wizards did not, in fact, practice slavery.

This seemed to be a forlorn hope.

“So,” said Draco clasping his hands behind his back in the doorway of ‘Danny’s’ room, “er, house elves. You’ve probably not seen them before.”

“Can’t really say so, no.”

“Probably the first magical creatures you’ve seen.”

“Um,” said Danny. “Also no. I did have to go get a wand and stuff, and you’ve got to go to a wizard town to do that. I saw a bunch of different stuff there.” He didn’t really want to explain the ghosts, but… “Also, my parents study ghosts.”

“You mean, your adopted parents.”

“My parents, yes.”

“I didn’t know squibs could see ghosts. Well, they never seemed to have any trouble with it, so…” He shrugged.

“I… see.”

Danny doubted it, somehow. “But you were saying? About house elves?” Benefit of the doubt, he reminded himself.

“They’re servants,” said Draco. “Magically bound to serve certain families.”

“Magically bound,” repeated Danny, liking this less and less.

“Yes, it’s very old magic. An ancient agreement between our race and theirs, and the individual families and the house elves in question.”

“They can’t, like, opt out or anything?”

“That would defeat the point.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “So… Do they get, you know, paid at all?”

“Of course not,” said Draco.

Danny closed his eyes. “Okay. Um. Draco.” How to put this in a way that wouldn’t immediately alienate him. “Isn’t that slavery?”

“No,” said Draco, immediately. “They want to serve.”

“Well, they might say that to you, but human slaves used to say the same thing, because they’d get in trouble if they didn’t.”

Draco opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, confidently, “It isn’t like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“They aren’t human. They want to do this.”

Danny was no stranger to dealing with inhuman mindsets (but he most definitely did not have one himself). Even so…

“I think my point still stands. Like, are there very many house elves in this situation?”

“I don’t know,” said Draco. “I suppose so. Most families of substance and breeding have at least one.”

“Okay. Ah. Look. I’m not even sure where to start with this. Slavery is bad, right? We can agree on that.”

An annoyed expression passed over Draco’s face. “Yes, we can. That’s a given. But that’s for humans—"

“Great. Let’s start there. It’s bad for any human, right? Even, like, no-majs, or stupid humans, or—”

“Muggles,” corrected Draco. “No-maj is the American term.”

“When in Rome, I guess, sure. Muggles, then.”

“Yeah,” said Draco, uncomfortably crossing his arms.

Oh, Ancients, there was something there. Which Danny should have expected, given his birth father, whom he had yet to meet, threw him out of the house literally at birth.

Wizard supremacist weirdos corrupting his poor twin brother.

“Then what makes house elves so different?”

“Like I said, they want to do this. It’s in their nature. You wouldn’t, I don’t know, decide a dog was unhealthy because it barked instead of meowed, would you?” He spread his hands in frustration.

“I’ll give you that, but Looky looked actively afraid of you. And what was she even dressed in? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Giving them real clothes would free them – only if it’s their master, which in this case is Father.” He shifted slightly. “Except for Looky, I suppose, who is technicallymine. Great Aunt—Oh, you won’t know her. Why do you even care?”

“Why do I care about other people suffering? But otherthan that, what’s the difference between a house elf and a human servant? Like, would you treat a human servant like that? If you were a servant, wouldn’t you want to be treated with respect, even if being a servant was all you’d ever wanted?”

“But I’m not a servant.”

“But if you were. Can’t you just try to imagine it? A little? Please?”

“I… fine. But don’t bring this up to Mother and Father. They wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“Deal,” agreed Draco. “So. Do you like your room?”

Danny looked around. “Yeah, actually. It’s nice. Bit different from what I have at home, but, yeah. Good, um. Good floors. And wallpaper. And, um. Do all wizard paintings move like that?” He genuinely hadn’t noticed until just now, intent on the house elf problem.

“Yeah,” said Draco, seemingly relieved at the more normal topic. “It’s an enchantment on the canvas and paint.”

“Seems like it’d be hard to work with,” observed Danny.

“Well, the spell isn’t finished until after the actual painting part is done. At least, that’s my understanding.”

“I see, that would be easier.”

Silence.

“Would you like to see the peacocks?”

“Sure, why not?”

It took a bit of time to get bundled up in coats (cloaks in Draco’s case) because it was cold outside, but once they did…

“Wow. They’re albino peacocks.”

“Yes.”

“Wild.”

“No, they’re quite tame.”

“Oh, it’s, um, it’s an idiom. Like cool. Or wicked, I guess? Do British people use that?”

“I’ve heard some people use it. But Mother and Father are… not particularly enamored of slang.”

“Right,” said Danny. “I’ll remember that.”

They continued walking through the garden, towards the pond. Danny tried not to dwell on how much labor it would take to keep the grounds here so pristine.

“What do you do for fun in America?” asked Draco, out of nowhere.

Danny blinked. “Different people do different things,” he said. “Uh, a lot of things I usually do won’t work here because of the whole magic and electricity not getting along well thing. Have you ever heard about video games?”

“No,” said Draco. “Is it anything like quidditch?”

“I have only the loosest of understandings of what that is. It’s that broom sport, right? The one where you fly?”

Draco looked scandalized. “… Yes,” he said, finally. “I’m going to have to teach you how to use a broom before you have to go back to America.”

“The flying type of broom?” asked Danny, teasingly. Sure, he already could fly, but whatever.

“Merlin, yes.” Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m part of my house’s quidditch team. Letting you leave without some understanding of the rules would be a crime.”

“Draco, are you a jock?” asked Danny. “What is this world coming to. Related to a jock.” He shook his head dramatically. “I’ll never live it down.”

Draco nudged him slightly. “I’m not a meathead beater, at least,” he said. “I’m the team seeker.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Draco’s smile slowly slid off his face.

“What?” said Danny.

“It’s just… you should. You should have grown up here, with family, as part of this world.”

“I did grow up with family,” said Danny. “Just not direct blood relatives. It kind of sucks that we didn’t get the chance to grow up together, but, like, I’m not really impressedby your parents so far.”

“Mother was very upset when she heard what Father did.”

“Sure, but she also kind of ditched us as soon as we got back here.”

“She has a delicate constitution? I’m sure she’s just trying to decide how to act… giving you space to make you feel more comfortable?”

Danny shrugged. “Well, we’ll see what happens. I’m going to be here until the end of the break, after all.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Hogwarts, just for the rest of the school year? I’m sure they’ll be better than any alternative in America, when it comes to catching you up. Father has friends on the board of governors and the Ministry Department of Educational Oversight. It would be easy for you to go.”

“My friends are all back home,” said Danny, “and magic or not, what I really want to do with my life is become an astronaut, and I need ‘muggle’ grades and school for that.”

“A what now?”

“An astronaut?”

Surely, Draco had just misheard him.

“Is that some sort of muggle thing, then?”

“I- Do you not know what an astronaut is?” asked Danny, flabbergasted. “Really?”

Draco’s eyebrows were furrowed. “No, I don’t.”

“How about cosmonauts? Do you know about them?”

“No,” said Draco. “Is this related to the Argonauts, somehow? That Greek thing?”

“No,” said Danny. “I mean, the root word – But no. Not the same thing at all. How do I even… Do you know what outer space is?”

“Astronomy is a class at Hogwarts.”

“Not a very good one,” said Danny, “if you don’t know what an astronaut is. I think I’d die.”

“It’s a very good class. Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in Europe. And I know what outer space is. It’s the space up above the atmosphere, where the planets and stars are, and stuff.”

