#i have visions and reasonings for either or i just dont know which is better

[todayisafridaynight]

taking a coin out and opening clip today like 'oh boy who am i going to project onto today ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶'

#snap chats #ugHHHH #had another nightmare about my mom so now that im free from commission work its projection time #ive had nightmares every day at this point but this one just. especially hit me for some reason LMAO #whatever now im trying to figure out who.... #because it very easily could go either way and i know i can make both work very well. if i can be confident for .5 seconds for once #i have visions and reasonings for either or i just dont know which is better #they say you should do a coin flip because subconsciously youll want one result over the other #but in this case im genuinely at a stand still #i dont want to explain my reasonings for jo's vers and arakawa's vers for the fear of someone reading these tags #and liking one more than the other but then i end up doing the opposite #SO no one gets to know until i actually do it #i just gotta look at the wall and let my heart decide #this is the problem with two bitches you like having parental issues like Damn Which One Of You Would Be More Banger For Storytelling #TO SOME THE CHOICE IS OBVIOUS but theres just so much to play with here.... #anyways we'll see what i do in a few hours. if i even do anything and i just dont look out my window ghandi style all day

[umedao]

Heartslabyul, but they're in teyvat

I've been having a lot of genshin x twst brainrot lately so here we go, I'll try to draw them later but rn I don't have my tablet with me so please bear with the messy text block

((note that if we're speaking twst lore then technically ALL of them would be catalyst user (save for rook, silver, sebek and maybe vil since he did fencing but we're not gonna talk about them here) but we're going to ignore all of that and go with aesthetic/vibes))

starting from ace, I feel like he'd either use bow or polearm because as seen in the og alice in wonderland movie, all of the trump soldiers use some sort of lance(?), but I'm going with bow because I feel like it matches his vibes the most. rust would fit his overall visual especially with his dorm uniform (bc I am not about to teyvat-ivy their outfits I Am Not The Art Archon).

if we’re talking about kits/skill set, I picture him having an anemo vision (dead friend aside and purely by aesthetic bc we dont know much abt his past/um/I will not kill deuce) and being an off-field dmg dealer sort of like yelan and his skill being an enemy aggro that also do a mini swirl like mona’s/faruzan’s. so a sub dps maybe.

then we go to deuce, I want to say he’s a catalyst like heizou that punches his enemies like he got a personal grudge but listen to me : deuce with a claymore. deuce just. swinging that shit around and beating the mobs to death. I mean I can picture him being a catalyst that do normal, sort of calm attack until you make him do his charged attack and it’s a rage-filled uppercut sort of but. claymore deuce. deuce wielding song of broken pines.

now about the kit, I can’t see him with any other vision than hydro and I’m torn between him being an elemental dmg dealer with parry gimmick like beidou or just a full blown physical dps. while hydro isn’t a good element to do physical reaction, at the same time I also see him being able to deal some sort of decent physical dmg so I’m really conflicted about what his kit is going to be like. but I DO see that he’s going to be the type thats going to scale off of hp like zhongli or nilou.

next is trey, I see him as somewhere between sword or polearm, but then I decided on polearm because imagine trey with those baker hand swinging a polearm around. also he reminds me of thoma for some reason (househusband material, serving powerful/important figure??). Also he’d look good wielding skyward spine, no?

I cant decide on his vision but I can see him being dendro, mainly bc he’s green and also that the whole reaction with dendro kinda(?) fits his unique magic ig. Which means he’d probably be both a healer and em support/buffer. I think he’d have kits similar to shenhe and bennett where he increases dmg with his skill while he heals and buffs em/atk with his burst and doing small continuous dmg.

cater is kind of hard for me to picture in this setting. like ace I do think that bow fits his vibe, but so does polearm and sword. I literally cannot decide. I wanted him to be like childe where he wields one weapon and change stance during skill, but I already have different idea for his skill that would match his um better so. I ended up going with polearm after seeing mika with that crossbow

just like his weapon, I cannot decide on a vision for him. it’s either cryo or electro, based on his personality alone. he reminds me of fischl in a weird way. kit wise I think he’s going to summon his clone for his skill that function more as totems like yae’s that also do aggro (it is a bit funny imagining like 3 caters ganging up on a mob in game tho lmao). I think it wont do that much damage but it’ll be a consistent element applicator. as for his burst I really have no idea except maybe it’ll be like gorou where he’ll summon just 1 copy/totem that follows the character and also buffing/dealing damage alongside them(?)

now riddle, we can already tell that this boy is a full blown catalyst dps. I’m sure he can wield a sword/polearm just fine but catalyst just seems to fit his vibe the most. blackliff agate would look sick on him even if it’s not a 5 star weapon.

