#i am just very out of shape and a sensitive flower

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

as per the youtube program i'm attempting with my fave fitfluencer du jour, saturday was shoulders, sunday was abs (my nemesis because my abs are the weakest abs in the history of abs), and then yesterday was full body which meant it was the first time i was doing any kind of lower body exercise and i thought it was nice that it started with a full body day since only half the time was spent on lower body stuff so maybe it would ease me in but ohhhh my god standing up and sitting down today has been torture... today was supposed to be glutes but my butt was like Absolutely Not so i did one of the fitfluencer's shorter upper body workouts to give my butt a break. really looking forward to a week or two from now when i will still be getting sore but not in a way that is like. debilitating. i may take tomorrow off or do like just some chill cardio depending on how i feel when i wake up because today i feel Groggy although it is hard to identify a cause there given that my sleep cycle has been totally fucked for several months/my whole life basically. on the bright side the past two nights i've gone to bed at a reasonable time and slept almost a solid 9 hours which is like an unheard of combination for me and does feel delicious.

#also my abs are sore enough that i had to change all the planks in today's yoga with adriene to downward dogs bc i like #could not get into a plank #not like. couldn't hold a plank. i have never been great at holding a plank and am worse now than i was 6 months ago. #but like. truly could not make the shape with my body today. got 80% of the way there and my core said 'we are on our union mandated break' #if it seems like i am devoting a lot of mental attention to the process of attempting to get back into working out #the reason for that is that today i am thinking about it every time i stand up or sit down #i have to like use my arms to lower myself into chairs #again this is after like. idk 7-8 sets of lower body work? with 10 pound dumbbells #truly not an impressive amount of Working Out #i am just very out of shape and a sensitive flower

[maigo-san]

Zenitsu didn't hear sounds like most people with hearing sensitivity do. It was almost hallucinatory. But Zenitsu had always believed that everything had a soul in it. Or at least that was what everyone believed growing up. Even Grandpa thought it, and maybe there was some truth too if even demons exist.

Sometimes he wondered if it was the same way with demons' bodies. The way their arms swing or the scary claws that trickled crimson produced sounds that screeched and pierced his eardrums.

Being a bunch of helpless souls trapped along with a dead heart sounded... not fun at all. No wonder they bemoaned their fate every single time.

At some point, he got used to the noises to the point he could forget about them. Like how the sun would sing a shrilly tune that matched the cicadas but only the crunchy whir of September critters filled his mind.

Inosuke's blade sounded a bit different than Tanjirou's, probably due to the different ore. But it was also because Tanjirou didn't handle it like Inosuke did.

Still, the sound of the clipped wind when Tanjirou tried to reignite his muscle memories was a giveaway for Zenitsu to dodge, clashing back swiftly.

Tanjirou swiveled his hip and charged, cutting the air with speed a bit too early even for Zenitsu.

On reflex, Zenitsu yelped and shoved his sword to Tanjirou's left chest-there was a muffled ding!- and backed off as soon as he realized what he had done.

"Tanjirou!"

His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered as he ran to his friend, face paling. Despite Tanjirou's lack of reaction, he could hear the hiss of breath, like he was swearing internally.

Frankly, the thought of angry Tanjirou frightened Zenitsu even more.

"Oh my god, are you okay?! That must be painful!"

He crouched, whimpering at the torn fabric. What am I going to do?! I used up all my money for Nezuko-chan's flowers! his mind was irked at the thought of the glasses-wearing kakushi seamster who charged him ten yen for every button fix.

"I'm fine, Zenitsu..." Tanjirou gently chided, giving him a reassuring smile while patting his chest. Zenitsu heard Tanjirou's heart calm before he sighed in relief.

"I told you we should just use bamboo swords..." Zenitsu whined and frowned deeper when Tanjirou unbuttoned half of his top, slipping a finger out of the undershirt.

"Using our swords is too dangerous...!" and risky for my wallet!

"But I still need to occasionally train with a real sword, Zenitsu..." Tanjirou lifted Inosuke's handle in a controlled manner, muttering more to himself.

"It's just not the same weight and it keeps putting me off. I can't mess up my form when I'm just getting a hang of it."

Zenitsu couldn't argue with that. The curse of hearing things most people don't was that every learning process felt more complicated than it needed to be and most of the time, Zenitsu's brain was too overwhelmed to focus.

He didn't know if Tanjirou was just naturally diligent or had generally sharper senses with an exceptional nose, but he could be too intense for Zenitsu's liking. Still, Zenitsu was very familiar with someone who was finicky with their technique and constantly trying to improve.

Tanjirou spun Inosuke's sword with one hand, slotting it back into the sheath smoothly.

In the midst of Zenitsu's souring mood, he had to respect Tanjirou's rapid progress. Just this morning he heard Tanjirou giggling with the Butterfly girls about not managing to stretch flat out like before.

"I, uh... I can stitch that for you," Zenitsu glanced to the side.

No, he could not, but Zenitsu was not an asshole. Although deep within, he knew Tanjirou would take pity on him and said he'd do it himself, but Tanjirou didn't need to know that, hihi...

"Sorry..."

"I'll mend it, it's okay," Tanjirou said as the two crouched down next to their water bottles.

"The tsuba's not chipped. I'm glad."

Zenitsu mentally sighed in relief, not saying anything as he watched Tanjirou take out a flame-shaped tsuba.

It then occurred to Zenitsu what that ding noise was and he was glad he didn't prick Tanjirou's skin. Tanjirou seemed as pleasantly surprised, though he was never too worried about hurting himself or tearing his clothes.

One-track mind, that guy. He could hear Tanjirou's steadily beating heart grow its dense thumps.

"Wah..." Tanjirou sighed, "to think it's been years since this has been used, yet not a single scratch or dent," he mumbled in pure adoration.

His index finger glided along the spike-shaped yet blunt side, creating a low pleasant hum vibrating in the dry autumn breeze.

Zenitsu believed there was something special about Rengoku's sword, just like every part of him that seemed to exude eminence. But there were times he felt a sentiment that drew him closer to the Flame Hashira.

After all, he sounded very sweet.

A singular, serene tune similar to a masterful glide of the kokyuu's bow to its flimsy strings. A melody carrier in an ensemble.

Tanjirou was talking about how Rengoku-san must've paid for high-quality iron to last this long and that Kanamori-san said you could ask your swordsmith to upgrade the quality of your sword outside of damage-related issues, such as changing the tsuba design or adding additional detail, but they had to pay for it. All the while cradling the tsuba gingerly in his palms.

Throughout the time, Zenitsu tuned it out, wondering to himself.

Did he carry it everywhere now?

Does he plan to use it? He must be, right?

Won't he worry about damaging it?

But, Rengoku-san probably wanted it to still be useful.

He seemed like that type of person...

That thumping heart blurred to a low hum like Tanjirou was thrumming the bottom string of a koto, reminded Zenitsu of a melodic sob.

Zenitsu was no musician. He had played the shamisen before, knew how to his a taiko just right or shiver a suzu for that one time he helped a shrine near his orphanage so he could get more pocket money, but that was about it. He had no artistic desire or interest. An instrumentalist, he supposed.

"...Zenitsu?"

"That tsuba works like a charm," Zenitsu commented in a flat tone.

Tanjirou's brows twitched, opening his mouth. Zenitsu readied himself for the telling of how he still needed to work hard and that luck could only go so far...

But Zenitsu watched as Tanjirou's expression melted under the ambering sky. His eyes turned into crescents as he smiled wide, voice damp and hoarse.

"If you think about it..." Tanjirou's voice frayed and damped, "the tsuba saved me, huh?"

Zenitsu's heart tightened.

Tanjirou sniffled but only huffed a wet laugh, kicking the dirt under his zori lightly. "Heh, yeah, it's probably nothing."

Zenitsu pouted. I get it! he wanted to say.

I've made that voice before! he thought, remembering his past heartbreaks.

Zenitsu turned when he heard the tsuba's hum as Tanjirou clutched it to his chest as if to coo at his tone.

Zenitsu decided it was best to stay quiet.

If objects had souls, it must explain why Rengoku's tsuba managed to love Tanjirou back.

--

for RNTNVillage weekly prompt: haunted.

#rentan #tanren #rntnvillage #kny flashfic #spoiler inspired #I can't wait for s3!!!!

[uselessmicrowave]

Hi,can you do a matchup for tfp(and-or)rid (and-or)tfa.(whatever you feel like honestly,even if it's just one of the above)

I am a fem with mid length thick dark brown very wavy hair(borderline curly).I have big brown eyes kinda round and almond shaped at the same time.I love exercise so I am relatively fit.My face is a bit rounded(big cheeks) with some angles.I am very pale but have a lot of moles one or two in my face but most in my arms and torso.I also have this weird birthmark(a tag in my one ear).In terms of fashion i like darker clothing with an occasional dash of pink since it's something that looks good on me.Flared pants,jean and leather jackets,leather bags from when my grandpa was in the army bcs they are functional and stylish(also they still look brand new) custom made bags with rock bands and a bag that looks like a duck(i like ducks).I also like custom made shirts with jokes regarding my personal interests (books,series ect...) and my messed up sleep schedule.

At first glance I am a bit reserved but if I am made comfortable I will open up(i kinda choose the people I will open up to).I love sarcasm and very dark humor.I will joke around a lot and I want to encourage people around me to be happy. I deeply love learning information in every form.I study physics because I love astronomy and I want to become an astronomer but I am also a big history/archeology/mythology nerd.In my free time I love learning new stuff(psychology, law, history ,random facts ect...),reading,working out and listening to music(fav song:soltitude).I like art a lot,drawing,reading about it,going to museums and exhibitions.I also love going out on nature and on all sorts of adventures but I dont have the right person to do that with.I deeply love nature and the sea since I grew up in an island.(I dont know if it helps but I am an intj)

I have clear goals in life,I am very ambitious,patient,curious and diplomatic but still have a bit of a nihilistic approach to life(in a good sense,to fuel questions about the world around me).

As I said before I can be quite reserved and appear as cold but I am a very sensitive person,an extreme overthinker.I feel insecure because when I get too comfortable/excited my voice gets really loud,I get all giddy and I have been told off about it enough times.I dont know how to receive a compliment or acts of friendship/kindness because growing up I had very bad experiences in school.However I like to be there for people and I want them to feel good around me.I like helping a lot by solving problems and being kind but I hate myself for it because I feel like I am showing weakness (but once I realise someone is a friend I am THERE no matter what)I also am the "I told you so" kind of friend but I am not judging(quite the opposite) .I deal with anxiety and I get lonely around people but I dont let it affect my social life,I really push myself out there no matter what and I always push myself to get back on my feet and keep going after bad experiences because we only have one life and we have to make the most of it.

I also am a very calm even during arguements,until someone crosses a line and hell breaks loose.

Sorry if its too long but I usually get carried away with requests,i hope its okay(maybe this it why only once in my life I got a request done by someone😂)

Hello anon! I’m matching you up with TFA Prowl and TFP Knockout + Breakdown!

Prowl

You can’t see it when you first meet, but he has heart-optics when he first sees you.

Prowl will often offer to go see the ducks in a park pond and feed them with you (even if it isn’t technically allowed to feed them).

Loves the way you dress, reminds him of bright flowers in a dark forest.