“Okay. I mean. I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything,” reassured Danny, sensing that he had ruffled some feathers. “I’m just… an astronomy class should teach about astronauts. Astronauts are people who’ve been to space. Outer space.”

“That’s rubbish,” said Draco. “You can’t go to space.”

Danny refrained from informing Draco that he had, in fact, been to space. “Well, I want to go to space,” said Danny, “and other people have been there.”

“No one’s been to space,” said Draco. “Unless maybe someone apparated there by mistake, but how would you even do that?”

“I don’t know what apparating is,” said Danny. “Some kind of teleportation?”

Both of them stared at each other, each one probably at a loss for words regarding the other’s ignorance of things they themselves considered common knowledge.

“Yeah, more or less,” said Draco, finally. “But you can’t get to space. It’s impossible.”

“It isn’t. There are people up there right now,” said Danny. “On the International Space Station. Which is… it’s sort of a little house. In space.”

“There’s no air up there.”

“They bring the air with them.”

“Wouldn’t it explode?”

“They figured out how to make it so it wouldn’t explode. It’s very, um. Sturdy. Rigid. The space station is airtight.”

“And you’re saying that there are muggles in it. In space. Outer space. Right now.”

“As we speak. I mean, I guess some of them could be secret wizards, but considering your reaction, I’m doubting it.”

“Muggles. In space.”

“Yeah. We made it to the moon, too. But that was—”

“The moon?”

“Yeah?”

“In the sky?”

“That, uh.” He looked up, as if expecting to see the moon despite the thick cloud cover. “Yeah. The moon.”

“You’re telling me,” said Draco, in a hushed voice, “that there are muggles on the moon. Right now. As we speak.”

“No, that was before we were born,” said Danny.

“What.”

“Yeah, some people went, but it was really expensive, so they haven’t been back. Which I think is silly, because can you imagine the scientific advancements we could have made? The resources we could have brought back?”

“The moon.”

“You seem really hung up on this. Are you okay?”

“You- That- The moon. And muggles in space?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you see why I need to go back. I’m sure Hogwarts is great and all, but I really want to be an astronaut.”

“Can you see them through a telescope?”

“See what?”

“The muggles in space.”

“On a clear night, sure, if you know where to look.” Before the Accident (the Big One, the Unaliving, the Green Flash, the Knockoff Origin Story), Danny usually checked the internet for the times the ISS passed overhead. But he’d developed a ghost power that gave him a pretty good sense of where anything in the sky was, so long as he concentrated for a few minutes. “It orbits the Earth every ninety minutes or so, although it doesn’t always catch the light enough to see properly. You can actually see a lot of satellites.”

“There are more of these things?” hissed Draco.

“Not with people on them.”

“I’m getting my telescope,” declared Draco, starting to stride back to the house.

“We won’t be able to see anything now,” said Danny.

“It’s enchanted to see through cloud cover and ignore non-reflected sunlight. It’s top of the line.”

Danny had never wanted a physical object so much in his entire life.

“What? What? Magic can do that?”

#danny phantom #stars aligned #dp/hp crossover #dp/hp twin au #fic #fanfic #inspired by ladylynse

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vivianweasley · 3 years

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Pride and Prejudice (Chapter 6)

Summary: Your father is Lucius Malfoy’s cousin, and after the war, it was really difficult for you to find a job because of your last name. So your mother and Mrs. Weasley came up with a crazy idea. A fake marriage between you and Fred Weasley.

Last Chapter! (I combined the last chapter and the epilogue cuz they are not too long.)

Pairing: Fred Weasley X Malfoy!Fem!Reader

Warnings: food mention, mention of divorce, people pretending to choke, proposal.

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimer: photos used in the header are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on any platform! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

Pride and Prejudice Series Masterlist

Fred walked downstairs, noticing a faint smell of apples in the joke shop. “So are we selling apple juice now, Georgie?” he joked.

But George looked confused, “What apple juice? I could only smell caramel-” And then the answer finally came to George, “Amortentia!”

Fred followed George to the shelf displaying amortentia and immediately realized a firecracker just exploded next to this shelf, causing at least four bottles of amortentia to break and the love potion inside to spill.

George waved his wand and cleaned up the mess, but a satisfied smirk soon appeared on George’s lips, “Strange. Didn’t know you liked apples this much.”

“Shut up and go back to work!” Fred raised his voice, covering for the fact that he’s a complete mess now.

That fainting smell of apple that’s still lingering in the shop also had a dash of the scent of book pages in it. And this combination could only remind Fred of one person.

You.

The person whom he married out of a dare. The person who he fell in love with during the process. The person who just walked out of his life.

George noticed the change in Fred’s expression. How defeat was now written all over his face. “Mate, you need to do something. You can’t just let her walk away like that.”

“What can I do?” Fred sighed, “Maybe she’s been waiting for this all the time.”

George sighed with Fred. This wasn’t like his brother. Soon the lingering smell of amortentia caught his attention, and a brilliant idea popped into George’s mind. “She has feelings for you too, and I can prove it to you!”

You pushed open the door of the joke shop. George just called you claiming that there’s an emergency, so you rushed to the joke shop immediately after work.

George approached you with a small glass vial, “Y/N, this is the new perfume I just made. I need your opinion.”

So this is the emergency??

You looked at George, couldn’t decipher what his smile meant. But you did know one thing. In fact, everyone who went to school with the twins should know the rule: be careful of what they handed to you. So you stepped away from that vial and asked with caution, “When did the joke shop start selling perfume?”

“Oh, we are always trying to expand our business,” George noticed how you became alert, so he added, “I swear to Merlin, this is not a prank!”

Still finding his smile suspicious, but for Merlin’s sake, you still decided to take the vial.

“Does it smell good? What does it smell like?” George asked carefully.

“Hmm...” The perfume did smell very good. You could smell the sweetness of cinnamon, a dash of gunpowder, but it also smelled so familiar. It smelled like...Fred’s cologne? “George, I’m pretty sure someone else has already made a perfume like this.”

“Really? How so?” George felt his heart beating at his throat, so scared that you might say another person’s name.

“Isn’t this just Fred’s cologne?” You were finding this unbelievable. How could George not recognize his own twin’s cologne?

“Oh really!!” Hearing a definitive answer from you has made George so happy that he pulled you into a hug. “Got it! Thank you for your opinion! You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome...?” Watching George being so happy that he could start dancing at any minute, you were beginning to think that the chemicals in the perfume were toxic. How could making a plagiarized perfume make a man so happy?

Two days later, you apparated to the joke shop again. It was raining outside. Maybe the weather was trying to set the tone for what was about to happen next. After taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door of the twins’ apartment, the apartment that you called home for the past year.

Fred opened the door, letting you in without saying a word. You tried not to look at him so you could appear indifferent and won’t be affected by his expressions.

“Here’s the divorce document,” you said as you took out all the paper in your bag. He took the documents and flipped through the papers quickly, still not saying anything at all.

You couldn’t tell if his silence meant he’s also not ready to say goodbye or he just had nothing to say to you. But you tried not to overthink as you continued, “Oh, before you sign it, you still have one wish left. What do you want me to do?”

“What if I said,” he finally looked at you, his eyes capturing yours, “I don’t want you to go?”

His words were like a drum in your ears, rendered you speechless. Before you could fully process what he just said, Fred continued, “It might sound crazy, but for the past few days, I realized I just couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore. I know I’ve lived 20 years without you perfectly fine, but now that I’ve had you in my life, I don’t ever want to live without you again. I know I could be insensitive sometimes, and I probably did something stupid that made you mad in the past year, but I’m willing to change if you tell me to.”