and yeah he’s definitely pyro. his kit would also be like yanfei and klee mainly bc I cannot think of a way to integrate his unique magic completely (zhongli’s burst is literally stunning the mob and his um is more close to taking the vision away from his enemy teyvat-wise). so he’d be a normal+charged atk focused dps. like yanfei he’d have this point(?) thingy(???) on his back everytime he do normal attack and if he do charge attack with them (max 4) he’d do big damage. I think his skill would have that pyro/elemental res effect while dealing damage and I think it would be cool if his burst is a one-shot pyro hit that deals lots of dmg like hu-tao’s while also giving him the maximum amount of point for charge attack. 

That is all for now, I think. might also do a hsr au with heartslabyul (please don't ask me why I keep throwing them into aus. I. Am not. A Heartslabyul fan I swear ((that's a lie)))

#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #deuce spade #riddle roseheart #trey clover #cater diamond #genshin impact #genshin #genshin twst #twst x genshin #twst au #heartslabyul

[br1ghtestlight]

"hello burger lady!! tiny people. BOB."

THE SLOW HEAD TURN WHILE FISCHOEDER IS STARING AT THEM LMAOO he's such a freak. what is he doing

aww linda put a smiley face on the check thats so cute. "nooo i enjoyed it :)"

A BROTHERHOOD?? BLOOD OATH? love how louise hears this and immediately stands up she's like hello. hello im interested. PLEASE let me into your blood oath club mr fischoder

babalon like the ancient uhh. thing.

ooooh :0

(also my dad used to call my mom babalon among MANY other creative insults when they were married and this immediately brought that memory back to me. but he said it like babble-on like she was babbling. sorry idk why i wanted to share that)

"and the other members already picked all of the best chefs in town soo im asking you" i literally dont believe fischoeder lmao he definitely just wanted bob to come along as his personal chef and couldn't come up w/ a better excuse like. come on

"a billion dollars" "nope." "a million dollars" "no...." "a billion dollars :D" "she just said that"

i know bob is holding onto fischoeder's back bcuz he cant see but also its like. kinda intimate?? like?

also love bob's new jacket. these are the kinda things you only notice when you've watched WAAYY too many bob's burgers episodes but its a nice jacket :) the blue color suits him. and it has a hood

personally i would be a little more concerned that mr fischoeder only has one eye and it is NOT looking in the direction of the dangerous sharp cliff theyre walking beside. i know he's driven bob in his boat before but he's SOO BLIND WHY ARE YOU WILLINGLY GETTING IN A BOAT WITH HIM <- saying this as someone who doesn't really have vision in one eye or depth perception. i wouldnt give in a boat with myself driving either

"it was actually kinda fun to come up with!! i-i hope you like it :)" bob is so sweet im gonna cry. he's so excited about cooking SOMEONE LET HIM RANT ABOUT HIS SPECIAL INTEREST RIGHT NOW. he's in autism heaven

NOT THE TIKTOK MENTION 😭😭

recognize some of these guys from the gingerbread house episode which was another horrible experience for bob lmao

"can i keep hiiim? 🥺" what is his PROBLEM

WAS HE WORKING THE OMLETTE STATION AT YOUR LAST SEX PARTY??? <- brand new sentence

also this 100% confirms to me that fischoeder has had sex with every old ass man on this camping trip bcuz NO WAY he's getting rich old woman pussy im sorry. i do think he's bisexual but his sex parties are male-exclusive. he fucked those old men

not looking forward to whatever is going to happen to bob in this episode.

I ALWAYS FORGET FISCHOEDER IS LIKE A HARDCORE DRUG ADDICT remember that time he did mushrooms in s13 That would explain some things. that weren't already explained by the alcoholism

bob is surprisingly chill considering the circumstances and the fact that he's getting less than a thousand dollars of restaurant equipment out of this. i know he trusts fischoeder (for some reason i dont entirely understand) but being blindfolded and taken to a secret island with a bunch of rich old men and having NO CELL SIGNAL and everybody is drugged as hell.... he doesn't even know where he is..... GIRL RUN‼️‼️

also there's only one bed in fischoeder's tent which means there's either a seperate camping section for the chefs (unlikely) he expects bob to sleep outside in the storm (very likely) or bob and fischoeder are going to have to share a bed 👀👀 i know its probably not going to be addressed but i need somebody to write And There Was Only One Bed bob x fischoeder fanfic about this episode immediately. like that needs to happen

bob realizing that the chances of him dying on this camping trip are quickly reaching eighty or ninety percent ooh he's COOKED