He’ll try to help you with straightening out your sleep schedule.

Appreciates that you will give him his personal space. He’s also very shy to touch, so instead of both of you being very embarrassed, you’ll sit close to him while meditating.

KO+BD

It’s alright that you feel adverse to touch, but that’s their primary love language and they feel bad for leaving you out if you don’t join in cuddling.

Breakdown also has a pretty dark taste in humor, so you’ll reflect on that and joke about things going on in the war.

They always fuel into your giddiness, never ever shutting you down unless it’s something very serious.

Knockout overthinks a lot of things, playing into more anxiety. If you spend some quality time with him though, the worries will slip away from him. You could be doing anything with him, so long as it’s in an upbeat mood and with you.

They give you so many compliments and when you respond with confusion or adversity they know something’s wrong.

#micro matchups #prowl #tfa #tfa prowl #tfa x reader #transformers animated #tfa prowl x reader #prowl x reader #tfp #tfp breakdown #tfp x reader #breakdown x reader #knockout #tfp knockout #tfp knockout x reader #knockout x reader #kobd x reader #kobd

[rosietrace]

『 Dearest Zenith 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑♝๑ஓ══════•°•†

◊ — The following is a recording of Zenith Devi and Headmaster Dire Crowley of Night Raven College, regarding Zenith's life before attending Royal Sword Academy — and transferring to Night Raven.

◊ Recorded by Dire Crowley

◊ The recording has been stored within the Night Raven College archives.

❥-҉-༄༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ.ㅤ⋆　【♝】

『 Recording Begins 』

“You asked to see me, Headmaster?”

“Yes,” Crowley nodded his head, gesturing to the empty seat across his desk. “Do have a seat, Mr. Devi.”

And so he did. “So,” Zenith's voice sounded about as cheerful as his unmoving smile. “Why'd you ask to see me? I'm pretty sure it isn't because I just transferred here.”

The Headmaster let out a breath. “You are correct,” leaning back against his chair, Crowley crossed his arms. “I'm here to ask about your background.”

Oh?

That got a snort out of Zenith. “My background? Why?” his smile remained, never fading no matter the atmosphere, no matter the situation.

Crowley didn't take kindly to such a situation being treated so casually. “Because,” Crowley began. “There seems to be no information regarding your background in your school file.”

“Don't you think that's a bit strange?”

The smile on Zenith's face faltered, but soon returned. “Strange, indeed!” he agreed. “Am I correct in assuming that I'm here to interrogate me, headmaster?”

Crowley nodded. “You are correct.”

Zenith took note of the hidden camera in the voice recorder but did not comment on it. He knew Crowley's suspicions and took them in stride.

“When were you born, Mr. Devi?”

That was a softball question, Zen thought. “February 24th, sir.”

Crowley continued. “And you were born in Rose Queendom soil…”

Zen's smile remained but twisted into something more tight-lipped. “Yes,” he leaned against his chair, continuing, “In the countryside. Nobility.”

Crowley arched his brow but said nothing about that.

“I've heard from Miss Shard that you and her are childhood friends.”

Zen's smile softened, reaching up to his eyes, crinkling. “Indeed we are,” he nodded, his demeanor calm. “We met during her fifth birthday.”

“I see,” Crowley didn't stop. Not yet. “What were the names of your parents?”

“Caelus and Ekta Devi,” Zenith answered. If he was disturbed by the way Crowley asked him these questions, he didn't show it.

“And were your parents in attendance during Miss Shard's birthday?”

“Not exactly.”

“And why is that?”

“Father was busy tending to his affairs,” Zen drawled, “And Mother…. Well, I can't say much about Mother.”

The headmaster's eyes narrowed, behind that crow-shaped mask. “What kind of relationship did you have with her?”

“She was lovely,” Zen looked off to the side, his tone vague. “But she died when I was six.”

“My condolences,” Crowley said quickly. “But do continue.”

Zen's smile turned crooked, and it didn't quite reach his eyes, this time around. “Fire away with the questions, then.”

“How did your Mother die, if that topic isn't too sensitive.”

“Natural causes. Fatal illness, died on Valentine's day.”

Perplexed, Crowley leaned back into his seat, arms crossed. “Is that so? Quite the bewildering predicament that must've been.”

“Very much so,” Zen confirmed. “I miss her dearly.”

If you do, Crowley couldn't help but ponder. Then why be so vague?

“Is that all the questions you have to ask, headmaster Crowley?” Zenith's smile faded, beginning to stand from his seat. “Me and Tori are going flower picking off campus.”

He paused. Then continued.

“If you so allow us, of course,” he tilted his head innocently. “For you are so gracious, are you not?”

Crowley's jaw clenched, sending a look of warning from behind his mask.

“You may.”

Zenith hummed in satisfaction, his hands behind his back. “Wonderful!” He declared, turning his back on Crowley and walking to the doors of his office — seemingly opening for him in one swift motion.

“Thank you for your time, headmaster Crowley,” a condescending tonality was laced between Zenith's lips. “Truly.”

The doors closed behind him, leaving Crowley alone. Isolated.

『 Recording Ends 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑♝๑ஓ══════•°•†

「✥」 Information regarding Zenith Devi post-interview with the Headmaster

◊ His school file had been updated, as before the interview, his date of birth was unknown — even to his previous headmaster, Ambrose the 63rd.

◊ There are no official records of a noble family known as ‘The Devis’ living in the Queendom of Roses’ countryside.

↳ This could be an oversight on the part of Crowley's research but that remains unseen.

◊ There are also no official records, historical or word of mouth, of any nobles with the names Caelus or Ekta Devi.

◊ Dire Crowley had an interview with Victoria Shard shortly after Zenith's interview, so as to confirm that he was in attendance during her fifth birthday.

↳ And although he was in attendance, Miss Shard had informed him that — apparently — there was no one with a name like his on the guest list.

◊ Headmaster Crowley believes it best to keep an eye on Zenith Devi until further notice of any ‘conspicuous’ behavior on his end.

†•°•══════ஓ๑♝๑ஓ══════•°•†

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twst ocs #zenith devi #『 zenith ✥ 』 #victoria shard #『 vic ♢ 』 #night raven college oc #diasomnia #diasomnia oc #ʚ♡ɞ — oc backstory! #disney twst #ツイステ #ツイステッドワンダーランド #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland

[mildlylesbian]

Hermitcraft Headcannons

LONG POST

Since I’m apperantly writing a fanfic now I figured I might as well list my headcannons for the hermitcraft members personas + Timmy. 

I have not had the time, energy, or attetion span to watch all of the hermits so quite a few of these are based solely off of other fan interpertations I have seen. There’s also some hermits I do not know what to do with who are excluded from this list.

This list starts out very Grian focused due to the fact he introduced me to the hermits as well as the fanfic I’m planning being centered around him and Timmy.

Timmy - Caridinal hybrid, was a listener but after Grians escape was taken to replace his brother. Related by blood to Grian, non-blood related to Pearl

Grian - Was born human before being taken in by the watchers and being forced to become one, after escaping he dyed/coded his wings to look like a parrots and claims to be a parrot hybrid. Related by blood to Timmy, non-blood related to Pearl.

Pearl - Moth hybrid, escaped evo alongside the others and spent a few years searching for her brothers before finding Grian in Hermitcraft and joining him, spends season 9 researching the watchers in hopes of getting Jimmy back. Adopted sister of Grian and Timmy.

Mumbo - Born a human, turned into a vampire at the beginning of season 8 and spent that season not killing in an attempt to deny his new hybrid-status. Is the person who orginally found Grian and brought him to hermitcraft.

Scar - Vex hybrid who likes to pretend they’re an elf, has unspecificed medical issues (I am not going to try and diagnose scar) that affects his walking abilities, often uses a cane or wheelchair to get around. Jellie is his emotional support animal.

Cub - Vex hybrid, big brother energy. He’s the second oldest hermit, however thanks to a de-aging experiment he’s physically one of the youngest. 

Iskall - Dwarf, lost an eye while doing redstone. Is often mistaken as Impulse’s brother.

Impulse - Dwarf, had difficultlies growing a beard so he’s super upset whenever it gets cut. Often mistaken as Iskall’s brother.

Gem - Deer-fey hybrid, has a deep connection to nature, hence her tendency to build naturey things, is able to manipulate plants. 

Bdubs - Everyone thinks he’s a fey, is actually just some random dude. Scared of the dark, hence the very strict sleep schedule, and wears moss because it’s very comfortable. Also for some reason everyone keeps letting him put people into positions of power.

Doc - Born a creeper hybrid, was experimented on causing him to be a spliced creeper-goat-cyborg hybrid. Wears a lab coat because it makes him feel in control of what happened to him, and despite apperance is the sweetest person you will ever meet.

Ren - Wolf hybrid, has a very large family made up of different characters he has played (renbob, the red king, etc), due to his wolf hybrid status he has seperation anxiety

Etho - Enderman hybrid, has always hid his face due to his anxiety (same) but after recieving a scar that covers 2/3 of his face he’s even less willing to remove his mask.

False - Eagle hybrid, is super sweet but will nto hesitate to fight you if you so much as look at a hermit the wrong way. 

Stress - Flower fey, resident healer and grower of plants, is terrible at taking care of herself. 

Cleo - Born human, became a zombie hybrid after a funky respawn that healed her bit failed to revive her. Is sensitive to the sun, though is able to stand in it for short periods of time, survives off of raw meat, is the go to for new clothes and surgerys thanks to her mastery of stitching.

Joe - Human, no one is convinced. Isn’t great at being social, but loves hanging out with cleo because he feels as though she gets him.

Jevin - Slime hybrid, is naturally green but uses dye to make himself blue in an attempt to differ himself from the hostile mob. Without the human skeleton that resides within him he is unable to maintain his shape.

Keralis - Resident eldritch horror, sweetest man alive, will trap anyone who hurts his friends in the void.

X - Voidwalker, needs his armor to breath the overworld air, really good at over working himself, does not have a shadow.

Ex - Shadow-voidwalker, used to be X’s shadow, isn’t nesscerily evil but has people issues due to be cast out by the person he used to be bound to. 

Zed - Sheep hybrid, always wants to know more about the world around him

Tango - Blaze hybrid, cannot get wet, cannot withstand cold weather, cannot be burnt, his hair is made out of fire and grows or dwindles based on his current emotions, a terrible liar

Not included in list; XB, Wels, Beef, and Hypno. Tfc also isn’t included, as I’m unsure how I feel about alluding to him in fanfics following his passing, so out of respect I won’t pretend he doesn’t exist but I also won’t be including him in headcannons or fanfics. May he rest in peace. 

Based on this list alone guess which hermits I have and haven’t watched. If this gains any traction I’ll follow up with my headcannons on hermitcraft as a server, as well as the fanfic idea I have at the moment - it is in the very early stages of development, but I live off of validation and feedback so I’ll probably post ideas for it regardless.