“All I’m trying to say is,” he took a deep breath and continued, “Please allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. And please don’t divorce me.“

You finally let out a soft laugh. That’s Mr. Darcy’s line in Pride and Prejudice. You remembered reading this part to him during Christmas, and you couldn’t believe that he actually memorized this line.

Fred panicked when you weren’t talking, “But of course, if you really want to, I wouldn’t stop you. I-“

“You know, you don’t have to use your last wish on this,” you stopped him, “I was going to say yes anyway. But If you insist, that won’t be a problem with me.”

Fred’s eyes widened as he processed your words, “Wait, does that mean-“

You answered his question by pulling him down and pressing a kiss on his lips. He was shocked by your sudden action but soon kissed you back with his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer to him.

So this is what it feels like to kiss him, and it’s so much better than how you’ve imagined it would be. It started a soft kiss but soon became more passionate, as if you were making up for all the time you two spent on being oblivious.

“Should’ve done this earlier.” A smirk appeared on Fred’s lips when you finally pulled away.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were still heated.

He chuckled before giving you another soft peck on the lips. His hands were still resting on your waist.

“And you’re still this idiot’s wife.”

～(warning: people pretending to choke, food mention)~

“Y/N, there’s a Mr. Weasley looking for you,” the receptionist raised her eyebrows and smiled at you.

“Thanks! I’ll be done in a minute!” You quickly finished the last sentence and looked at Luna from across the table with your puppy eyes.

She chuckled, “Alright, you can leave early today.”

“Thanks, Luna, you’re the best!” You flicked your wand to pack up your bag before running to the door.

“Tell Fred I said hi!” you heard Luna’s voice behind you.

“I will!”

A month after your fake marriage ended, you quit your job at Whizz Hard Books. You didn’t want to work in a place that wouldn’t accept who you really are.

Ginny introduced you to Luna Lovegood and The Quibbler. You immediately fell in love with the whimsical ideas and style of The Quibbler, and Luna gave you a new job as you two hit it off very quickly. So this is where you work now. No need to hide your background and use a fake last name. This place accepted you for who you are.

Fred was at the door, opening his arms when he saw you running to him. “Happy one-year anniversary, darling!”

You giggled as you ran into his arms, “and this time, it’s real.”

“Yep,” he pressed a kiss on your forehead, “ready?”

You nodded, and the next second you two apparated to your favorite restaurant.

The dinner was delicious, and for dessert, Fred ordered your favorite cake. But when you were enjoying the cake, you suddenly felt something hard inside. This was extremely dangerous, for you could’ve swallowed it if you weren’t paying attention. You were just about to complain when you finally realized what it was.

It’s a ring!

You were surprised. Was Fred trying to propose? But last time you checked, you two were still legally a married couple.

But this also seemed like what he would do on your one-year anniversary. You were sure he was waiting to see your surprised face, and an idea soon came to you.

You pretended that you were trying to pick up your spoon because your elbow “accidentally” swept it down on the floor a few seconds ago. When you were sure Fred couldn’t see you, you slid the ring on your finger. Then you got up and took another bite of the cake like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

A few seconds later, you started coughing. Your brows were furrowed as your hands reached for your neck like you just choked on something.

Fred was freaking out, knowing that he’s the reason behind all this, “Darling, are you alright?”

The only response you could produce was a few glottal sounds and you looked like you were almost crying.

Fred ran to you as fast as possible. He wanted to help, but he had no idea what to do as his brain was in an absolute mess now. The only thing he could manage to do was apologizing again and again, “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have done that. Baby, I’m so sorry…”

The noise you two were making attracted the other customers’ attention, and you saw a waiter approaching you with his wand, trying to help. You knew it’s probably time to stop this prank.

“Are you talking about this?” You finally stopped acting and waved your left hand in front of him.

Fred’s expression froze, still trying to recover from the terror of accidentally hurting you. After a few moments, he finally realized, “Wait, does that mean…”

“YES!” You chuckled.

Fred’s furrowed brows finally unfolded as a bright smile appeared on his lips. He picked you up and spun you around, “She said YES!”

The crowd around you was clapping and cheering while your husband was cheering himself as well.

You giggled, “Freddie, you know we never went through with the divorce, right? So technically, I’m still your wife.”

“I know, darling, but I figured that I owe you a proper proposal,” he said while pressing multiple soft kisses on your face, “Plus, I just want to make this official. I love you, darling.”

“I love you too,” You smiled as your lips found his again, “I love you most ardently.”

A/N: I can’t believe I really finished this series asdfgfgjk Thank you guys so so much for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking this series. I can’t tell you how much your support means to me❤️

Series Taglist: @ifilosemyselfagain @theweasleytwinsgirl @bookworm06 @unabashedbookscollector @txtdreamss @sagittarius-flowerchild @rsheridan @ovrwd @anywherebuthere @allaroundaddict @jeminila @secretsofageek @magical-spit @freddieweasleyswife @lilypad-55449 @hufflepuffzutara @honey-honey-5644 @kyloren-peterparker @treblebeth @kyloren-peterparker @fred-sux @rodrickmalfoy @liliputbahn @its-yasbxtch @daydreamgirl8 @305weasley @awritingtree @lucymfer @bberree @malfoy-wife15 @weasleyxmalfoyxstyles @justfollowtheroad @nojamsonmytoast @amc723

(If your name is bolded, Tumblr wont let me tag you. And I’m really sorry if I forgot you!)

(General taglist in reblogged post cuz it can’t fit in one post)

#fred weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley series #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction

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musings-from-mars · 3 years

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@nuts-and-dolts-week - Day 1 : Childhood Friends (or, acquaintances?)

((EDIT: I reblogged this with an AO3 link if you want to leave a comment!))

Ruby hadn’t really understood why her dad had been so nervous about this big trip to Atlas. A whole week in the most technologically advanced place in Remnant? How could this not be the coolest thing ever? Almost all of her Signal classmates were going on the week-long trip, too. Despite her dad’s “I don’t knows” and “maybes,” Ruby had managed to get him to sign the permission slip and pay the dues for her to go. Of course, his condition that he chaperone was annoying, but at least it was happening! Ruby couldn’t wait to see the cool tech and weapons at Atlas Academy.

Much to her dismay, however, Ruby realized this school trip was ending up being way more boring than she expected. As her dad had put it, this really was shaping up to be “an elaborate recruitment event dressed up like an educational trip.” High-ranking military types and grizzled old academy professors gave tour after lecture after presentation, but to Ruby, it all blurred together. Who cared about graduation rates, or quality of education? Ruby wanted to see the cool stuff!

Which is why, despite knowing it would probably get her in trouble, she sneaked away during a lecture on the history of the kingdom to try to look around for something more interesting. Her class had spent the whole day at this academy, so Ruby knew well enough that this place was huge. But she hoped what little she’d manage to see would feature something cool. Maybe a weapons workshop, or a tech lab of some sort. There had to be something around in these huge echo-y halls.

Just when she was about to give up her search and sneak back into the lecture hall, she heard something from a nearby room. She shuffled closer and listened, noticing the placard by the door, Project Workshop #307.

“Her software is coming along even better than planned,” a man’s voice from within spoke. “The specifics of her hardware is the more troublesome aspect. But as an individual, she is displaying a tremendous level of self-awareness and agency. Not to mention she is quite personable and friendly, if not a tad bit literal. I’m still working on her ability to detect hyperbole.”