"Don't wear brown and black. Never look into someone's eyes..." "Bring your own fork. And briefcase." "Of course. Everyone knows that." "And leave one of your shoes as a gift." "But you have to hide it..." gene and louise are SOO silly i love them so much. they play off each other so well its like a constant improv class

this subplot is Trying To Teach Tina Social Skills meanwhile gene and louise don't have them either they just dont give a fuck about learning them. well louise knows them she just disregards them. gene doesn't know ANYTHING

HAHAHA BOB REALIZING THEYRE LEAVING HIM THERE TO DIE. ITS NEVER BEEN MORE OVER love him not even acknowledging their crazy fire drug-induced dancing he's so used to this bullshit. bob should get a week off after this MINIMUM but we all know he loves cooking too much for that

NOT MR FISCHOEDERS GAY ASS HIP SHAKE?????????

mfw im the only sober person at a crazy drug party full of rich people on an island during a deadly storm and its only Tuesday. 😐

UH OH IS THE CORRECT RESPONSE. BOB REALIZES HES SO FUCKED

aww its kinda cute he's making sure that fischoeder is taken care of too and packing up all their things. dad instincts

at a certain point u kinda have to call him calvin dude. like you're WELL past "mr fischoeder" territory in this situation <- is also calling him mr fischoeder in this review

"shh he's hunting us" is probably NOT what bob wanted to hear

there's something about this that is sooo.....

in defense of bob he has almost died or been killed with fischoeder SEVERAL times before this episode including in the movie. its like a male bonding thing for them at this point

"and i invented a new way to tie a tie" I KNEW I WASNT CRAZY FOR THINKING THAT LOUISES TIE WAS TIED WRONG IN THAT SCREENSHOT i love that i picked up on that and felt the need to point it out. having never worn a tie before in my life (not to my knowledge at least)

this is literally what it feels like when ur autistic and trying to understand neurotypical social conventions. tina is trying SO HARD she's such a sweet girl :( its okay baby girl i understand i get it

THE BITEY GUY HAS A NAME BOB

am i allowed to say that bob with wet hair is kinda 👀👀🔥

why'd he kiss him like that ??

he's suuuch a sweetie in his oversized jacket <3

"No, no. Plants don't like sweet drinks!" "Just hard liquor?"

"dad is missing a WILD night" *hard cut to bob tied up and being used as a human sacrifice for cannibalism*

WHAT WAS RHAT. WHY DID CALVIN LOOK AT HIM LIKE THAT. YES IM USING HIS LEGAL FIRST NAME BCUZ WTF WAS THAT GAY ASS GUILTY LOOK?? HES NEVER BEEN GUILTY BEFORE he care so much about bob im gonna throw up. what the hell

HE LIIIKES HIM 😭 HE FELT GUILTY BCUZ HE LOVES AND CARES ABOUT BOB THIS IS SO FUCKED UP 😭😭💕

he probably also feels guilty that this is like the sixth time he's gotten bob into a near death situation. like at a certain point it starts to feel personal yknow

*howling* "god. i hate when he does that"

straight up on the verge of a meltdown. i dont even blame him tbh

bob isnt WRONG but also we are talking about a crazy drugged up cannibal who thinks he's a wild animal so maybe we could leave saving him until tomorrow morning? like idk i feel like he wouldnt exactly fit on their dingy. and even if he did what if he bites

"and you do have to come for ice cream!! it wont be any fun without you" okay thats kinda cute. this episode definitely kept up to pace with the insane homoerotic relationship between bob and fischoeder and im happy about that. almost gave us the tiniest hint into what fischoeder really feels/thinks about bob which. yeah

VERY UNHINGED EPISODE BUT REALLY FUN AND CUTE?? everything between bob and fischoeder was so. soo. yknow. and the subplot was funny and cute too :) very sweet little episode i always love when they go off on adventures like w/ teddy in sea me now. and of course their (many many) near death experiences together thats truly what its all about baby!!! really enjoyed this episode it was exactly the right amount of unhinged and funny

#txt #bob's burgers #episode review

[ill-say-this-fast]

hey! since the poll ended a while ago, i would like to give my two cents in-

If the general public or the twin's social circle found out about their relationship, how badly would everyone react? Would it be like a pre-HOM situation where everyone is tryna persecute the maximoffs? how would the kids (Billy, Tommy, & Luna) play a role in all this? (and yes, let us all finally acknowledge that these three kids are (long-lost) siblings) #sc*arletv*s*on fans feel free to rage hehehe

Thanks for the ask :) theres a lot to say

In their close social circle I dont know how many people are actually shocked. But suspecting something youd never say outloud and being publically told it are different. It would be a negative reaction generally. I feel like superheros have got better things to do than actually attack them for it, exclude, sure, make nasty comments about, some people probably, but no ones gonna try and arrest them I dont think (definitely not pre-HOM 'maybe we should kill them' ideas). As Toby's said, Wanda's friends might be worried about her, especially those of them that dont like Pietro. But none of them are likely to accept it comfortably if she tells them she's happy. She might get quietly pushed out.