If you have questions about headcannons or wanna share some of your own, please do! I’m always excited to see what other people think about these funky lil block people.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft headcanons #grian #solidaritygaming #mumbo jumbo #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #bdouble0 #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #docm77 #renthedog #iskall85 #impulsesv #xisumavoid #evil xisuma #ethoslab #zombiecleo #joe hills #falsesymmetry #stressmonster101 #ijevin #keralis #zedaph #tangotek #long post #I am a grown adult whos about to write fanfic about block people #instead of focusing on my orginal writing #my priorities are not straight

[trrickytickle]

Guitierrez Giggles 🪇

🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅

"Jorge is my favorite kind of filmmaker- the guy who permeates every single aspect of his work with his ideas, his vision, and his hard work." -Guillermo de Toro, about Jorge Guitierrez in the foreword of The Art of The Book Of Life A/N: This is a long awaited collab with @toweroftickles !! this one goes out to his love of obscure weirdos and tickles and lol I just wanted to collab with him. On my part this took me for evsies to finish but it's done and it's our child. Check out his part (it's fuggin GREAT) If you couldn't tell, these fics are based on the wonderful works of Jorge Guitierrez, an artist I admire for his cartoons and passion for Mexican mythology as well as his way of telling action-packed stories filled with emotions. We settled on his stuff because we came to a mutual agreement that his work has a lot of cute lees AND is very creatve, fulfilling both our appreciation for lesser-known lees, art and tickles, ofc

🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅

-The Book of Life- (lee!Xibalba, ler!La Muerte)

There was a certain flow to every day in the Land of the Remembered. Spirits came, tearful reunions happened, and almost every day was like an oxymoron of quiet chaos. The buildings seemed to glow and blend with the nature while skull-shaped hot air balloons and cascading flower petals sailed down from beacons of golden lights onto the infinite fiesta, each winding road and hill leading to increasingly vibrant festivities.

As always, La Muerte was keeping a watchful eye on her realm through her castle, smiling down at whom she considered the veterans of the living world- until she had noticed the intoxicating black smoke-cloud before her eyes which exploded into glowing green. Black tar spilled over her colorful floors, growing into a slender disproportionate figure with gleaming red eyes. Immediately, she froze wearily, recognizing the crimson skulls. As alluring as they were, La Muerte could only stand tortured as the blight on her realm- and love of her life poofed up before her. And she knew exactly what he was here for.

“Ugh, Xibalba.” she growled. What silly thing is it that you want this time?“ The mild mannered goddess walked closer to him, looking at him with her all-too-familiar glare of anger, the tone of her voice soft with a sarcastic lilt.

"Amor, please, please, just-”

“That’s right. You’re here to take your widdle wager back, isn’t that right, Balbito?” Shushing him by placing her finger on across his face of tar, her tone shifted into that of a degrading one, which, even still, was just as sweet as the sugar she was spun from.

The god circled the goddess, leaning into her. “Come on, I- I mean consider it! You ever think about how lonely it is down there? I’ll even stop toying with the mortals!” La Muerte scowled. “Ay ay ay, Xibalba… You’ll never stop toying with the mortals! How am I supposed to hand over the Land of the Remmebered to you if you keep on making silly wagers and empty promises?” Xibalba fake-sniffed. “A-at the very least I’d hope for some company, my dear..” That last word was accompanied by a carress to La Muerte’s face, resulting in a loud and clear slap. “Oof! That was uncalled for!”

“Oh bub-but, sweet Xibalba..” Her hand slowly found its way lower, crawling from his chin down to his torso. “You lost. And now…” She eventually settled into a pause near his stomach area, a long bony finger stroking over Xibalba’s middle. The god of the Forgotten stood dead in his tracks, swallowing and looking up at his love in both fear and excitement.

“Mi amor…”

However, this display of intimacy was as usual, not what it semed. Her fast fingers strummed along his neck, exploiting a sensitive spot from their days together. “..You are paying the price!” La Muerte continued, picking up the pace, her small, sweet hands gliding and digging into his ribs and down to his sides, applying just the right amount of pressure every time, all while looking smugly into the eyes of the ex-lover.

“Aw, ticklish little Balby~ How did I ever forget about this?”

“Kkgh- I don’t know.. UuAHAHA- maybe it was becahause you left me to -pff- rohohot in the wasteland of the dead- ack!” The tar god tittered, sputtering and coughing as his wife’s evil teasing drove him mad, though the barrier of his reactions was barely being broken.- that is, until La Muerte dug her skilled fingers into his wings. Ugh, why did it have to be there.. Still, Xibalba perservered, small raspy giggles cracking like bones while tar-like teeth grinded apprehensively all while his beloved’s careful and gentle strokes were making him suffer softly. Deep down, however it was something they both missed. They both enjoyed the intimacy and control which came with, but the couple was much too prideful to let their guard down.

“Amor, what beautiful wings you have… It’s a shame they’re such a weak point. Aw, how embarrasing.. Isn’t that right, you two?” His pair of wings thrashed rapidly, as if answering her question with delight. Xibalba swallowed a laugh.

Stopflappingstopflappingstop flappingstopflapping….. His mind repeated like it was a mantra of sorts while flailing around, trying to look away out of embarrasment when all La Muerte could do was just tease and coo and look lovingly into his eyes. Even she was lost in this juvenile game, her fingers playing him like some sort of living tar tuba, combing through his wings and viciously stroking his plumage, occasionally in circular motions, counting each feather like it was serious buisness. “It’s like I say every time. Tar and feathers… always stick.” La Muerte smirked, her gentle movements turning into crazed strokes inside the crooks of his wings- which was the tipping point for Xibalba.

“MuehehehertitA-HA-HA!! S-SPARE ME!!” he roared while the goddess sat over his back in her dress of marigolds. “Well, think of it this way, Balby. You came to me in the first place. This is what you deserve, no?” His reaction was her drive while she resumed, now using one of her diabolically small fingers to slide up and down along his neck in rapid motion, while sensually plucking a feather down from his wings to trace along his back. Oh no.

“And that was for EVER wanting to trade lands with me in the first place!” Xibalba's skeletal pupils' flashed a startled expression, while La Muerte was having the time of her life, her fingers shifting and poking and sliding while he writhed.

“Go on, apologize. Say you will rule the Land of the Forgotten, and that is final.”

“I will noho- nehehAHAHAHAH-NEVER do thahahat!”

No matter how this went, it would still be equally as rewarding both ways. Either he answers and gives up his pride, or she gets to continue with the evil tickles.

“Come on, I’ve seen you say worse things with that dirty mouth you have, you..” she crooned.

“Go on. Say. It. Say you-”

“Ah-HAH-i-hi will r-ruhuhule…”

“Yes?” The tickling halted, her fingers stilling to hear what he had to say.

“I, Xibalba will rule the Land of…”

“The Land of the what?” La Muerte spat, looking directly at her love.

“The Land of the Remembered.” Xibalba smiled smugly, looking up at La Muerte in a taunting fashion as she did him.

Total silence followed.

“XIII-BAAALBAAAAA!!!” And as if it was out of nowhere, the sweet goddess exploded out of sour temperament, pinning him down once again and targeting his sweet spots in what would later turn to more ways than one. He was going to be there a while.

-El Tigre (lee!Manny (/El Tigre) +Frida, ler!Zoe(/Black Cuervo)

After kicking some sweet Mustache Mafia tail below the smoky orange heights of the Miracle City volcano, (this time without the help of Raul, sentient mustache compadre) valiant young hero El Tigre shifted back to regular-old kid Manny Rivera while his sidekick Frida Suarez was still, well, Frida. They wandered around the city streets relishing in their victory, casually passing robbed jewelry stores, charred buildings and multiple previous crime scenes like it was just a regular afternoon (which it was, in Miracle City).

“And El Tigre’s done it again! The good old facial hair fling. Works every time, I tell ya!” He held his fist out only to be greeted with a swift punch on the top of his head.

“Um, hell-o, forgetting someone?!” Frida scoffed.

“AWCH!!- Yeah, yeah, you fought good, sorry.. or whatever. So.. what now? We check if El Oso’s robbing the bank for the millionth time?” Manny suggested.

“Psh, nawww! I’ve got a way better idea..”

“Play at the arcade 'till our wallets give out?” he retorted.

“Yeah, what else?” Both kids ran straight towards the pillar-like building, making it halfway up the stairs when as if it was out of nowhere, a fast but recognizable flurry of gold-streaked twilight and darkness scraped through the skies, causing the two to look upwards. There was a screech, and a loud, dramatic thud, and swooping down came a familliar raven-haired raven shrouded in the shadows, or better known as-

“It’s Black Cuervo!” Frida yelled. “You know what to do, Manny!”

“You betcha!” Spinning his belt, Manny proclaimed-

“El Tigre!”

“Well, well, if it isn’t my good friends; the hairy brown fuzzball and El Tigre. I knew I’d catch you at one of your usual haunts.” the raven villain crowed.

“Hey! You’ll never win!” yelled Frida.

“And neither will that nasty flock of yours!” the hero followed up.

“You have foiled my many evil plans, tore my heart into pieces, and now you insult mi familia!? Well, unfortunately for you two, I happen to have a secret weapon!” Raising her fist into the air, the “weapon” placed itself atop Black Cuervo’s upper lip. There it was. A silky, coifed golden-blonde mustache. “This baby’ll keep you busy while we steal that pretty little belt of yours. I’d like you brats to meet Juan. The mafia hooked me up in exchange for the small-small price of the El Tigre belt. So what’ll it be?” To the gothic villan’s dissapointment, the two stood there blankly and then promptly bursting into hollers of loud laughter as they rolled and banged their fists on the floor, practically crying. “L-look’s like you’ve -pfft- got a little something on your FACE! Bwahaha-ha- I’m sorry, just.. too funny, man!” Frida was practically dying, chortling over the hilarious and mildly horrifying sight.

“What’re you even going to do? Throw bird poop at me with your manly mustache, Black Chavo?” El Tigre quipped, flicking the fiend’s fake facial hair.

“W-whatever, stupid Tigre! You wouldn’t want to know what he’s capable of… nor would you want to call me.” the villian pleaded with faux-innocence.

“Bird poop or not, I’ll conquer anything I throw at you!” Lifting his arm up and pointing towards the sky, he proclaimed; “This, I SWEAR-AAIIIEEEK!!” Tendrils of hair reached to swiftly swipe over the hero’s sides, interrupting his catchphrase by making him leap up to the air. Eventually, both strands formed into claws, ghosting over his sides while his eyes darted to observe the situation. With no time to escape, the bristly claws started swiping up and down, feeling silky yet effectively sharp. As they tickled tauntingly, Black Cuervo held the hero up just above the air, rendering him unable to do anything but kick and thrash like a fish out of water while she didn’t have to move a muscle, watching the object of her unwilling affection suffer.

“What’s wrong, Tigre? Don’t like your tummy scratched? Why don’t you just surrender then?”

“Nahehe- I’ll nehehever! You knohow it!” He flushed at the teasing which only made him struggle more.

“Y'know, I’ll let you go if you call me..” the raven girl proposed with a bat of her eyelashes.

“Nohot in a mihihillion lifetimes!” El Tigre spat back.

“Fine, whatever then, stupid Tigre.” The claws split off into multiple smaller, somehow more devious featherlike tendrils, squeeezing and poking around at his ribs and armpits. “Let him go now, you mustached meanie!” Frida chirped in anger while charging at the villian, whipping her goggles around like a lasso and smacking the raven girl atop the nose, causing Black Cuervo to drop the superhero previously in her clutches, which she retaliated by scooping Frida’s arms into a coifed coil, the other part of the mustache waggling and diving directly in front of her torso.