“It’s very impressive,” another man spoke. He sounded familiar. “But I am certain you know that the hardware is the top priority at this time. I find you focus too much on this project’s more...sentimental aspects.”

“Yes, well, you did ask for her to be as believable as possible. And I feel she is well on the way to achieving that goal!”

“Indeed. But you do understand what I am telling you, correct?”

“Yes, general. Understood.”

General? General Ironwood, that guy who gave the big welcome speech that morning?

“Good. I am very satisfied with the progress you’ve made on this project. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, sir. Good day!”

Ruby heard the sturdy thumping of boots on the floor, and she panicked and petal burst away to hide under a nearby bench. She held her breath and watched as who must have been the general walk past, none the wiser. She sighed in relief, then began to crawl out from under the bench only to see someone else leaving the same room, and she yelped and hid once more.

The person walked by her hiding spot, or...a robot? Four robotic legs ambled down the hall, and Ruby thought for a second that a big mech had been released inside the school. She poked her head out to look, but instead saw a man in a chair. It was like a wheelchair, but...with legs. Still cool, but not a mech.

Once the man and his robo-chair had disappeared around a corner, Ruby turned her attention to the room he’d left. He’d shut the door and she feared it was locked, but was relieved when it opened when she tried the knob. She grinned and looked both ways down the hall one more time, then entered. Time to see what this project was.

The men had talked about software, and how realistic she was becoming. Was this an AI of some sorts? A completely artificial person, even? The concept blew Ruby’s mind, and she hoped that was the case. She entered the room and gently shut the door behind herself, then turned to see...a laptop. A laptop sitting on a table, surrounded by notebooks and papers. Ruby had been expecting something cooler to look at. Maybe an android, like the hardware the men had talked about. She gave the notebooks a closer look, and was at least intrigued by their content.

The P.E.N.N.Y. Project.

“Penny...” Ruby muttered in curiosity as she looked at the header of one of the notebooks.

The laptop screen turned on, a bright lime green. “Salutations!”

“Wah-!” Ruby yelped and almost fell over, instead managing to land her butt in a nearby desk chair. She looked at the laptop with wide eyes. The screen was completely lime green, save for a small power on/power off icon in the bottom right.

“‘Wah’?” The feminine voice asked. “What does that mean?”

Ruby held her breath as she slowly adjusted herself in her seat, then used her legs to roll her way closer to the monitor. “Hello?”

“Hello!” The voice answered with delight.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked.

“I am Project P.E.N.N.Y., but you may just call me Penny.”

Ruby’s jaw fell open, and she glanced at the notebook again. “You...you’re an artificial intelligence.”

The voice seemed to giggle. “In a way, I am. My intelligence is man-made, but my more proper categorization is ‘Synthetic Person.’”

“Woah...” Ruby murmured, staring at the screen.

“‘Woah?’“ Penny asked. “What does that mean?”

“It...” Ruby wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s just a thing you say when, like, you see something really cool.”

“‘Woah’ is an exclamation of wonder?”

“Yeah!” Ruby said with a laugh. “That makes more sense than what I said.”

“Thank you for teaching me!”

“Uh, sure.” Ruby was talking to a computer. Or, well, a synthetic person. This was so flipping awesome! This was exactly the kind of thing she had been hoping to find.

“Who are you?” Penny asked.

“I-I’m Ruby.”

“It is wonderful to meet you, Ruby!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. “And it’s awesome meeting you too!”

“You are the first person besides my fathers that I have gotten to talk to so freely.”

Her fathers? “You mean the general, and that man in the...spider chair?”

“Precisely!” Penny confirmed. “Pietro Polendina is the one who is designing me, and General Ironwood is overseeing my progress.”

“That’s really cool,” Ruby said with a laugh. “When do you think you’ll be finished?”

“That is uncertain at this time. My father is currently designing a physical body for me! But the problem with that is without an Aura of my own—”

The door suddenly opened, and Ruby spun around in her chair to face whoever it was. Except she spun herself a little too hard and continued rotating, having to turn her head to face the man in the robo-chair while scrambling to stop her spinning.

“P-pardon me,” the man said, eyes wide and glasses crooked on his face as he stared at Ruby.

“Sorry!” Ruby yelped, hopping to her feet and standing upright, rubbing the back of her head. “I, uh...” She then quickly fell to the floor and mimed searching around for something. “I dropped my...lucky bottle cap.” My what...?

The man adjusted his glasses and chuckled. “Child, shouldn’t you be with your classmates?”

Ruby’s cheeks warmed. “Yeah, uhm...I got lost?”

The man Ruby deduced to be the Pietro Polendina whom Penny had mentioned shook his head fondly. “I do not blame your curiosity, young one.” He glanced at the desk. “I see you have made an acquaintance, Penny.”

“Ruby and I are acquainted?” Penny asked, sounding excited. “I have never been acquainted to someone before!”

Pietro chuckled fondly, like Ruby’s dad would anytime she’d go on a ramble about weapons or types of Grimm. “And while I am all in favor of you meeting new people in time, I’m afraid all information to do with you is proprietary at the moment. You and Ruby will have to catch up some other time.”

“I understand,” Penny said. “My conversational software is very impressionable.”

Ruby stood back to her feet as straight as she could, feeling hot under her Signal uniform. “So, uhh, I should go, huh?”

“Do not forget about your lucky bottle cap!” Penny reminded her earnestly.

“Oh, uhh...” Ruby’s face burned.

Pietro let out a hearty laugh and shuffled his robo-chair to the side. “Run along, Ruby. You are certainly missing a riveting retelling of Atlas’ military history.” Humorous sarcasm tinged his words.

Ruby nodded and awkwardly marched to the door. “Y-yes, sir,” she said, then struggled with whether she should salute or not, then compromised with a wave. “Uhm...bye, Penny.”

“Farewell! I hope to talk to you again soon, acquaintance!“

#nuts and dolts week #rwby #nuts and dolts #penny polendina #ruby rose #pietro polendina #drabble

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

Pink Camellia

A/N: I love plants and i love learning the meanings of them. I will have to put a disclaimer here, some of these may have multiple meanings depending on where the information is taken from. I went back to the Victorian Era meanings. This is part 1 of 7 of my Love Blossom Series where each member gets to have their own story amongst flowers. I wanted to call this a drabble as i wrote it quickly but i realised 2k is not a drabble but oh well. Hope it's an enjoyable read!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox do NOT repost or reblog. Gif cr

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (non-idol!au, florist!Namjoon, cafe owner!reader)

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none it's pure rotten fluff

Word count: 2k

You loved late spring. The cool soft air of spring morphing into the warm glowy summer atmosphere was the perfect time of the year in your opinion. Not only did the milder warmer weather make everything seem so joyful and light-hearted, but the sunny brighter environment caressed your skin as you walked. The cafe was not too far from your house but to get there you had to go through a park. The smell of the freshly bloomed flowers and the sound of children cheerfully playing put a spring in your step as you walked towards your work.

The park through it’s different seasons had its perks. In the summer it was the grounds for family picnics; in spring it was full of couples old and new enjoying their time together. When it got chillier, you could see the odd runner through the brightly coloured leaves and in the winter, the unhindered vastness of the park covered in a blanket of snow. But of course you much more preferred the warmth of late spring, early summer.

You’ve known Namjoon for a while, his flower shop opened just down the road from yours a couple of years back. When you entered his shop for the first time, the array of flowers were arranged in such a beautiful way that it took your breath away. The smells encompassed you, and transported you to a secret garden so that you completely forgot that it was just a shop.