Now its different if the general public find out (who have less reason to already think it). That'll cause a lot of outrage, and the angry crowd will always be louder than the crowd that don't care. That demands a PR response and some of the other heroes would be obliged to either publicly denounce them, argue that its fine and there should be no legal consequences (unlikely), or argue that the evidence is fake.

Frankly Wanda and Pietro should probably be arguing that the evidence is fake. I imagine Wanda would just pretend nothings happened and try and go about her life. A lot of her social circle who were already doing the same about their suspicions might continue to. I can see a lot of the avengers doing that, especially if she's still working with them cuz she's a big asset as well as a friend. But the xmen and that lot, the periphery social circle, who like her less, are much more likely to take the opportunity to attack her.

Pietro doesnt have a lot of friends to lose. Or a lot of good public rep. I do think he'd tailor his general response to fit with Wanda's even if he wanted to tell everyone to go fuck themselves. I see Wanda wanting to keep out of the spotlight (this isnt a wrong of hers to earnestly take accountability for and make right, it's one of the most important things to her heart that people want to insult), and Pietro taking the spotlight for them if she thinks either of them should make a public statement. He'd get in a lot of scuffles about it, especially if people are saying unkind or crude things about Wanda to him to goad him about it. Magneto is more likely to be his problem, either gonna deny it or blame pietro but almost certainly deny especially publicly. Maybe hed try and set Wanda up with other people he approves of more like in ultimates lol.

Wanda wouldnt want to stop doing her helping people job even if the people were horrible. I cant see her running off with Pietro to live away from any hate really, even if he might prefer that. She'd rather negotiate (or magically influence) her way out of a prison sentence if anyone actually managed to bring a legal case against her and keep working even if that means alone now. Maybe move her official domicile to new jersey or rhode island or wherever cuz it wouldnt be a legal crime there even if everyone still hated it. She'd be sadder and lonelier but people leave her that way a lot and she keeps going.

The only thing that might get her really set against other people is if they start bullying her kids. They still have the shield of being magically created even though everyone's gonna be theorising they're Pietro's. (I can see Vision taking the opportunity to blame her and the kids being someone elses for their marriage problems which would add fuel to the fire.)

Billy would hold onto the magically created thing both as a public defence and internally cuz he would not want to think of himself as an incest baby, he might step away from Wanda for a bit to collect himself but he does idolise her. It would be good for him to get over that idolising and appreciate her more as a real person with human flaws and struggles and not his favourite celebrity, and maybe this situation would be a way for that to happen. Or maybe he'd get over the incest first and things would stay the same. Or maybe he'd so not get over it that he starts to feel negatively about her instead. I don't like that but it's possible for him. Especially if he's recieving negative attention, he doesnt handle that well, but also he's a baby god how many people want to test him.

Tommy would definitely fight people bad mouthing him mom in public. He's not worried about protecting his own reputation, he doesnt have a particularly good one and he sets himself against other people easily so what they think is worthless to him. I don't see him being bothered about Wanda and Pietro's relationship. Its more likely to drive him closer to his mom (and dad) because he's setting himself against the people who are against them. People giving him a hard time is nothing new, and he's gonna give worse back because he's vengeful like that, and he can blow things up. (Tbh I'd like Billy and Tommy to argue about it, that would be fun.)

Luna would be far less affected because she isnt their kid, just Pietro's. And she's more than used to people saying bad things about her dad. In-marriage doesn't seem to be taboo for Inhumans so thats not gonna bother her. Maybe the other kids at her school try and bully her about it, but she's more than capable of spilling all their secrets which might keep them in line, and as I said, it's not about her like it is her half-brothers. At the least though, it's another nail in the coffin for Pietro not getting custody if he tries to again.