Any last words, Suarez? Think you’re so amazing, trying to take him away from me…“

"You plain stink!” Frida’s face flushed, yelling out in humiliation. “Thanks for the compliment. Now sic’ em, Juan!” The mustache bobbed up and down in agreement and brushed against her torso, locked directly on her stomach as it transformed into a feather-esque shape, swirling around in figure-eights.

“AHYA-HYAHYAHYA!! A-A little heheheHEEEELP, please!??!”

“On it, Frida!” El Tigre jumped triumphantly towards his trapped friend, only to be interrupted by a flying, mustache-administered-tickled-Frida-punch, slamming him against his sidekick slightly, knocking him to the floor while he was scooped up into the sinister arms of Black Cuervo, whom he attempted to kick in the face only to be grasped by the ankle by the mustache while his sidekick still struggled within the Cuervo’s coils. “Plea-hease! Muh- Make it stahahahap!” she yelled. “Make it stop? Do you think I’m the kind of person who’d make it stop? Big news, niña! I’m evil capital E!”

“Oh I’ll make it stop, alright! El Tigre jumped out from behind both girls, his claws unsheathed. Within the noise of laughter, he announced. "Oy, Cuervo. I’ll have to admit, blonde’s a pretty good look on you!”

The gothic girl flushed pink. “R- really? Thanks, Tigre! You’re the best! Say, why don’t you-”

K-SHING!

While Black Cuervo was in a giddy lovestruck daze, El Tigre had managed to cut Frida free from her clutches.

“Finally! I’m fuh-free!” Frida panted. “Que!?” Black Cuervo exclaimed. “You must pay for this. I will not stand for betrayal! Ven-”

RRRRRRRRRR-RIP!! Within the heat of confrontation, Frida had ripped Juan off of the Cuervo’s face. “On three, two, one…” she counted down, a particularly mean smile stretching across her cheeks. “yyyYEEEEE-OOOOOWCH!” As the villain yelled, Manny and Frida fist-pumped, walking away from the scene with satisfaction.

“That was absolute torture!” the goggled girl yelled, wiping a tear. “But seeing you get it… well, it was kinda funny.” she smirked. “C'mon, lemme tickle you, muchacho! It’ll be hi-LARIOUS! Puhprettyplease?”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it.” He grumbled. “However…” His frown shifted into an evil, almost sharp grin. “There is something you can help with.” “Is it what I think it is?” Frida gave a knowing smirk, wriggling her fingers as if it was like a signal. “On, three, two, one.. Get her!” She yelled, the duo running straight at the exhausted raven girl, thirsty for revenge.

“Wait, no no no no no- Ahahahaieee!! Stop! Stop that!”

-Maya and the Three- (lee!Zatz, ler!Acat)

The gods respected- more so tolerated Lord Mictlan and Lady Micte's iron fist over the Underworld.

Between causing terror in mortal kingdoms and lands, bringing upon the two forces that ruled theirs- war and death, there were times when they weren't needed by the god of war, but any fleeting moment would be soon interrupted with his summons. The tension was always thicker than the hot air that flowed through the realm.

Today was one of those days. Zatz, the prince of bats arrived at the throne room with a dark flurry of his subjects behind him. Lord Mictlan had required him over on Luna Island to speak with the Wizard Council, in search of the Gran Brujo lest they declare divine war. Said prince groaned, marching up to his tall, twisted throne while fire boomed in the background. With Lord Mictlan's yell, the bats dissipated and flew off into the corners of his triangular abode. "Stand before me, Prince of Bats." The God of War's voice had an irritated sibilance about it. A chill spread down Zatz's back as he kneeled- Lord Mictlan was unpredictable as he was tactical. At any moment his life could end in a puddle of liquid gold. Lord Mictlan snarled. "Your last success was in vain. I'm losing faith in you to bring him over- dead or alive." There was an assertive metalic stomp which never failed to make Zatz's blood run cold and with that he walked away- only to be greeted with a tilt to the chin and a kiss to the forehead- by Acat, the goddess of tattoos- and his on-and-off girlfriend. Zatz sighed. "Look, Acat- you don't have to come with me." "My poor, poor, principe.. There, there, Acat will take care of it for you.." Ending the sentence off with a sultry chuckle, every step Zatz took out of the palace, she followed along. Inked designs flowed along her body from her head to her arms to her back, all with a meaning and a purpose. Zatz shrugged off her flirty demeanor in disinterest, brandishing his macuahuitl. "Come ooooon, let me come with you, guapo.." she chuckled evily, circling around the prince. "I bet my snakes could send that bobo flying!" "No, Acat." Zatz's voice echoed through the daunting castle hallways. Acat inched closer towards the prince, a finger slowly running up his torso. "You know I don't take no for an answer, right, Zatz?" The prince flinched, stifling a small smile. "Besides, I know how to make you crack, mi principe.." She followed the sentence up with a sadistic laugh, and her boyfriend stood still as a stone. "Y-you are not doing that again." "Oh yes, yes, yes I AM!" The tattoo sleeve on Acat's hand glowed purple, squirreling under Zatz's thick armor. "You better show me a smile, chulo.." The slithering snaky chain squirmed at his sides, teasing them with slow and methodical drums playing him as if he were a piano. He couldn't crack- no, no matter what. His teeth clenched, and he squeezed his left eye shut in a feeble attempt at resistance. "Trying not to laugh, are we, corazon?" the tattoo goddess cooed. "G-raah-UGH! This isn't fair!" Acat's hands squirmed their way into Zatz's armpits, causing them to slam shut on impact. When they zeroed in on that spot, he loudly swallowed, exhaling with laughter. In response to that, the claws danced across his hollows eagerly, eventually eliciting loud, bellowing laughter. "Grrr.. Ahahack!- Acahahat! Nohot the claws, you know this- aha-HA-ha!" Zatz growled, a kicking, loud puddle on the floor just from mere gentle scratches. Acat giggled, taking great enjoyment in knowing the power she had over her boyfriend. "Well then, how about the snakes?" Suddenly, the designs on her skin shifted and the metalic fingers which wormed inside Zatz's armpits turned into quetzalcoatl-like faces which were eager to give his tummy a tongue-bath. "Hehehehaha.. Now then, bring me along, will you?" Acat coyly teased, her snakes lapping away at Zatz's midsection. "You see, I can do anything you want me to.. even break the ever so brooding bat prince~" There was no response. Only loud laughter. Acat smiled to herself. "I'll take that as a yes, mi principe..." The snakelike creatures shifted their focus, the chains now coiling around his calves. Zatz gulped, while his bulky boots being stripped off, feet placed on Acat's lap. "And a little extra convincing.." Acat drew her usual smoke-and-mirrors tactics in exchange for her painted fingernails, which she teasingly wiggled at Zatz before they skittered all the way across both feet.

"Grr-rahahaha! Me hace cosquilahahas!" Zatz snarled. His legs kicked at her face to no avail as Acat's right hand turned back to a claw-tipped chain to wrap his ankles up in. He writhed, he squirmed and he yelled, cursing and thrashing, but never admitting defeat. "*pant* Aha-ha-lright, fine! You can cohome with me!" Zatz heaved, exhausted and tingly from Acat's loving persuasions. The chains gave out, and she lent a cold hand to him as he stood up. "That was easy, wasn't it? Mmmmw-uah!" Acat gave an unreciprocated kiss as Zatz flushed a slight rose. It was about to be a long, long trip to Luna Island.

#tickling #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickling community #tfb community #tk fic #tword #sfw tword

[menalez]

sorry i have a kinda weird ask… (i’m 19 for reference) is age regression just thumb sucking and baby talk? or can you regress to like 6-7years old? i’m like stressing out haha because i have a lot of different ‘habits’ that make me feel better that are typically found in children. like i hug my knees when i’m upset, or hide in small spaces, or i dress kind of younger… not like a baby, but similar to how i did when i was like a 6 year old. (example sweatshirts with more kid friendly patterns, jeans with stars or flowers sewn into them, bows in my hair, the really short choppy bangs that lots of kids have, and just looking at pictures of me when i was a kid i have the exact same style now and dress basically the same) idk it’s nothing sexual or like little little- no diapers or little skirts or anything. but just small things common with kids. like i pack my lunches in those sectioned off lunch boxes made for elementary schoolers and they usually have just carrots grapes pb&j- or like juice boxes or cutting my food into squares or stars orusing a cookie cutter to shape it cute. idk this feels hard to explain but i basically just adopt a lot of habits or routines that i had back when i was like 6-7ish and i didn’t even really realize that i was doing it until about a week ago and i just feel so uncomfortable and i don’t know if i’m age regressing. does this sound like age regression? or do you think i’m just weird? i definitely did have a very traumatizing childhood and so i don’t know if it’s a response to that or if that’s just how i am.. i don’t use baby talk per say.. i sometimes kind of talk like how a kid would.. but just in my mannerisms not in the actual way it sounds. i also like to have a lot of ‘cute’ stuff - like stuffed animals or cat patterned or flower patterned or heart patterned sheets.. or coloring books but ones made for kids. stuff like that. i act normal around people, i’m very shy so i don’t really talk to anyone that i don’t already know, and my only friends are people i’ve known for years so they just already know how i am.. but still. but i don’t like act like i’m a baby.. or even a toddler …. i kind of pout sometimes but not on purpose. or like all the time if i’m upset i do something i did when i was a little kid. like i’ll play a video game i loved as a kid… or i’ll make myself a snack that i loved as a kid../ or just do something that i did when i was little to calm me down. like i don’t know there’s more but it’s hard to explain all of it. basically i don’t act like how a modern kid would (someone born in like 2016) like.. i just act almost exactly like how i did when **i** was a kid. idk if that changes anything… anyways sorry for rambling. i feel embarrassed saying this bc i know it’s weird for an adult, even a young one, to act like that.. i’m not like a perv or anything it’s not sexual. i’ve said that already but idk when ppl see age aggression a lot of the time they associate it with a sexual thing.. idk sorry i’m bad at explaining stuff. anyways does this sound like age regression or am i just weird?

if someone's age regression involved them acting like a kid from a different time than them then id jsut think they were weird or that its something else, i think its pretty normal for ur age regression to be more like.. as if ur still a child.

honestly tho from this alone, i dont know. i would think maybe youre childish but not necessarily age regressing. in my experience, when i age regress, i usually talk differently. like a dumb child or something. i also become extremely sensitive, prone to bawling, scared if someone yells or raises their voice, more childlike mannerisms. its not a constant thing for me at all, i noticed it only happens when im vulnerable in some way. if im afraid or stressed, for example. i wouldnt say ive got a childish diet or wear kids clothing, but also i dont age regress anywhere near as much as i used to as a teenager and i think it has become less and less prominent the older i got. i also dont think i get childish interests in those times either, but honestly the things i liked as a kid werent that childish anyways and i enjoy a lot of it today ? i also have a lot of plushies which when living alone i would hug them to sleep and sometimes i pout and the like but i feel like thats normal hfdhfdhs. its nothing sexual for me either and i think in general age regression is more like, a trauma thing rather than a sexual thing. the people who have made it sexual or a lifestyle thing need to be seriously evaluated esp the men that get off on that (actually the men who get off on that should die, but anyways.)

also i think doing things that u have loved since childhood isnt age regression, i feel like thats a pretty logical self-soothing tactic? i also often will go to things that are comforting to me and such things are often positive things from my childhood

#anonymous

[goldemas1244]

AH SHIT NATAN BECOMES NEW SPAWN MASTER??