“Hello”

So enraptured you were with your surroundings you completely missed the appearance of a man behind the counter. He stood in front of a now open door that signed ‘Staff only’. So he worked there, you concluded. You smiled at him warmly. “Hello, this shop is lovely. I have never seen such a variety of flowers in one place”

The man’s smile widened. “Thank you for the kind words. I have tried my best to build an understanding of the flowers I am bringing into my shop. I was planning to have one for every occasion, and yet…” he motioned around you “this happened” rubbing the back of his neck you could see the tip of his ears reddening. He was cute when he rambled.

“All the better, they all look lovely displayed in such a way. And the more the merrier” you laughed softly. “So you are the owner” you mused after a couple of seconds of silence.

“Yes, i’m Namjoon...i mean, yes i am the owner” the redness was creeping along his neck now and you could not find it more adorable.

Even if this was just your first meeting you could tell by his warm eyes and soft smile that revealed dimples that he was kind and humble.

“Nice to meet you Namjoon, i’m Y/N” you both shared a smile.

From then on you had been enraptured.

You had not planned to go into his shop every morning before work and pick up flowers to spruce up your cafe. But after one week of doing it, simply out of sheer pleasure of being in between the greens and the smells of the shop, it became habit. But most importantly you found yourself excited in anticipation of conversing with the owner as well. So one week turned into two, three. Until one day Namjoon suggested that instead of you making a trek to his shop, he would deliver flowers to you in the morning before you’d open the cafe. When you argued that it would be too much of a hassle for him he dismissed it, letting you know that he was starting to do deliveries anyways and so it would be no problem for him.

What he failed to mention was that his shop was not open as early as you normally came in to buy flowers. The first day you met was a mistake. A lucky one in his opinion; but a mistake nonetheless. They’d just opened the shop, totally forgoing to put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. When he saw you in your awed state wandering around the shop, he did not have the heart to tell you they were not going to open until later on that day. You looked almost ethereal, the happy smile on your face giving you a soft glow that the flowers around you only enhanced. You bought a bouquet of sunflowers that day. Loyalty, he noted wondering if that was your favourite flower or if you just bought it on a whim. He made a mental note to himself to ask you next time, wishing there would be a next time.

And there was, there would be next times everyday for weeks. You made it a habit to walk into his shop every morning after that, buy flowers and have a nice chat with the cute owner. Whom, you’d found out was incredibly clumsy. He apologised profusely after dropping a vase full of flowers at your feet, he offered to pay for the dry cleaning of your coat when he tripped out of nowhere and spilled some plant food on you. One day he even managed to get soil into your shoes. You had to give it to him, you had never met anyone so clumsy and destructive in your life. It was impressive. And most importantly, it was cute. The way he reddened from the tips of his ears downwards whilst stumbling over his own words, made your own heart beat as fast as the words that were coming out of his mouth.

When he was not making a mess out of himself of the breakable objects in his shop, you had nice chats about random things. From books- he liked to read you noted, poems- he wrote some, he told you, weather- his favourite season was spring, travels-he seems to have been everywhere; to trivial things such as the food you had that day or the customers that you would get. Little by little you got to know each other. And little by little Namjoon had started to fall in love with you.

Unbeknownst to him, the feelings were reciprocated. Once he had started making deliveries to your cafe every morning, you looked forward to waking up in the morning and starting your day. Being greeted by his warm smile which accentuated his dimples was the highlight of your morning. The first week he had asked you which flowers you wanted delivered.

“I don’t know” you responded thoughtfully. In reality you had no idea about flowers, you loved them, but you did not know anything else apart from what was visible. “Surprise me Flower Boy” you grinned at him.

Once you had given him the go ahead, the types of flowers that he could deliver for you was all Namjoon could think about. All those meanings were swimming around in his head, carnations for love? No, that would be too straight forward. Lilac? Too dark. Sunflowers again, adoration? Maybe too cheesy. He settled in the end for daisies. Simple and innocent.

“Oh they are beautiful” you gushed as soon as you spotted him carrying the bunches into your cafe. Rushing to help him you misstepped and stumbled into him. For someone who was on a daily basis as clumsy as he was, he did a very good job at not falling over with you on top of him. And he congratulated himself for that, he deserved a medal. Your form leaning into him and the warmth of your hand on his bicep was enough to make the blood rush to his cheeks and his heart to pound.

“Oh, i’m really sorry” with a choked voice, he assured you it was no problem.

“I have done enough damage to you in the past few weeks” he grinned. “I’ll take it as a payback” you laughed at that and grabbed some bunches from his arms.

“They are so lovely, thank you” instructing him to put them over near the window, you went behind the counter to start on a drink for him. “Is a latte ok?” you asked over your shoulder. Too lost in his thoughts whilst observing your form he did not answer the first time. Asking again, you glanced briefly at him, noticing the slight dazed look he was offering you.

“Namjoon” you softly called, the intimate tone of your voice finally waking him up from his reverie.

“Ah, yes it is ok” he would not admit that at that moment, seeing you making his drink and the way you softly called his name - it felt like home.

After that moment, he started bringing in Camellias. And only camellias. Pink. The colour of them combined with the neutrals of your shop made everything brighter and lighter. Even in the winter he brought you camellias. At first you did not think much of it. They were lovely and you had an elated reaction to them. So you assumed that he’d thought they were the flowers that you preferred. But when you started noticing certain changes in his behaviour, certain looks, certain smiles. Sometimes he’d space out whilst staring at you doing mundane tasks in your shop. Something was nagging you. Was there a deeper meaning behind the camellias?

You tried asking him, but he gave nothing away. He flustered, knocked over a chair and exited out of your cafe quickly whilst apologising for having to leave so early. And so you let it drop. But the next time he came in, it felt like the air around the two of you had changed. As if there was a secret that was hanging in between the two of you. Something that buzzed around the two of you. Every interaction after that left you breathless.

So you did what any other human being would do when they need answers. You researched on the internet. Pink Camellias. You clicked on the first link, your eyes skimming over the words. Longing for you.

The next day you woke up extra early, determined to make it to Namjoon’s flower shop before he had a chance to come to yours. You had a flower order to request from him. On the way there the smell and sights of late spring put an extra skip in your step. Or maybe it was the thought of the cute Flower Boy you were going to meet? Biting your lip softly you started at the glass door of the flower shop. This time the sign said ‘Closed’ but you knew Namjoon would be in pitter pattering.

Opening the door, you stepped in. “We’re clo- Y/N!” Namjoon emerged through the same door signed ‘Staff Only’. “I’m not late to deliver the flowers, am i?” panicking he glanced at the clock.

You shook your head, it was now or never.

“I thought I would come in early to make a slight change in the delivery” you glanced at him trying to gage his reaction. Confusion painted across his face. Then entering his customer service mode he stepped away from the counter and started looking around.

“Of course, what would you like? We have a new batch of sunflowers in? You ordered those last time so maybe those? Or some flowers that are better in late spring? How about lilacs?” rambling he made his way round the multitude of flower arrangements.

Grabbing his hand to stop him, you sighed. It was now or never.

Stepping closer and closer to him, where you could observe his eyes, you smiled softly. Standing on your tiptoes you reached to place a warm kiss on his cheek.

“I was thinking something more like...roses?”

The silence that followed and his astounded face made you question yourself. Had you misread the situation? Soon though warm arms enveloped you tightly, hugging you to his chest. The rhythm of his heart, the slight pressure of his lips at the top of your crown and the whisper in your hair told you he’d gotten it.