#i feel like theres so much more to say #especially general public pr wise #also if anyones looking for the poll i deleted it bc really a post like this was more what i wanted to say on the subject #still interested in other peoples additions #maxicest #txt post #answered

[raphwshere]

jefferson morales, father of two. (its actually one but he doesnt know thats atm) (this is a character analysis) (its long)

so in the beginning of the movie, its clear that jefferson isnt entirely sure how to interact with miles given the way they interact, specifically in the i love you scene at visions. the drive isnt much better either but the i love you scene. he doesnt approve of miles' incredibly mild vandalism, which like, he is a cop. were gonna ignore that though cause uh, its my post. point is, in the beginning of the film, jefferson doesnt know what to do with miles at all, they love eachother but theres a rift. (this rift is likely caused in part by miles' attachment to aaron but that is for another day)

anyways, i dont have all the screenshots and even if i did, a large amount of the development im about to reference is offscreen. also theres a picture limit.

sometime after he issued the apb for spidey he probably spoke to rio, who probably wouldve helped him process enough to get to the point hes at when he shows up at the miles' dorm for his talk, which because miles was tied up ended up being more of a speech. something about aarons death made him realize that keeping his thoughts about miles and his hope for him locked up could only end badly. he spends to whole movie reaching out to miles, here is where he actually manages a genuine connection. hes just lost his brother, and for all they didnt get along near then end theyre family. jefferson doesnt want to lose miles, thats what this is about. not entirely, but enough.

more time passes, i imagine another talk with rio and some wicked introspection, then hes at the collider. he sees wilson fisk beating up the new spiderman, wilson fisk the philanthropist. throughout the movie its hammered into the audience that between all the spideys, one of the few things they all have in common is that they get back up, the characters know this to. what else is he supposed to do here but say "get up spiderman"?

when they get out of fisk tower, the first thing miles does is call jefferson, heres where i really reccomend you just rewatch the scene buti i will talk about it after this. once spidey shows up, we see that jefferson is mildly uncomfortable and unsure how to react in his presence, its not hard to understand, hes gone from thinking spiderman killed his brother to knowing that he didnt. that and the fact that he saw him save the city and probably the world first hand has the obvious potential to make one uncomfortable.

miles however, is entirely comfortable with talking to him, even going so far as to hug him, mitigating most, if not all, of jeffersons discomfort. now heres the thing, he doesnt know this spiderman, wedont even know if he new peters spiderman. miles has been spidey for a very short time and for most of it hes been wanted. but not only does jefferson allow himself to be hugged, he hugs back. of course from his end its sorta awkward, but still. heres another hug from them just cause i can.

jefferson has always wanted to support miles, we know that from his speech in the dorm, but the way he specifically finds a way to connect with miles though graffiti is different. its fairly safe to assume that part of the reason he specifically went to graffiti is because before aaron died miles did art with him. while there isnt really any evidence jefferson knew specifically what aaron and miles got up to its not a stretch really, he and aaron did graffiti when they were younger and miles is very artistically inclined. id also like to take the time to point out how palpable the relief on their faces is during the call. just cause.

idk where this came from tbh. father-son relationships are very specifically important to me. also this was not written in order but i did rewite the non analyzing parts. this wasnt even supposed to be an analysis but here we are :D im open to criticism btw :)

#into the spider verse #miles morales #i love them sm #i think if i look at this for more than five minutes i may actually break down crying #jefferson morales #jefferson davis #across the spiderverse #character analysis

[molthethratrenerd]

my gender

This is gonna be a long rant abt my gender so you do have to read it. I just need to say it.

Ok so ive been question my gender/sexuality for like 3-4 years now and i this was kinda it

Oh i'm a bi girl -> im pan girl -> lesbian -> pan she/they still a girl but queerer

Then like i was more worried about trying to figure out my sexuality right cause like i wanted to be kissed before my 16th (that didn't happen) 

Then like maybe mid 2022 i started thinking about gender and i knew 2 trans people but i was kinda like no that can't be me flashforward to march 2023 i got in to will wood and i was like ‘no way i'm in anyway trans but if i could be him i would’ and i like said to myself that i just thought he was attractive?? Then the same thing happened with the character jesse st james from glee which was even weird because there was no way i would want to date him, so thats when she/they pronouns came in i put it in my bio. Then kids from my class found out and made fun of it so i changed em back to she/her. 

Then since like september last year it feels like minimum weekly i’d either not be able to stop thinking abt gender or take way too many ‘what's my gender quizzes’ 

And like i feel its alway been in the day of my head, but its becoming more prevalent since then ive been like could i be non binary, genderfluid pintrest boards. At the beginning of the year i cut my hair again, which felt so good,.

So now somedays im having thoughts like ‘oh my fucking god why cant i drink something and be a guy’ ‘please for fucks sake’ though im nor sure id like to be a man im not 100% sure im a girl (im moving further from that). But like if there was like a magical thing i could drink do idk that would turn every inch into like robert smith between 1983-2004 id do it so quickly omg. 