GIVE ME MORE.

AUGH

Oh GOD THIS IS HURTING MEE IN A GOOD WAY.

Now Natan has new powahs to oof the abyss. (But what will Lunox and Belerick think tho— AND YVE)

I'm glad you liked it. In the meantime, have this short list!

Lunox and Belerick are very concerned for him. This is basically the living embodiment of chaos and you, a mere human, are WIELDING it like it's a breakfast fork.

But when they see how powerful it is, they also have a determination to keep it in Natan's hands. They'll find a way to deal with it after they defeat the Abyss. IF they defeat the Abyss.

They're determined NOT to let it fall into the Abyss. It's a horrifying power that needs constant guardianship.

Belerick sort of empathizes with it. It radiates a melancholic energy within all that chaos and he's discovered that wrapping it up in lotus flowers soothes energy fluctuations on it rapidly and effectively.

Lunox is very careful with it as its energy fluctuations are very random. She also takes care of it when Natan needs a break.

NOW YVE

Oh no.

She is not liking this at all.

Zhask is dead by his own will and that frustrates her slightly because it's not her who's killed him off. But also HE'S STILL SORT OF ALIVE?? IN HIS STAFF??

She's burst in to the Eruditio and confronted Natan about it. But when he tells her that it may be one of their only hopes to win against the Abyss, she begrudgingly agrees to let him keep it.

Natan's sitting at his study desk, reading reports and planning their next course of action. The Abyss has been strong but with their recent acquiry of the Domorey-Zhask staff in his hands, they're pushed back quite a bit. Still, this was no time to celebrate.

On his lap is a Little Spawn, but it looks a lot more like Zhask. It's sleeping, maybe snoring a bit.

Natan smiles. He strokes the sensitive horns of Little Spawn. It immediately jumps into a defensive position, but once it notices Natan it relaxes again.

"Come little one. I'll give you a treat."

Its eyes light up, despite how sad they look. Natan rises from his chair and it bounds off, looking at Natan expectantly.

Natan moves over to a jar of treats Lunox and Belerick have prepared for it. He opens the jar and pulls out a star-shaped cookie. He puts it on the floor, much to the excitement of the Little Spawn.

Just then, they notice something... feels off.

The door slams open. And in its place is a very furious Astrowarden.

"YOU."

The Little Spawn panics and shivers, squeaking and hiding behind Natan's legs. Natan turns towards the figure.

"You're Yve, aren't you?"

"Zhask is supposed to be DEAD. Then WHAT IS THIS?"

She points to the Little Spawn, who popped its little head out to pull back the cookie Natan gave it. She makes a move to manipulate reality and grab it but Natan covers it with a defiant stamp of his foot.

"And what do you have against him?"

"I am the protector of the equilibrium. Zhask has been in my way for light years. I don't want YOU to be in my way either."

Natan glares at her. "I assume you claim him to still desecrate your 'perfect' equilibrium, despite his death. If that is the case, then look at him."

The Little Spawn is shivering in fear. It definitely remembers Yve.

"And look at us." Natan points to the map he was working on.

"I do not care for your mere trifles. You are nothing in my view."

"If the Abyss has his hands on him, there may not even BE an equilibrium."

"Then give him to me now. I will make sure that there isn't even a chance for him to fall into the wrong hands."

The Little Spawn nips Natan on the leg. It's afraid. Terrified. Pleading with him to protect it.

Natan covers it. "No."

Yve approaches him, fury in her voice. "Give. It. To. Me."

"He and Domorey are connected together. If one dies, the other will wreak havoc. You couldn't even contain Zhask in life, so what makes you think you could contain a fusion of him AND Domorey in death?"

Before Yve could make a move, Natan continues.

"When and if we win this war, or when and if we lose, either way we'll let you do whatever you want with him. Just not now."

He crouches down to further protect Little Spawn.

"And now, we need him more than ever. If we win the war, you'll be able to deal with him in peace. If we lose, you'll have to deal with the Abyss. And they're not as merciful as us."

Yve stares at the two. She begrudgingly admits defeat after considerable thinking.

But before she flickers out the door, she leaves behind one final message: "Do not regret your words and actions, when they come to bite you in the back."

When she leaves, Natan turns back to Little Spawn. Its cookie is only a third eaten. It's looking up at him with fearful eyes.

Natan holds it in his arms.

"I never promised her anything, but to you I'll promise.. I'll never let her have you."

"Even if it means killing everyone in this universe... and then myself."

#Thanks for the ask! #So glad you enjoyed this beb #zhask #zhaskposting #little spawn #ml #mlbb #mobile legends bang bang #mobile legends #natan #yve #belerick #lunox #golden answers

[mpxinvidia]

Parapraxis ft. Arawn

The soft starter we discussed! Another not time-sensitive aside in the lives of others with @mpxarawn. Not using a Read More because it’s post sex so nothing is currently happening (but if a reader is bothered just message me and I will slide it under one).

♮

    His eyes are casted to the ceiling as Invidia catches his breath there in the softness of the disrupted pillows around him and a small collection of amazed laughs leave him between the deep inhales. Some guests were simply better than the rest and the god beside him was definitely one of them not only for his skills in the bedroom but for the simple ways he could make Invidia smile. Unlike many others that came through (no pun intended) his bed, Arawn was also able to pull genuine and warm laughter from the escort even on the days he was exhausted or at the end of his rope with patience near gone and his sanity fraying at the ends. Today Arawn had come with gifts, a good demeanor and all the wonders of someone who knew what they were doing and so Invidia now lays in the spoils of this particular kind of war.

   “I am out of shape!” he says and bursts into laughter again. He’s not in the slightest but he certainly feels like it at this moment before he rolls to lay on his side.

    Beside him Arawn lays looking the picture of perfection with his hair messily arranged about his face. It’s truly unfair how the gods look utterly immaculate regardless of their physical activity levels and on the rare occasion that they don’t it’s stylish even then! Playfully annoyed Invidia shoves his face lightly and mutters ‘stupid handsome fucker’ under his breath in his native tongue. Still though he curls closer- an act of which is not common with him. Arawn had set himself apart from regular clients by allowing Invidia the luxury of being his actual friend outside the walls of Babylon and within them as well, both drawing comfort from acts like this, as well as conversations, unhinged shopping sprees and art gallery wanderings when new exhibits came into town. On more than one occasion Invidia had even found himself walking the streets of the city with his earbuds nestled in his ears and Arawn’s comforting voice on the other end as he talked about his hopes, dreams, worries and homesickness. Even when he didn’t understand his confused feelings about Ares departing, it was his friend Arawn that he told with no careful wording about everything. These thoughts swarm his mind as he draws lazy shapes on his friend’s chest now and smiles at him from the angle in which he lays, “Have you had a good day? I mean aside from seeing me? You brought me flowers– it must have been a very nice day.”

#para: Parapraxis #;mpxarawn #{{ the snack that smiles back: smut }} #Type: treasure

[kelsiejayy]

hii!! wondering if i could have a male stranger things ship?

i’ll try to keep it short as i can <33

personality: im a pisces with a scorpio moon so i’m like super sensitive and i feel everything very intensely, but it’s also super easy to make me happy!! im also quite clumsy and ditsy, but im intelligent academically. i’m also such a hopeless romantic and i try to be as kind as possible (to a fault ofc!)

likes: i enjoy english literature and the arts, i’m an ex-ballerina but sometimes i get on my pointe shoes and dance a little bc i do miss it. i’m a huge girly girl!! i love pink, flowers, anything heart shaped (especially sunglasses!) and mini skirts <3 i’m also a huge taylor swift fan, but favourite album right now is definitely lover!! i also really like lana del rey and my favourite album of her’s is norman fucking rockwell. i also love skincare and makeup as well as hair care, i have a pretty elaborate routine for each so it takes me like a minimum of 2 hours to get ready!

dislikes: i hate insects, they freak me out so much, and i also hate people who are rude? especially to service workers, as i am one lol. there’s not many things that i REALLY hate but general rudeness and uncalled for disrespect really make me upset.

love and relationships: i’m pretty inexperienced when it comes to relationships, i’ve only been in one and it was awful, but i do know i’m a hopeless romantic and i love getting princess treatment <3 like i love the idea of getting flowers, having a guy open doors for me or kiss my hands. i just love it!

hi thank you for your request!

STRANGER THINGS: steve!

i feel like steve would just be absolutely whipped for you. after you guys meet you have him wrapped around your finger. he will protect you at all costs and it gets a little much sometimes but when he's around you he just doesn't know how to act. he loves doing traditional romantic things with you. dropping off flowers, going on picnics, dinner and a movie. he loves it all. he takes everything in your relationship very slow and always tries to communicate throughout. he will also buy y'all matching stuff like omfg. matching pjs, shirts, sunglasses, socks. he's literally a prince charming i mean look at the hair. steve's favorite things about you are probably your attitude and smile, he loves how positive and kind you are to others and people around you. he is rarely ever not smiling when you're around.

i hope you enjoyed! if you have any feedback feel free to leave it i love hearing what y'all think!

if you would like to request a ship head over to my blog they are open as of 6/28

#ships #stranger things #stranger things request #stranger things fic #stranger things ship #stranger things imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington ship #steve harrington

[sisterssafespace]

Salam Alaikum! sisterr I wanted to ask is it wrong to like wear opposite gender outfits like . . I as being a girl I like tshirts , sweatpants and prefer sneaker more than heels I like the color black more than pink 🙊 and . . Many more stuffs and my family keeps judging me :( they're always like bruh be girly it's haram to dress up like that you're a GURLLL!!! like . . I feel good and comfy in those outfits!! although I wear those in my house ONLY ofcourse I wear full covered hijab when I go out. And recently in eid I made a skeleton hand tattoo with black henna instead of flowers and designs AND since then they keep shouting me and forcing me to remove it :( they say it's bad and these are the signs of shaytan .? Like . . Bruh I'm just doing it as a fashion and something new . should I stop acting like?? :( would u help me sista I'm confused

Assalamualaikum wa rahmatu Allah wa barakatuhu sweetie 🌺

So, this has been one of the most sensitive asks I've ever gotten :( I tried and tried to find an answer but the matter is so subtly sensitivity because I genuinely don't want to say something that you would take wrong, and I don't want to be dismissively of your feelings and your comfort because apparently your family are already doing that :( However, as farfetched and irrational as it might sound to you, I am afraid I am gonna have to be a little closer to your family's perspective on this case - after lots of thinking. But again this is just my reasoning, from an older sister to her younger sissy whom she genuinely cares about. The base is that we have 2 major warnings when it comes to clothing and appearances: Do not look like men + Do not dress or look like the enemies of Allah swt (i.e. the nonbelievers). But Alhamdullillah that you mentioned that you do actually wear a fully covered hijab outside, Allahuma barik laki, may Allah swt keep you steadfast on the deen and increase the love for your hijab in your heart ameen 🤍

Now to get straight to the point, I would just recommend that you don't do something that is blurry or by which you risk to fall into something we were warned against. There is nothing wrong with wearing black, obviously the majority of women in Saudi for example wear black abayas and no one says black is a gendered color, no one told Saudi women that they are resembling the opposite gender by wearing black. As for sneakers, hmmmm.. who says girls should wear heels? we are all out here wearing our comfy healthy sporty shoes don't worry! Heels are not even good for one's health. But as far as the clothing items, I would definitely recommend you explore your options, widen your options, maybe if you wore something else ( even black) but like a different type of clothes you would feel comfortable and nice about yourself. And if you couldn't I genuinely don't think that's a huge problem because Allah swt does not burden a soul with what it can't handle tbh.