“Love”

Main Masterlist

#namjoon x oc #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #bts scenarios #fluff #bts #kpop fluff #scenarios #kpop scenarios #bts rm #i wrote this so fast i don't know what happened

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spookysmujer · 4 years

Text

Mi Hombre, O. Diaz

Summary: You overhear Monse trash talking about Oscar and you’ve had enough of him being painted as the villain.

warnings: monse being a hater!, cute s h e t, freak s h e t 👅

word counter: 1.5K

requested by: @un-poetryy

A/N: I always give the “bad” guys the benefit of the doubt because my attraction to toxic men began with Damon Salvatore LOL. Thank you for requesting, I love trying new things when writing for Spooky, this was fun! SEND ME ASKS/REQUESTS! I finally turned on the Anon option, heh. And don’t forget, please: follow, heart it and leave some comments, reblog and also turn on the notifs for when I post! Lots of love!!

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @firebenderwolf @spookysnena @princesstiffxoxo @mbaku-babygirl @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc (please let me know if you wanna be added or removed!)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, owner unknown!)

The sun is warm against your skin and the slight breeze is adding to a perfect summer day. Now that school is out, the public pool has extended it’s days of operations and hours, so here you are out with you boyfriend’s little brother and friends, tanning and having a relaxing day.

Oscar called you saying to meet him at the pool since he’s really trying to avoid spending any alone time at home with his estranged father. As you await his arrival, you’re laying back and letting the sun fill in the paler parts of your skin due to your bikini straps. And it’s been lovely but you’re starting to lose you’re patience as Monse, Cesar’s toxic ass girlfriend, keeps talking ill about Oscar.

You sigh once more as you try to zero out on the things she is saying about him but it’s getting real hard to bite your tongue the more she goes on. It’s Oscar “Spooky” Diaz and of course everyone has an opinions about everyone. And rightfully so but Monse only says bad things about her boyfriend’s older brother. Every single time it’s something negative. And granted you don’t spend much time with her, it’s sad that she can’t say one good thing.

It’s also when Oscar is never around and the devil is prying to get out of you to say something. Oh, please say something. But you keep your eyes closed and pray that your boyfriend arrives soon. The last thing you want is to cause a scene in a family area.

“I mean he’s been hanging around a lot and it’s just annoying he gotta bring his gang tendencies when it’s been clear as day you don’t want nothing to do with it. Doesn’t he have drugs to sell? or other people to jump into the gang?” Monse says and you huff audibly.

Though you got your eyes closed, you could feel her gaze move to you briefly.

Cesar only sighs as Monse kept on going and that was the tip of the iceberg for you. How can Cesar not defend is older brother? You know the shit the Diaz brothers have been through but to not defend someone who has defended you on countless occasions?

“Seriously? You really going keep talking shit, Monse? I’m convinced you’re obsessed with Oscar since all you ever do is talk about him,” You’ve had enough, you get up and say to her as you stand above them,

Both she and Cesar look up at you, surprised. “I-I, uh, was just saying th-”

“No, you weren’t just fucking saying nothing. You’re trash talking his brother and my boyfriend and it’s shit on me to have waited this long to say something but you’re such a pussy for only knowing how to talk smack when he’s not around.”

She tilts her head to the side and stands to cross her arms over her chest, “I have no problem saying this to his face as well. He must have you whipped if you are too blind to see that all he is is trouble, Y/N. You’re a smart girl, you deserve someone better than Oscar.”

If you could see the world in a single color right now, it’d be red and for Monse it’s about to be black considering you want to pop her one right in the mouth. You’re at a disbelief that she can’t give Oscar the benefit of the doubt considering he has done a lot for his brother and group of friends. Everytime there had been an issue that they couldn’t solve, which was 99.9% of the time, Oscar came in with the save.

You see your boyfriend walk through the gated entrance of the public pool. He makes his way over to the food stand and you smile to yourself, the sight of him always making you melt, “ I am a smart girl, thank you. I’m smart enough to know that no one in this world is perfect. We all have flaws, Oscar knows it too. But you’re quick to forget that if it weren’t for him, you all would probably be 6 feet under next to Lil Ricky, who isn’t even 6 feet under might I add!”

She laughs a little to herself before continuing, “And we wouldn’t have gotten in those situations had Oscar not jumped his little brother into that stupid gang of wannabes anyways! Who does that? Forces his own family into something he didn’t want to be apart of? That’s messed up! And you the complicit one that stands by not saying anything!” Monse says loudly, now catching the attention of those around you. Even Oscar is now looking your way, you and Monse in each other’s faces.

You weren’t planning to make a big scene about this, you just wanted to call her out on her bullshit peacefully, if that is even possible. But if the shoe fits? You lace that bitch up and wear it.

You scoff and step closer to her face, “Cesar grew up in this life, wake the fuck up, Monse! It looks like a duck, it quacks like a duck, it’s a fucking duck! Think this lil duckling was gonna join the rabbit family and live a peaceful life? That is how the world revolves, that is how people like us survive. Whether you like it or not. Yes, it is messed up. And I can promise you, Oscar never wanted this life to begin with, not for him and definitely not for his brother, whom he raised. Was it a perfect life? No. But it was and still is enough.

“So I swear to God, if you can’t say anything nice please shut the fuck up. Don’t say shit. Because if you wanna point out flaws, let’s all do it, hm? Gather around family and friends, “ You look around and say, “We’re gonna play the What’s wrong with Monse game I’ll start, she’s toxic as fuck! She loves to play the victim, she’s dating a freshly jumped in Santo, which she claims are wannabe gangsters!”

Everyone’s attention is on you now, Oscar is trying his best not to laugh at the situation but when you get argumentative, it’s a damn good time. You have valid points and Monse knows it. The people with the most problems never like to admit them. She has a look of embarrassment plastered on her face.

“Y/N...” Cesar speaks up, also with a look of embarrassment on his face. He scratches the back of his head as he looks around and spots his brother in the distant. Oscar raises his water bottle in the air as a notion of, Salud.

You cross your arms and wait for him to say something but he only looks down at his feet and rocks on his heels. Monse’s mouth agape at his lack of input, “What’s wrong? You upset he’s not defending you? That’s how complicit ones are, sweetheart. They see the problem and let it go on so long as it’s not personally affecting them. Which means you probably just a piece of culo. And also means he’s a little puto for not defending his brother. A little bitch! Both of you!”

“Hey, hey mamas. Calmate, com’n. Let’s go get some food, hm?” Oscar appears and starts to pull you away as you spew out the last of your words. He can feel your skin is warm to the touch and it is not from the tanning either.

He is smiling like a fool once you two make your way to the stand, “Wow, my lady defends my name even when I’m not around.”

You shake your head and cross you arms, exhaling a much needed breath through your nose. Monse is collecting her things, angrily and storming out to the parking lot. A frantic Cesar following, you look back to Oscar and both laugh.

“Was I too harsh?” You ask him, he shakes his head in disagreement.

“Nah, bout time someone tells her off and you did just that. It’s hot, y’know? Calling them out for talking shit.” You look to him and whack your arm on his stomach, he wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of you head. “What else would my lil traviesa do for me?”

As you tip your head back to answer, Jasmine walks towards the two of you blasting music from her phone.

I don’t wanna spit, I wanna gulp

I wanna gag, I wanna choke

I want you to touch that lil dangly dang that swang in the back of my throat

You look to Oscar and wink at him, feeling the hardness in his swim trunks as you lick your lips. He clears his throat looking at Jasmine that means to leave. She snobs you two and walks off.