And like it kinda hurts that i'm not idk (and ive never felt this for any girl celebrities)

And i kinda think they are also there those thoughts but some days theyre less i thinks thats just cus im distracting myself though i dont know i could be fluid. 

But i dont want to be any guy like the men in my family most of them are big i cant think of a better word then buffheads more so my dad but i could just not want to be like them i dont have a good relationship 

I dont think i HATE being a girl- i don't love it i like some parts but i dont think its things exclusive to girls say cause gender norms n stuff. 

I dont know if i have dysphoria because that fluctuates but im vision impaired so if i dont try and look at my body i forget some of it exists i really dont like my boobs or how clothes sit on my body think i like okay with having a cups (that i could easly hide if i wanted to  i dont but that cause also be cause by the pain they cause me.

My waist i like but only because that's the part of my body thats skinnest like my body was less shapely but that skinny id be elated.

But especially o the days i think abt it more but also all the time i do wish for more masc features eg adams apple more angular face bigger hands etc etc.Voices of weird one because my voice is in mezzo soprano range my speaking voice however in chest voice is kinda low  but I was self-conscious about it growing up because it made me stand out in different even though really it wasn't I think I just thought people were staring at me for no reason.  I think I only like my voice when I'm singing when I'm acting because I can imagine myself playing characters who aren't me but idk but if it was lower like high baritone or tenor id be like so fucking happy.

And like i Kind of want to try dressing differently but I can't because a I don't want my family to know certain pieces of clothing would be mens Not that they have a problem with it I'm assuming they could though but they probably just want to talk about it and I would not but also like  I remember one time I was at the shop called Factorie  and I wanted to get the Black Parade t-shirt but it was a mens shirt  and my god the amount of anxiety I had and the amount of people that I felt were staring at me I almost had a panic attack. 

And like I feel like if I ever did do anything about gender irl  I'd run away from everyone I know and cut of connections again not because I feel like they'd be bad about it but just I've built this thing around myself so long and I don't think I could even my queer friends like i dont know  my parents I'd feel like I'd be letting them down, and like 

But also so much for my childhood makes sense

Like when I was about 8 I got eczema for the first time and my first thought was ‘oh im turning into a boy… shit what am I gonna tell my parents’  which I don't even know why my brain made that jump but i hated my boobs sometimes more then others Once they got past a certain size,  when I had a pixie cut and a couple people in the street would mistake me for a boy felt exposed ‘like shh don't tell’ 

But I was also such a girly todder/ child  from like ages four Tube8 I would pride myself on being the girlest girl never wearing pants  because I kind of think it was trying to win that competition but I don't know         

I don't think anybody read this whole thing but if you did help me out or don't I don't care but I just needed to vent this 

m

#gender questioning

[thewertsearch]

You are always up to your nook in the newest and hottest games. It is hard to walk around the place without squishing them. Whenever that happens you are screwed, and you have to grow a new one from scratch. Or just pirate it you guess.

See, here’s the thing. I know the idea of ‘pirating’ a grub is probably just a throwaway line, but the implications here are killing me.

Like, ok, a game is stored on a grub, which is an ambiguously living thing. These creatures serve as biological storage, which you have to grow yourself. Presumably this at least saves on cost, since you can cultivate these grubs in your own home.

But apparently if you pirate a grub, you don’t have to grow it. How the hell does that work? Is he physically ordering these illegal, black-market game grubs to his house, or is he loading a pirated copy of the game onto an already existing grub? Why does he need to pirate the game again, then, can’t he just load it from a backup? Why grubs, Alternia?

Ahem.

GC: OBVIOUSLY YOU WERE GOING TO SET UP RED AND BLUE TEAMS COME ON TA: you dont know what im going two do, stop being as though you can read my mind. TA: its not a power you have, your strengths are being blind and tricking people about stuff.

Terezi essentially does read minds, but it’s not a power - she does it the hard way, with actual logic and intuition.

That, or she’s got some Seer of Mind magic working to her advantage - but I like the former explanation better. I love superpowers, but you have to give your characters actual skills, too, or they’re just a vessel for your worldbuilding.

GC: HOW EXACTLY ARE WE SAVING THE WORLD? TA: i dont know yet. TA: i just know what ive seen in my visions. TA: that the world will end and our whole race dies and this is how we save it.

So, which untrustworthy well of knowledge is our latest oracle drawing from?

The Horrorterrors generally dispense whispers, but there’s no reason they couldn’t also show him images. We don’t know what they’re capable of.

As I mentioned before, Sollux could be awake on Prospit. This is just the kind of ‘technically true but misleading’ stunt that those clouds would pull. 