Now, the skeleton hand tattoo.. do you honestly think that represents something Islamically accepted? Like when you think skeleton shape, which group of people come to your mind first? So maybe yeah on this one, I would agree with your parents. We can't just do something that represents or is a symbol for shirk or kufr and then call it fashion or a trend or being unique or being extraordinary..

I honestly don't know.. I got confused as well 😅. And I did ask several people and I didn't get a fulfilled answer or much help sübhanallah. But I do hope that if someone with more information on this topic sees this ask they wouldn't hesitate to share their knowledge with us!

Anyways, the older sister part in me is telling me that you're just a teenager or at the very beginning of your adulthood and you're just trying to find " your style" and your identity. But as long as you don't lose track of your identity as a beautiful Muslim girl and you wear it beautifully MashaAllah and you do represent Hijabi Muslim girls to the outside world, how you dress within the walls of your house is in shaa Allah manageable. And Allah swt knows best!

May Allah swt guide you and us as well, and help us find the truth, ameen!

- A. Z. 🍃

#sisterssafespace

[emmanueltheapostate]

Butterfly Thots

What do you fight for? What are you willing to sacrifice? Who would you put your life on the line for?

Love comes in many different colors and flavors. But it’s not just what you see or taste…when you touch love, you can feel the different textures and physical forms it comes in too. So tell me, is love all the same?

Does it feel the same when he is next to you? When you see his face, does it remind you of me or does he make you feel something new and different?

Maybe the taste of something new on your tongue is exciting, giving you new ideas of what the future can hold, breaking down what you thought previously was unbreakable. But how easy am I to break down?

I am extremely sensitive on the inside. Every time I get hurt, I cry. Wether it’s tears falling down my face, or if it’s spending time having fun to forget about you….the pain is all the same, it’s just expressed in different forms at different times. So, is Love all the same?

I remember sitting in my parents garden, just an innocent boy, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face as my skin becomes itchy from laying in the blades of green grass as the wind blows. I loved all the beautiful colors that spring and summer brought to our little oasis. Seeing all the beauty in nature around me gave me such a feeling of hope and inspiration. Gorgeous flowers in all different colors and shapes, trees with leaves I’ve never seen before, some giving us food and others simply rooted for our entertainment. I used to love climbing trees, well I guess I still do, I just haven’t done it since I became and “adult”.

Nothing ever stays the same…. It used to be depressing watching my parents hard earned paradise wash away. My dad would wake me up at 7:30 AM and force me to pick up the dead leaves in the garden when fall came around. I fucking hated getting up in the morning, especially when my dad was home. He felt like my worst enemy. That one bully that never leaves you alone and knows exactly how to make you mad. I remember when I was maybe 4 years old, I had the ritual of waking up alone in my room and yelling to my mom, “Mommmmm?” I would wait a few seconds anxiously waiting for her reply. “Yes Emmanuel?” She would reply from her room, there was only a bathroom in between my room and my parents. “Is dad working today?” My heart starts thumping as I wait for my moms reply. “No, today he’s home, it’s the weekend.” Whatever that meant, the weekend was hell for me. All I knew was that my dad was home all day. “Yayyyy! I’m so happy dad is home” my heart would sink every time I said that. I didn’t want to hurt my dads feelings, so at a very young age I chose to lie through my teeth about it.

Lies made me sick….a salty ocean in my stomach…why did I have to lie?? I was only 4 and I didn’t know a lot. I just knew I didn’t like feeling. I guess I couldn’t see what I couldn’t relate to. Like a dead zombie, I would slowly crawl out of bed, not saying a word, just knowing what I had to do. Get dressed, eat breakfast, and wait for my dad to tell me what work I had to do for the day. Work, I fucking hated work. My dad was a man that was very to himself, so was my mom, but there was such a big feeling of contrast between the two of them. They felt like two different worlds when I was alone with either of them, and it felt like a whole different world all together when the 3 of us shared our presence. I clearly knew I loved the world my mom and I shared the most. We didn’t even have to say a word to each other, I felt at peace when I was with her. I think it’s safe to assume I’m a mommas boy, and I’m proud of it. The more time I spent with my dad, the more sour I became. I guess my mom loved me for who I was and my dad only loved the version of me he saw, not what I was. For some reason the memory of my dad beating my mother comes to surface right now. I had to be only 3 years old, at the time, my father worked at the mill in Scotia. I don’t remember much, but my dad was really really drunk. When I would open the fridge, there were always several beers stocked on the side door. That night my mother was laying on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. All I really remember in this memory was my dad yelling and beating on my mom. I was sitting in the couch across from her not really understanding why these things were happening, but I was scared. My mom was defenseless, bringing the blanket over her face for protection as my dad continues to beat her with his hand, the other holding a can of beer…I’m not sure how many he already had, I knew it was a lot though.

Right now in this very moment as I’m writing this, I feel very sad….hurt….and disappointed in myself. I feel like I’ve failed love itself. I feel stupid like a dysfunctional computer with a bunch of errors that can’t update itself. I’m stuck left to figure it out myself, wether I drown or fail, no one is here for me, it’s my problem to fix. Nobody can fix me. But that’s the beauty of it all. We were all designed to break. That’s why I hated working in the garden when everything was dying. All the vivid lively colors and smells of spring were now gone and I’m left picking up it’s dead remains.

You’re so beautiful to me I have to look away to not naturally get distracted from your even more beautiful words. You’re beauty never dies, so unfortunately, I can’t look at you forever. I have my own path to follow.

No matter where you are I just wanna know that you’re smiling. The whole world brightens up when your spirit shines through it….

It took me many life lessons to understand the beauty of death and imperfection. Understanding it was only a matter of time when my death comes for me, I struggled with the idea of being imperfect from start to finish. I didn’t want to be imperfect, I wanted to be the best. Life will drill experiences into you until you understand no one is perfect and I don’t think we should be. If we were all perfect, we would have no struggles right? Without struggle there is no growth. I’m not interested in not growing…I get very anxious and sad when I feel like I’m not putting myself to use for the better. There’s been many times in my life where I felt stagnant, I’d say that’s when I became the most toxic. If I didn’t leave my parents religion I was brought up in, I don’t think I would have felt any better. Everything changed once I took control of MY life. Everything I thought I knew, came crumbling down onto me and leaving me buried, will I be able to escape the debris just to start all over again? Do I even want to?

That’s the power of love, it always finds you when you need it the most. It’s not a matter of “where is the love?”, it’s all around us. It’s a matter of opening up, putting our walls down, seeing it, and inviting love to come to us. Who wants to go to a home uninvited?

Love can be scary, but once we find it, it becomes harmful to not let it in. We’ve waited and worked so hard to find it, why give up now? Unlike anger, love doesn’t get mad at us when we deny it. Sometimes we aren’t ready to take it, but it understands and keeps trying anyways. Love overpowers ALL things.

My dad is a different man now. I believe his religion and his god saved him from his darkest demons. I guess that’s one reason I don’t remember that memory of my dad abusing my mom so much because he made dramatic changes. The changed man he became was the dad I remember growing up with. How mad can I be for how my dad treated my mom? Don’t get me wrong it pisses me off. I don’t like anybody hurting anyone. But how could I hold resentment and anger towards him after he proved he has changed and is capable of making changes? I used to hate my dad for many many reasons but, nowadays I’ve learned to accept and forgive him. This has brought much peace to my heart I never lose hope that he will one day want to have a relationship with his only son one day. Who wouldn’t want to see a dead loved one? Just as much as much my door stays open for them to walk into my life, I have the same door wide open if they don’t want to be here. It’s been like that for me from the beginning. I don’t want to force anything on anybody. It feels much better when we do things because we love to. I love myself too much for people to hurt me anymore. Do as you please. I promise you won’t hurt me 🖤

#journal #random #inspiration

[heartfairy]

The Gift

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

❥ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “Vi decides to give you a beautiful gift, something you’ll remember for a long time. If not forever.”

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff + smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3,4k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: established relationship, playfulness, happy tears, domestic stuff, shower sex, thigh riding, fingering, lots and lots of kisses, lots of cuddles. first half of the fic is fluffy and the second half is just fluffy smut.

⟶ A/N: a soft smutty fic, as usual. just so you know I have 3 other fic ideas that I am currently writing… I promise you. you’re not getting rid of me just yet! If I’m being honest this is a soft filler fic before the OVERFLOWING tooth rotting fluffy smut part you’ll get afterwards. I hope you enjoy this uwu

⟶ previous post • masterlist • next post

Vi knows basically everything about you. Since you both started off as close friends to best friends to lovers… it’s kinda required. At least that’s how she feels about it.

She knows that you’re very sensitive and have some occasional sensory issues. How you love with your whole heart, or hate something like your life depends on it. The colour orange for example, you can’t really explain why but you don’t like it. Unless it’s peachy and pastel yellowy orange, that’s how you’d say it. Neon orange, the worst colour that exists. She knows you have a soft spot for plushies, you’d always be happy with a plushie of your favourite animals or character. You’ll never get enough of owning them either. Even if the bedroom is filled with them.

You love cute things. Pastel colours, especially lilac, baby pink, light blue, mint or light green. You despise spiders, you yell the other direction as you beg her to take care of it, thinking about it makes her laugh. She knows you like to read books during your free time, getting lost between the pages. You also love sunsets and sunrises. You love heart shaped things, clouds and flowers or plants.

To summarise it, she just knows you through and through, just like you know Vi better than herself sometimes.

Violet also remembers very vividly when she first moved in as your roommate that you told her that you’d love to adopt a kitten or a cat someday. To make you feel less lonely. You probably never adopted one because Vi moved into the apartment at the beginning of you getting the place.

She knows you’re not lonely anymore, but she can’t help but think about it either. You’re obsessed with cats, and she knows that they are one of your favourite animals.

So one day, she decided to get you one. She’s been secretly researching and buying all the essentials a cat would need. Such as a litter box, food and some toys. Vi would like to think that you have no idea of her plan. She is very adamant on keeping this a surprise as long as she can.

It is the evening, you finally enter the apartment while you yawn. You just came back from your work, your art studio. You didn’t bother to call out that you came home because usually you’re the first one that’s done with working. Dropping the keys next to the little side cabinet next to the door, you quickly take off your scarf, beanie and your jacket. You hang it on the peg before making your way to the living room.

You let yourself fall on the couch the moment you reach it. You moan while closing your eyes as you feel yourself sink into the cushions, feeling your body relax. You enjoy the silence for a while until you hear a crash coming from the hallway.

You open your eyes and frown, you thought you were all alone. “Vi?” You shout as you stand up, making your way towards the sound.