“Aye, you gotta walk in front me. He won’t let up.” You look between the two of you and see his boner. Laughing away, you let him trail very close behind you.

#Oscar Diaz #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz x you #oscar diaz x y/n #spooky diaz x reader #spooky imagine #spooky diaz x y/n #spooky diaz x you #spooky x you #spooky x y/n #spookysmujer #on my block #on my block imagine #omb #netflix on my block

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cherriesradio · 3 years

Text

I would have given you the world, did that mean nothing to you?

Oikawa x Reader — Angst

Warnings: angst, cheating, very poorly edited lol, tumblr glitches >:[

Word Count: 1,477? Idk words a lair

“I just have practice. I’ll only be another minute.”

That was the first excuse. Which; you only realized by the end of the story. He repeated that statement every time you texted him, which was five times by now. You couldn’t question him, he always worked longer at practice. That’s something you loved about him, just how determined he is to get it right. To do his best. Apparently, that’s not how he looked at you.

“Just… get home soon. You know how worried I get. I care about you, and I want you to care about my feelings, too.” You said. It felt as if those words described everything you’ve been feeling the last few days.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be home as soon as I can. And of course I care about your feelings, why would I not?” Oikawa chuckled softly. You didn’t feel as comforted as you were meant to be.

And you had been to Iwaizumi’s house before. Sure it’s closer to the school then Oikawa’s, but it’s far compared to how close your house is. Could he not just stay at yours?

And it’s been only a few day since the first excuse.

And this time was much worse. You had only seen him at school the last few days, and you craved his touch. It felt like he must be a million miles away, and that he could emerge reach you.

You wanted him. Hell, at this point you could settle for just a call. Or a text. That’s all he’s given you in the last few days, anyway.

“I’m here!!”

Those words quickly rung through your ear, immediately sprinting to your front door. Oikawa, your darling Oikawa, was finally coming to visit you after a week.

“Toru!!” You cheered, throwing yourself into his arms. Sure they were open to you like normal, but it hasn’t been normal lately. But that’s fine. He’s tired, he can’t help it.

“Hey Cutie! How are you?” He said with that classic smirk, not quiet yours though. Your smirk was warm and made you feel fluffy, and cared for. This… this wasn’t your smirk.

But that’s besides the point. He’s still your Oikawa, isn’t he? He’s yours. Well, romantically anyway. Your not possessive.

The rest of the day was filled with not-quite-warm-enough cuddles, not-quite-sweet-enough kisses, and perfect little romcom worlds that the both of you adored.

By the end of the day, you had your head in his lap and were asleep.

You were disappointed when you woke to a dark room and feet shuffling out the door at 2 am.

TEN MISSED CALLS

Those three words ran through your head like they were in a marathon, and they were sure determined to win.

It’s been two weeks. If you did the math, that’s precisely 1.4 calls per day. Why didn’t he answer? Yes it’s the first week of summer, sure he was busy that last week of school. But isn’t graduation meant to be… romantic? No, not romantic per say, but it’s where the couples hop in the others arms and spin them around and kiss their lips likes it’s their last chance.

Maybe you should text him. Yeah, why didn’t you do that in the first place?

“Hey babe. What’s goin on? We haven’t talked in a while :(“

No, no. That makes you look desperate. Maybe that’s what you want though? No, you shouldn’t guilt trip him into hanging out with you.

“Hey babes!! Wanna hang out at the Park later? I’ll bring food ;]”

Too arrogant.

“Hey baby, wanna hang out later? I miss ya lol”

Perfect. Not to desperate, not to arrogant. Perfection. And sent.

Delivered.

Read.

“Ehhh I’m so sorry cutie, I promised the team I’d help them practice at the park today :(“

Course. He was working with them team.

It made sense, really. At least it should’ve. But it didn’t, not to you.

You sigh, you breath heavy and hot on your hand holding your phone. You brought it slightly closer to your face, proceeding to look at cute couples photos and yearning for the rest of the day.

“I’m forever yours.”

You heard those words on the regular. Heard. Why does he no long tell you he wants you to tell him every single thought that ever comes to your head? Why doesn’t he ask what’s on your mind and gets invested even if it’s the weather? Why doesn’t he profess his love to you in front of his team, showing off just how much he adores you?

Is he not happy with you?

“Their my other half.”

You never liked it when he called you that. He was his own person, and so were you. Did he want to be able to tell someone that? Did he want someone who would need him to survive?

“Your a cutie.”

You turned your head over to where you heard the familiar words. So warm, and inviting… so Oikawa. No, no, it’s probably just another cute couple. A couple with a brown haired and eyed man, who had the slyest smirk in the world.

“Y/n? Y/n, what are you staring at?” Yachi, your best friend (whom for some reason you didn’t tell any of this to) said, tapping your shoulder.

“Yachi. Can-can you see that?” You said, pointing towards your boyfriend. Your beloved Oikawa, sitting in a booth with a girl who you didn’t know existed till now, sipping from a milkshake that has two straws.

Silence. Yachi, your beloved and trusted, chatterbox of a girl, was silent.

“Y/n… are you alright?” She said. She put both her hands on your shoulders, pulled herself close to you. You didn’t even realize you were tearing up.

You always thought that people are like… cups. Through out any amount of time you can fill them, little by little. The more full they get… they more complicated feelings packed on top on each other… the cup slowely but surely fills up, all the way up to the top. When it’s filled over the top… the water spills out.

Tears spilled out of your eyes, shimmering and shinning in the fluorescent light of the shopping center.

“Yachi what do I do?” You whimpered. She already had her hand on the back of your head twisted with your hair, lightly pushing your head into her shoulder.

“Let’s go, just give me a second first.”

“Cutie, what are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” You said, your fists clenching, tears piling up in your “rim.”

“No, Cutie I have no clue.” He said. He stepped closer to you, gently setting his hand on your cheek. His hands are so warm and tough with calluses. So familiar.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to not let yourself whimper. “You were with a girl.”

Oikawa chuckled gently, as if all this was some joke you would pull for tik tok. “Possessive now, aren’t we Cutie?”

“No! Stop playing pretty boy for once in your life and take me seriously!” You almost yelled, pushing him away from you. He caught himself on your parents couch, you quietly thanked the lord that they weren’t home till very late.

“Cutie please just-“

“No!! Call me by my name, quit it with calling me your cutie! Hell, I’m detonating if I’m even yours anymore!”

That’s when your sure he finally realized. Realized you knew.

“Do you have any proof? Or are you just being paranoid?” He said, a fake sympathetic look on his face.

“Well.”

You picked up and logged into your phone, went into your messages with Yachi, and showed him Oikawa the photo she took one day ago now.

Oikawa, with his beautiful brown eyes and wavy hair, his pretty boy persona. With a girl, with long brown to blond ombré hair in a messy bun, with red cheeks. Red cheeks with a warm, calluses-covered hands gently placed on them, soft lips resting on hers.

You remembered just barely hearing the words said after that picture was taken, through Yachi’s barely-long-enough-to-reach-your-ear-hair.

“I burn you?”

“You melt me.”

RDISHSUAUAG JESUS CHRIST THAT WAS A LOT BESTIES

Reblogs > Likes :]

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa x reader #hakiyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #x reader #oikawa x y/n

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philosopherking1887 · 3 years

Text

Writer tag game

Thanks for tagging me, @ectogeo-rebubbles... 4, days ago, sorry; my parents are visiting and I haven’t had much time to myself.