He could be getting information from the ‘imminently deceased’ - aka, one or more of the millions of Alternians who are about to die by meteors. He could even be tapping the other Players for information, because, as he points out in a second, they’re all going to die, too.  

Whatever’s leading him, I don’t think he’s being quite as badly misled as I thought. Sollux is fully aware that the world is ending today, but he seems to be under the impression that Sburb can prevent or mitigate this somehow. 

In principle, he’s correct, in that it can save twelve of them, but it can’t save their entire race. Like - technically, yes, they could probably Paradox Clone the troll race back from the brink with Veil tech, but I really don’t think that’s sustainable. They don’t have a planet any more, for starters. 

No, Sollux is obviously missing a ton of context here. If he knew what was actually happening, he wouldn’t be facilitating it. 

TA: i am going two die. TA: i mean we all are. TA: but especially me. TA: i am going two get my ass served two me twofold.

I mean, he’s not wrong.

All the trolls are going to die, but all of them - save one - will survive, as well. It sounds like only Sollux will die for real.

He was alright when he was helping Terezi and GA out, so he was either resurrected, or his second death isn’t until much later. 

TA: but before i die, im going two go blind like you. TA: it has two happen like that. TA: im not sure why, but i think its like... TA: fulfilling some requirement for a true prophet of doom.

If Sollux isn’t a Space Player, by the way, I think he’s a Doom Player. The guy’s all about doom, which seems to hang over him like a dark cloud.

Prophet doesn’t match the single-syllable pattern of all the Classes we’ve seen, and the otherwise obvious Seer is already taken by the Mind Player. Like I said, it’s be a little too messy if Titles could double up like that, so I think he’s something else. 

TA: in order for the visions two be right, that has two happen, and the universe will make sure it will.

Poor Sollux. Knowing about the predestination doesn't make things much easier, does it? It doesn’t stop you looking over your shoulder, it just means you know exactly what you’re looking for. 

#2081 #homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5 #s5

[wc-confessions]

"To be honest? I'm kinda sick of people saying WOF is better than Warriors, when it shares MANY of the problems Warriors has, whether it's racism, the portrayal of abuse, colonialism, ableism and more. I dunno guys, maybe we shouldn't act like EITHER is all that great. Warriors has it's issues, we all know that. But putting WOF on a pedestal and sweeping the issues it shares under the rug ain't it. :/"

Tbf, the reason people say this is because the issues that come from warrior cats vs teh issues that come from wof are for completely different reasons. Issues with WoF's writing stem from trying to comment on big systemic issues without having the right level of expertise to tacle them delicately. Warrior's portrayals of these subject matter comes from biases that the writers and editors have that they dont want to address at all in the first place and those biases bleeding into the writing as a result. Not to mention Warrior's issues are much, MUCH, MUCH more egregious between the EXPLICIT sexism and colonialist messaging. I cannot stress enough that in warriors we get repeated, very clear endorsement of xenophobia, racism and sexism over and over again as CORE values and messages in the stories of the series. Where WoF tries and fails, EX: mixed messages with the whole lost continent arc, nightwings vs icewings thing, and anemone wanting to 'fix' tamarin's blindness being portrayed as a good thing- Warriors doubles down and spits on the fans for having values with stuff like ashfur and frecklewish. Not to mention WoF is made by one person with a concise vision for the story vs warrior cats which is pretty disjointed and has extremely inconsistent charization of its characters - if they have characterization at all. Afterall when people say WoF is better than Warriors they might not even be talking about values they could just be talking about the actual books themselves being more entertaining to read.

#confession #text #anonymous #warriors #warriorcats #warrior cats #wc #wings of fire

[meili-sheep]

Omg-- mamsir mei, or kai if you prefer that-- since diluc is already well established as a vigilante... what if... bully the fatui vigilante/superhero au.

We already got batman-- i mEAN the darknight hero as diluc, i can see yelan as spiderman/spiderwoman. She can rock both, i headcanon her as nb or genderfluid so i can see her going out as spiderman somedays and spiderwoman on other days to keep em on their toes loooooool

Ayato for me is kinda hard, mostly because i dont know him enough as a character yet, and consequently i do not know who hed be in either the dc uni or the marvel uni. Although it would be really funny if he was the equivalent of Captain America but instead of America its Inazuma. Like a Cap Am and Ronin mix. He doesnt use his vision AT ALL or at the very least doesnt use it enough to garner suspicion on who he might be because like cmon, they only have like 2 vision holders there that are hydro he gotta stay on the down low. I also like to think that he thinks of it as a form of training as well. Like-- he started it in the early days of the vision hunt decree to make sure he can still protect his people even if his vision was taken away and now hes just known as this mysterious vigilante hero.