You hear a muffled “Yeah” coming from the spare bedroom. The one Vi used to sleep in before your relationship became romantic. You hear her shuffle before you hear her lock the room, making you gasp.

“What are you doing there?” You laugh.

“It’s a surprise!” She yells back at you.

You shake your head in disbelief, “Come on Vi, please open the door.”

“Not yet, be patient please!”

“You know I hate when people are being secretive,” you say teasingly, loud enough for her to hear.

You hear shuffling again “Baby, you know I’d only keep secrets from you if it’s to surprise you,” you hear her say, her voice a lot louder than before. You realise that she’s next to the door.

“I know,” you grumble.

You hear the door unlock, there’s a moment of silence before she opens the door just slightly too peek her head out. Her hair looks dishevelled, messy. You see that her face is flushed. It's a funny sight, seeing your girlfriend like this. You giggle as she looks at you.

“Are you making fun of me? I am literally peeking my head out just to say hello to my girlfriend,” she complains with a hint of playfulness. “I guess you don’t deserve my surprise.”

“No! I’m sorry.” You say quickly as you try to stop laughing.

“Alright, since you’re trying to be good for me… you can see what my surprise is,” she says as she opens the door just slightly so you can slip inside. “But first, close your eyes.”

You smile mischievously before you try to look serious again, closing your eyes for her.

“And no peeking!” Vi says because she knows how curious and impatient you can be.

“Okay,” you say, keeping your eyes closed. You hear the door slide open for you and seconds later you feel her take both of your hands in hers. Guiding you inside the room you hear a tiny meow. You gasp loudly, thinking you already know what her surprise is.

You hear Vi curse under her breath making you bite your lip. “You can open your eyes now,”

You slowly open your eyes and find a tiny black kitten lying on a little blanket on the bed. You feel your heart melt at the sight, as she meows again. All your attention is on the cute little creature in front of you. You can feel Vi’s eyes on you as you approach the kitten on the bed, they sit up and crawl to your direction. Sitting down on the bed the fluffy little thing tries to get on your lap.

You feel your eyes well up with tears while the kitten purrs lightly as you caress their back. You can’t believe this. Tears roll down your cheek as you coo at the little kitten lying in your lap. You look up, meeting Vi’s eyes seeing her look at you with so much warmth.

“Is this for me?” You say through sobs.

She walks closer to you sitting next to you, instantly wrapping an arm around you. You lean your head against her shoulder as you nuzzle against her.

“Yes of course, she’s all yours.” She whispers, kissing the top of your head.

“Ours,” You reply quickly.

Vi smiles as you continue to cry softly against her. Vi pats her lap and you pick up the kitten gently in your hands and Vi wraps her arms around you, picking you up and moving your body onto her lap. She places her head in the crook of your neck as she hugs you closer to her body while you pet the kitten in your own lap.

“What are you going to name her?” She says against your ear.

“Kiki,” you say without thinking.

“Kiki? Like your fave little Animal Crossing character?”

She feels you nod against her “Yes, like the black cat in Animal Crossing.”

Vi chuckles “Why?” She asks, knowing the answer already.

“Because she’s a black kitty with big yellow-greenish eyes just like Kiki and because Kiki is my favourite.” You say as you look up at her with a big smile on your face.

Vi leans up to press a soft kiss to your temple, making you feel all warm inside. You feel yourself melt against her. “Perfect name for a beautiful kitty.”

“Perfect just like you,” You say as tears well up in your eyes again and you lean up to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Thank you.” You whisper against her lips.

“Anything for you, princess.” She says before kissing you again. You both kiss languidly for a while, just enjoying each other’s company and love for one another. After some time you hear the kitten meow. She pulls away first, both of you looking down at the little kitten on your lap.

“I think it’s time for dinner.” You say happily, wiping your tears off your face.

“I guess so, let’s make some dinner then.” Vi says with a huge smile on her face.

——

After dinner is over, you’re cleaning the dishes as Vi is playing with the kitten in the living room. You still can’t believe she gifted you a kitten. You’re truly over the moon.

As you’re cleaning, your mind is drifting off elsewhere. You’re daydreaming about the domestic life you have with Vi and you feel your heartbeat faster as you think about her. You don’t hear Vi approaching you, so lost in your own thoughts.

Arms wrap around you slowly making you yelp in surprise. She chuckles against your neck at your reaction, “So deep in thought that you didn’t hear me come into the kitchen, baby?” She knew you too well.

“Yeah…” you whisper.

You feel her delicate lips tracing the length of your neck, pressing soft kisses down your neck onto your shoulder. You smile when her hands slide across your stomach to keep you close against her chest.

“I love you,” you murmur, tempted to drop everything you’re doing to wrap your arms around her.

“I love you too, missed ya.”

You continue to clean the last plate in your hands until it’s done. Afterwards you’re cleaning the sink with soap making it shine. You smile as you turn around in her embrace, wrapping your arms around her quite quickly.

“You know… I missed you too today.” You whisper, your lips ghosting against hers for a second before your lips meet in a gentle kiss. For a while you’re both just kissing, enjoying the feeling of each other.

You pull away from her but not before giving her lips a quick peck. “I’m gonna shower.” You say as you walk away.

“Oh—”

“Are you coming?” You say with a playful tone.

Vi looks at you with wide eyes for a moment until she composes herself, taking the hand that is holding out for her. You pull her to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You’re leaning against the door of the bathroom looking at her while you bite your lip. She looks so hot, she always does. You walk towards her as she smirks at you, grabbing the collar of her hoodie, bringing her lips down to your mouth.

“I want to undress you,” you whisper against her lips. She moans against you as you tug at her sweatpants.

“Only if I can undress you.” She says teasingly.

“Yes, please do.”

You undress each other quickly, while you both continue to kiss each other passionately. Violet seems determined to devour you whole, determined to make the most of this desperate kiss.

Once both of your bras and underwear are off, she pulls away slightly as her hands caress the length of your arms, admiring your body. “You’re so pretty. So beautiful.” She says as she’s caressing the side of your face, she tilts your chin, her lips ghosting against yours. She slowly glides her lips over yours, nudging them open. You part your lips wider, urging her to kiss you more, deeper, because all you want to do is give.

You whine against her lips as you feel her hands move from your neck to your waist, all the way to your ass. You pull away slowly, her pupils are dilated and she licks her lips before she squeezes the flesh of your ass in her hands.

“F-fuck, Vi.” You moan as you pull yourself away from her hold. “We should get in…”

Vi stares at you hungrily for a while before her gaze drifts to the shower. “Good idea,” she says smiling cheekily.

You quickly step into the shower with one foot and reach for the shower handle, turning the shower on. Once you step out of the shower, you feel her hands around your waist again, pulling you closer as she leans down her head to kiss your neck.

You giggle at her affection, knowing that Vi can never get enough of you. You pull away again as you notice the water is heating up. Stepping into the shower, you sigh as the warm water falls on you, the steam already relaxing your muscles. You turn to face the water, closing your eyes as you let it run off the back of your scalp, your hands coming up to rub over your face.

Soon, you feel the front of her body against your back. Her hands are sliding against your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to her. You can feel your breath growing shaky as you respond to her movements, turning your body around in her embrace. Your arms encircling the back of her neck, your lips leaning up towards hers.

She gladly meets your lips halfway, as you’re standing on the tip of your toes. She kisses you slowly, teasingly, like she has all the time in the world, her hands squeezing your hips, pressing her own hips against yours as she finally deepens the kiss. You gasp as her hands knead your ass, giving her the opportunity to slide her tongue inside her mouth.

“You’re truly the hottest person I've ever seen.” She murmurs against your lips. Her own lips become more and more eager as she backs you slowly against the shower wall. You hiss slightly as the cold wall hits your back but the uneasiness is short lived as Vi tucks her face into your neck, her lips pressing soft open mouthed kisses below your ear.

“Says the hottest girl I’ve ever seen,” Your fingers tangle in her hair, which is dark pink now, because it’s soaking wet. Just like your heat, that’s now touching her thigh. You didn’t notice that she brought her thigh between your legs, too lost in the feeling of her touch and kisses on your neck.

You whimper loudly, leaning your body even more against hers and you feel your body tingling all over. A second later you feel her lips crash against yours again. You feel so overwhelmed, your heart hammering against your chest as you roll your hips down on her. Grinding your sensitive clit against her muscular thigh.

“B-baby—” you cut yourself off with a loud cry as her hands move you back and forth, the delicious friction against your throbbing heat causing you to close your eyes as she moves you back against her thigh. Moaning softly as you feel Vi flex her thigh against your pussy.

You gasp as she moves her leg up to apply more pressure to your clit, bucking your hips instinctively to continue rocking them without her guidance. You’re trembling as you drag your hips back and forth, occasionally moving in circles. You feel so close, the coil tightening below your waist. Her thigh is so thick and strong, the pressure on your clit driving you insane as you roll your hips faster, supporting yourself by your palms placed on her abdomen as small whines leave your mouth.

Her eyelids hang low as she watches you, her eyes concentrated on each roll of your hips, each grind of your pussy against her muscular thigh. Your body trembles the more you drag your pussy against her, feeling so close to your release, you try to move your hips faster. Her hands dig in your hips, guiding you against her thigh once again the second she notices you slowing down. Flexing her thigh repeatedly against your dripping centre does it, makes you double over as you cum against her skin.

Your head leans against her chest, as you try to catch your breath while you slow down your movements against her. Her hands slide over your back as her arms pull you closer against her while she pulls her thigh back.

You look up at her, your breath still laboured. “Did that feel good?” She asks as a gentle smile plays on her lips.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” You mirror her smile as you wrap your arms around her neck.

“You did so well for me, you’re always doing so good for me. I love you so much.” She says before she leans down to kiss you. The kiss starts off gentle, but soon evolves into something more passionate and deep. She brings your body closer to her, and you can’t seem to quite catch your breath.

You open your mouth to swipe your wet muscle against her lips, her lips slowly opening up for you to slip your tongue inside. Your tongues dance against each other slowly, her taste is so delicious, making you moan against her lips.

Your hands travel from her back, all the way down to her waist, your hands occasionally squeezing her flesh. One of your hands is slipping all the way down to her wet heat in between her legs, while the other is holding her body close to yours. All the while you’re kissing her deeply. She whimpers when your fingers pass by her sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your fingers slide up and down her slit, slowly spreading her outer lips for you to slip two of your fingers inside her. She cries out as you rub your fingers against her walls. You press your palm against her clit as you gradually pick up the pace of your hand.

Her legs almost give out on her at the pressure against her clit combined with your fingers playing with her sensitive spot inside. You steady her with your other hand as you smile against her lips. You swirl your tongue against hers as she moans in your mouth. Her thighs tremble so hard as her noises start to become more high pitched.

She opens her eyes, meeting your playful eyes as she pulls her mouth from yours to cry out loud as her hips stutter against your hand as she comes undone. Vi tightens and untightens around your fingers as she rides out her high. After a while you slip your fingers out of her as she slumps against your body. Both of your hands catch her body and you smile.

“God that was so…” She says breathless against your neck.

“I know, I wanted to thank my girlfriend for giving me such a beautiful gift.” You say as you lean your head down to press a kiss on her, now soaked head.