How many works do you have on AO3?

(Why is the number so big when I post? @sapphosewrites said the same thing, so I know it’s not just me...)

What's your total AO3 word count?

515,575

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Mostly Zuko-centric ATLA fics because a couple were inspired by a BNA whom I tagged in the Tumblr post, then she reblogged and lots of people saw them.

Between the Salt Water and the Sea Strand

To Give Birth to a Dancing Star (didn’t get very far on that one, oops)

The Last Argument

Zeno’s Paradox (the only non-ATLA fic on this list; I posted it very shortly after Thor: Ragnarok came out, before I realized how terrible it was)

Shame and Necessity

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes, almost always (unless someone said something weird, or one person left a bunch of identical short comments on different chapters of the same fic; it seems a bit silly to respond to every “<3″ with “Thanks!”). I respond to encourage people to keep commenting, by assuring them that I’m reading comments, I pay attention to their content, and I appreciate them. I especially like it when people comment on specific themes in the fic or how it relates to some aspect of canon, so that it starts an analytical conversation about the story and the characters -- which is what a lot of us are here for.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I’m gonna say The Third Time, because Loki actually permanently dies.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Starting Over, I guess? That’s the hopeful ending of my Thorki series, taking place before some hypothetical version of the Infinity War storyline in which neither of our principal characters dies (because fuck the actual movies, and fuck Ragnarok too, while we’re at it). But there are other fics, sometimes intermediate in one of my series, that have hopeful rather than downbeat endings, even if more complications arise later. The Ninth Deadly Sin is a rare standalone fic with a happy ending (which I’d forgotten about until I went looking through my Works page for happy endings). Prince of Darkness also has a fairly happy ending that involves solving climate change with Frost Giants...

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

No, at least not yet. I have nothing against them in principle, and sometimes enjoy reading them, but since the target audience is the intersection of two (or more) fandoms, it’s necessarily going to be smaller than either fandom on its own.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really related to the fic. I did get a random nasty comment on a Garashir fic about a fan letter I wrote to Tom Hiddleston (and handed to his manager-person after seeing Betrayal in London) and then posted on Tumblr. Just someone being an asshole.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do indeed! I write very chatty smut, with a lot of feelings, often angsty, and sometimes awkward, because sex can be awkward, especially if one or more of the participants is inexperienced (at least with bodies like their partner’s).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes -- someone translated No Exit into French as Aucune sortie (though actually, the French title of the Sartre play that I named the fic after is Huis clos).

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I’m inevitably going to answer that kind of question with my current favorite ship, which is Garashir... but that might actually be my all-time favorite ship because the fandom is a lot more welcoming and chill than others I’ve been in before.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hoo boy. All the people I’ve seen doing this tag game previously have said they don’t have any; I have 5 partially posted WIPs in old fandoms that I doubt I’ll pick up again. I think I’ve tagged most of them as “on hiatus” and warned readers in author’s notes that I probably won’t finish... Do I want to finish them? In theory, yes; in practice, no.

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve most often received compliments on my dialogue, which I also find the easiest thing to write; my favorite version of this compliment is when people say that they can hear the dialogue in the actors’/characters’ voices. Some people enjoy the philosophical discussions that I can’t help inserting into my fics...

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots. Thing happening. I cannot come up with plots. All of my fics are just people talking and having thoughts and feelings about things.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Ask yourself: what does it add to have the dialogue in the language it’s supposed to be in rather than translated? If the POV character speaks the language, would it be sufficient to note that they’ve switched to a different language, or put it in italics or something to indicate that? If the POV character doesn’t speak the language, would it make more sense to just say that other characters have spoken an unintelligible string in another language, or that they just caught a few words, or whatever? That’s not to say that there’s never a good reason to include the actual language; if the actual words are important, or if it matters that the POV character doesn’t switch effortlessly between languages, or if it just adds some richness of texture that you’re going for, it can make sense.

If it’s a real language that you’re not fluent in, do ask someone who is to check your grammar.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, of course; I am that age, after all. I wrote fics about Tom Riddle and/or Voldemort when I was in middle school in 2001-2. I’ve always been interested in the villain’s perspective.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

At the moment, Had we but world enough, and time. It stayed reasonably self-contained while also covering the issues I wanted it to cover, with some smut thrown in. Maybe my best fic is actually an older one, but my favorite is always in my current fandom, because that’s what I’m excited about... and I’d like to think my writing has been improving with practice.

Tagging: @delicatetrashstranger, @vermin-disciple, @hex-o, @judiops, @the-last-dillpickle... and @illwynd and @incredifishface (since I actually ended up talking about my Loki and Thorki fics in this one).

#fic writer tag game #my fanfiction

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breaniebree · 3 years

Text

100 Fanfiction Writer Asks

Wanted to combine some of the great writer asks I've seen so I did! Thanks to @sweeethinny for these great questions! I added a few more myself to make it 100!!

Feel free to reblog!

1) How old were you when your first started writing fanfiction?

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for and why?

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

7) When is your preferred time to write?

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

9) In your XXX fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

10) In your XXX fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind?

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

14) How did you come up with the title for the XXX? You can ask about multiple stories.

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

16) How did you come up with the idea for XXX?

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

26) Which part of your XXX fic was the hardest to write?

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

30) In contrast to 29, is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the recommendation, not the answerer)

32) Are any of your characters based on real people?

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written?

38) If you could collaborate with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collaborations!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person?

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written?

42) Song fic — What made you decide to use the song XXX for XXX?

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

44) What is the last line you wrote?

45) What spurs you on during the writing process?

46) I really loved your XXX fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it?

47) Here’s a fic title (insert a made up title). What would this story be about?

48) What’s your favourite trope to write?

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

51) From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

52) Why do you write fanfiction?

53) What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

54) Are there any writers that inspire you?

55) What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

56) What element of writing do you find comes easily?

57) What element of writing do you struggle with the most?

58) Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

59) Which character(s) do you find the most difficult to write?

60) What’s your favourite genre to write for?

61) Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

62) Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

63) First fandom you ever wrote for?

64) Have you ever written something that wasn’t fanfiction? If yes, what was it and have you ever published it?

65) What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

66) Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

67) A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

68) Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

69) Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

70) Gen fic or shippy stuff?

71) Favourite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

72) Do you listen to anything while you write?

73) Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

74) One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

75) Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

76) Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

77) What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

78) How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

79) Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

80) Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

81) Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

82) Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

83) Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

84) Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

85) Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

86) Have you ever read a fanfic that made you cry? What was it?

87) What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?

88) If you could ask one other fanfic author three questions about their writing, writing process, or works, what would they be and who would you ask?

89) What do the words “writer’s block” mean to you?

90) How do you process and deal with negative reviews?

91) Are there therapeutic benefits to modeling a character after someone you know?

92) Have you ever killed off a character your readers loved? If yes, what made you do it?

93) Whom do you trust for objective and constructive criticism of your work?

94) What do you do to get inside your character’s heads?

95) What books and fics do you enjoy reading?

96) What's the strangest thing you had to do to create this story?

97) Does one of your stories have a soundtrack? A playlist that inspired you while writing it?

98) If you had to give up either snacks and drinks during writing sessions, or music, which would you find more difficult to say goodbye to and why?

99) Picture this: You feel uninspired and you’ve sat at the computer for an hour without conquering any words. How do you get your creativity flowing?

100) Do you love writing or hate it? Why do you write?

#ask me anything

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orwocolor · 3 years

Text

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”

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