“You know you didn’t have to,”

“I know, but I wanted to. I shouldn’t be the only one that’s always getting all the pleasure.” You say softly.

She straightens up after you say those words. “Is that what you think? That you don’t pleasure me enough?”

You bite your bottom lip as you try to avoid her eyes, “Well yeah, kinda.”

You soon feel her hands on your cheeks, tilting your face to hers, making you look into her eyes. “Erase that thought out of your head, you do pleasure me so much that you don’t even realise.”

You smile softly at her words, leaning against her touch. “Thank you, you know how insecure or how much I doubt myself sometimes.”

“That’s ok, I’m just here to remind you that those thoughts aren’t true.”

You wrap your arms around her as you hug her close to you, your head on her chest. You both hold each other like this for a while. Until Vi speaks up again.

“What do you think about this, we go and watch a movie in the living room after we clean up?” She says as she smiles down at you.

“Perfect idea.”

You both wash each other, your hair and your bodies, as you occasionally share some kisses, touching each other softly as you clean yourselves. It’s so intimate, in a way that it’s not even sexual anymore. Just soft and sweet. And oh so gentle.

Once you’re both finished, Vi steps out of the shower first grabbing a big fluffy towel for you. Wrapping the towel around you once you’re out of the shower. She grabs one for her and wraps it around her.

“You’re so beautiful.” She whispers to you as she dries herself off. Once you’re both dry she wraps her towel around her and pulls you against her, holding you close to her.

You could stay like this in her arms forever. Eventually you pull away and she smiles mischievously down at you.

“The first one that has their pyjamas on and sits on the couch gets to pick out the movie.” She says quickly before running off to your shared bedroom, giving herself a head start.

“HEY!” You yell as you run behind her, both giggling as you try to be as quick as possible.

#vi x reader #vi x you #vi arcane x reader #arcane vi #arcane vi imagines #vi lol #vi lol x reader #vi smut #vi imagines #vi imagine #vi league of legends #league of legends x reader #league of lesbians #arcane #sapphic fanfic #ml’s writing

[1111jenx]

Aspects indication of a dolly like beauty?

Hi there!

Ofcourse, lets talk about it I honestly love this idea🥰

Romance Astro series🍸

Doll-like beauty

<rising signs and a lil moon signs lol>

Attractiveness to me has always been so subjective. It really depends on people's different perspectives and everyone has different standards for what they defind as "beautiful". Yet I believe that we're all beautiful and uniquely stunning in our own ways. If you don't have these placements it doesn't mean that you're not attractive:)! This is from my own observations and I'll be explaining why! Take what resonates loves💘

check out my other posts here

Virgo Rising, Gemini Rising = if you have been following me for sometime you'd know that I am a fan of Mercurian beauty, they're seriously underrated in my opinion:) super dreamy eyes, youthful look (elegant for virgo, beaming for gemini). their skins tend to be very porcelain like as in very velvety and nice, or they can look good with little to no make-up✨ also a lot of gemini risings have amazing sparkling eyes that speak to others, their cheeks are often times so blushy and cute!! some of the hottest people i have met were also either gemini/virgo rising. SO insecure deep down though cause some of y'all astrologers keep calling virgo rising alien faces💀 if being a total smokeshow with so much ambitions and potentials visually and careerwise is what an alien looks like then i'll sign up to be the next experiment please. i volunteer as tribute. (Brooke Shields <Virgo Rising> is a GREAT example of this,, her beauty is so so addicting, extremely surreal in opinion ???)

-> Notice how her eyes are *literally* eye-catching. Theres so many emotions and words behind them. Mercurian children's beauty is loud, even when they're quiet.

Addison Rae is a fantastic example for a Gemini Rising in my opinion. She seem very neurotic yet her aura is so mesmerizing yet youthful!! Gemini Risings tend to have amazing smiley eyes👼🏼

-> Theres this certain charm to them thats so distinctive!! Most Gemini Rising have a very sweet and playful aura to them. Their eyes are doe-like and their lips might not even be thick yet its usually very well-shaped.

Cancer Rising: I have said this so many times but I haven't met a single ugly cancer rising before. The women in particular are simply flawless, their skin are pretty good and usually are a bit sensitive though!! Cancer also rules flower according to the book of rulership so perhaps why these people often have a blooming beauty and often age backwards. Cancer rising women are very similar to Capricorn rising women in this aspect and I believe a lot of astro blogs have covered it:) Cancer rising will make money off of being famous though. I'm not even joking this can literally be the case since they have 2H in Leo🥳 I have friends who have Cancer Risings who are models and their beauty is so sultry and easy on the eyes like it just comes to them naturally. Also Cancer Rising gets people to sympathize with them a lot and despite not knowing these people well, others just get the sense of some kind of personal connection has been established.

Angelina Jolie with her Cancer Rising is one of the best example of this. She has all of the most desirable feminine facial attributes (high forehead, large eyes, slender nose, full lips, defined chin, smooth skin) which is all extremely cancerian in nature, as well as a great figure and very simple sense of style.

A prominent moon in Taurus, Pisces, Gemini, Sagittarius or Libra: I notice that individuals with moons in these signs usually have this note of playfulness to their look. They usually have a very "balanced" or doll-like energy to them, especially when they're zoning out and stand still, their faces are literally art. Their features are usually very soft and elegant too. ( Vanessa Hudgens - Pisces Moon , Madison Beer - Libra Moon, Keira Knightly - Taurus Moon, Brooke Shields - Gemini Moon, Bianca Lawson - Sagittarius Moon)

I came across Jimin from BTS as I was doing research for this and I found out that he's a Gemini Moon. This truly explains his effortless charm and sex appeal! The duality within Gemini Moon is so interesting that someone who looks like this (very lovable, sweet and joyful)

To this, a wholeass baddie!!! Gemini Moons are my favorite tbh!!😭

Grace Kelly, one of the most beautiful royalty imo, has Pisces Moon. She looks like an angel. Very ethereal and regal beauty. She even looks like a real life barbie. A beauty that's very addicting.

Libra Moon beauty in terms of doll-like would best be described by actress Anne Hathaway. From her porcelain skin to her big eyes and curvy lips:) Notice how her energy is very welcoming and relaxed, very Libra. Her features give off the feelings of balance and symmetry.

Pisces Rising: My biggest flaw is how I never appreciate Pisces Rising enough. They are seriously underrated gods and goddeses and while they do look extremely ethereal, I never got the chance to tell you guys how Pisces Rising can read others like no other. I notice that there eyes are one of their most prominent features and theres something about them that just feels so intimate:) Very expressive in terms of facial expression, gorgeous teeth and eyes. Extremely elegant. I think their energy overall are very angelic. Pisces rising eyes are not traditionally attractive imo, but they have this smiley eyes and with their gorgeous smiles they just look so proportionate😭 The amount of time people would mistake them for Libra Rising is crazy. They're super intuitive and often times are so so so good with feelings. More rational than people think though:)

Adriana Lima, one of the most gorgeous VS angels ever herself have 1H in Pisces. Notice how her eyes really stand out and how her vibe is very alluring but not overbearing, its like magnets that pull us to her energy.

I'll for sure follow up with a part 2 in the future<3 stay tuned💗

love,

saint jenx🖤

#astrology community #astro community #natal chart #astrology observations #astro notes #astrojenx #cancer rising #pisces rising #libra moon #sagittarius moon #taurus moon #pisces moon #virgo rising #gemini rising #gemini moon #bts astrology #astrology bts #jimin bts #grace kelly

[holy-guacamoly]

What kind of lingerie would Erwin, Levi, and Jean buy/ like to see on their s/o? The color, the fabric, etc. 😏😏😏😏

I was hoping for a request like this! These are the real questions and I am happy to answer them for you. <3 Warnings: mentions of lapdances, mentions of sex, mentions of cunnilingus, overall sexual themes but nothing too graphic E r w i n ● S m i t h: Erwin Smith is a man of class. He appreciates the fine things in life and you definitely are one of them. This man is one to enjoy a lapdance from you, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, while whispering the most charming things. And when you grind on his thighs, giving him the show he deserves, Erwin can't help but fall for you all over again. For such occasions, he always buys you a matching set of delicate lingerie. By now you are the proud owner of over 50 types of gallant outfits. Your lover simply spoils you rotten. Erwin adores fabrics like silk and velvet because they are a symbol of wealth and class. He expects you to wear them with elegance and pride for him, but of course, that is an easy task for you. Commander Smith prefers outfits that aren't too revealing since there is a thrill about wondering what lies underneath the thin layer of your robes. But of course, he doesn't mind some tiny sets including straps. You look good in everything you wear anyway. Be aware, this man goes feral when you wear jewelry in addition. You are just an ethereal sight like that. His favorite colors are black, crimson red and emerald green tones. But black is definitely what he prefers. Erwin's gonna ask you to leave the lingerie on while fucking you senseless.

L e v i ● A c k e r m a n: Apart from everyone thinking he will hatefuck you, our captain definitely lies more on the soft side when it comes to sexual themes. This also reflects in his taste in lingerie. He loves to see you in very feminine, innocent outfits. Embroided flowers, soft pastel to white tones and your hair falling loosely over your shoulder (if you have long hair) make him want to take you right on the spot. Levi definitely is a man who will inhale every second of undressing you. He loves to take his time until doing the actual act and already gets you worked up before he even touched your sensitive parts. Your lover whispers praises in awe as he unwraps you passionately. Sometimes it's hard for him to truly believe you are his when the world never granted him happiness. Something about this gentle lovemaking mixed with alabaster underwear, makes him forget the cruelties of reality. The innocence of light colors and the clean touch that comes with them lets Levi dream for a tiny bit. His favorite fabric is something lacey and maybe even cotton. He is a simple man after all. Levi loves to see you in two pieces because it's his favorite to kiss his way down over your stomach. If you ad stockings to the mix, be prepared for a short session. He can't help but instantly cum when seeing you wearing them. Also has a thing for hear-shaped chockers.

J e a n ● K i r s c h t e i n: While the veterans are on the classy site, Jean enjoys the more unconventional and modern types of lingerie. As a person which adores to shine out everyone, he expects nothing less from his sweetheart. He encourages you to just choose whatever you like and plainly places a 100 dollar bill in your hand. This man trusts you with his whole heart. When you finally show the pieces you purchased, your boyfriend has to fight the urge to just devour you like a man starved. But he wants to, no, needs to take his time with you. Jean scans every inch of your body before he even dares to touch you. There is almost something predatory about his behavior that throws you over the edge in no time. Your lover has a very deep admiration for harnesses and other accessories that underline your submissive role. To tease you he pulls you on your collar, bringing you close to his face. You feel his breath dancing on your skin when he whispers, "Tell me...Who do you belong to?" This guy loves to take pictures of you in these tiny outfits and sends them to all his friends bragging. Also to remind them that you are his. Your man enjoys every kind of fabric that is out of the ordinary. Glitter, latex - You name it. For the colors, he couldn't really care much. The overall theme is more important to Jean than anything else. Also is a fan of sexy costumes and adores roleplay from time to time.

#attack on titan #erwin smith #levi ackerman #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #aot #shingeki no kyojin #lingerie #attack on titan smut #jean x reader #levi x reader #erwin x reader

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

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