And to branch of off that, i think that the reason the three of them would do vigilante work alongside their more secretive would be the same. They took up the masks for their people, to give them hope and let them believe in a better world, because that hope with a bit of guidance and hardwork can lead them into that better world. Ayato would outwardly say to his subordinates who know of his vigilante duties that its merely a form of training and a way to check in on the people of Inazuma personally, when asked Yelan would say that shes bored and wants the thrill of the chase from both those she apprehends and the millileth, and Diluc would say that he does it because the knights are so inefficient that they need him to pick up the slack (which they do). But really, the three of them know that those replies are half truths and deceptions. Because they do want to help the people and let them believe in the power of good and kindness in a harsh and uncaring world.

Wow that got real sappy real fast

Heh lol id imagine theyd be like the dcu's big three-- superman, batman, and wonderwoman woahhh

Now I'm gonna pause you a moment. Diluc isn't Mondstadt's Batman. He's Mondstadt's, Red Hood. I'll keep saying it. Diluc and Jason Todd, the same person. Different fonts.

I really like Yelan as a Spiderman. I kind of imagine, though, no matter how you see her. I do like her as NB, but I might be biased there. But I see her as a superhero wanting to conceal her gender.

Now Ayato. My first thought was an Iron man kind of character. Then I kind of played with him more, being like Nightcrawler. And I liked that, with the speed, agility focus and teleporting too. And Nightcrawler has been known to use swords. I think the more playful attitude works as well. So that's my 2 cents on it.

They Definitely would be the big three of their world just with how well they would protect their respective lands and generally how well they work together. And that's the real advantage of the three: they will be good friends about everything else.

#Bully the Fatui Brigade #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #kamisato ayato #ayato #yelan #yelan genshin impact #bully brigade vigilantes

[sodrippy]

Could you tell us more about why you hate auteur theory? (I don't really like it either, but I also don't know a lot of 'film nerds' and I'm curious about your thoughts)

hi id love to!

(if anyones not familiar, auteur theory is a film theory from the 50s/60s that posits the director as the central creative force behind a film)

i think i hate it a little less in its original form, where the director often was actually taking on other roles, most prominently as a writer, but even personally editing or shooting their film in some cases, because then they really DO have more creative control overall. plus it was in part a reaction to the commercialisation of film in the west, so in terms of putting creative control back in the hands of the actual creatives behind a film rather than bending to what studios think will make them money, i can get behind auteur theory.

over time though, the term has become so watered down that now it just means the director is god and everyone else is a thoughtless little cog in their machine, which is so disrespectful and so ANNOYING. like, you cannot call the director on some billion dollar movie an auteur bc they dont really do jack fucking shit actually. id say lots of smaller films can still fit into this theory, where an independent director is the one whos come up with the story concept themselves and helped to write the screenplay, and is heavily involved in the editing process and so on, but the bigger a project gets (in my experience) the less true 'control' the director has.

personally, the way i view it is, if the director didn't come up with the story or didn't co-write the screenplay, then they are nothing to me they are just some guy they're not the driving creative force.

as someone who's involved in film myself, the main reason that i hate auteur theory is that its really just so disrespectful to film crews (on set and post) and moreover disrespectful and dismissive of filmmaking as an art form. film is inherently a collaborative art, and even if some people argue 'yeah but the director is the one telling everyone what to do and how to do it' thats such a simplistic take on it. some directors are very specific about what they want, yes, of course, but a lot of times a director will give a brief on what they want, and the relevant department will create the specifics, or they'll say 'right we can do that, but this might be much better' or whatever. filmmaking is a very fluid process as well, and things change all the time, and i think if you think that the director is in charge of it all youre very unfamiliar with how it works. it makes me really cranky when i see people talk about when things go wrong or look bad in films and they immediately blame the dop or (so so SO common) the post production departments, as if its a huge failure on their part. like ok if directors are kings, why dont you blame them for the bad shit too? or do you only think theyre in control when magic happens?

lastly, because i am running late for work now, the whole auteur aura tbh just makes excuses for sloppy work. i just worked on a project with a notoriously Auteur style director, and from what i heard about how he works, being on set is fucking hell. oftentimes when you trust in a director's 'creative vision' you sacrifice discipline and scheduling and lots of other organization that is so crucial to getting a job done on time and with high quality results, bc youre basically just working at the whim of one guy who's more concerned about realizing a singular vision than they are with the practicalities of making a film.

#ask #anonymous #i cant rant and rave about this forever honestly but i literally had to throw my laptop on my couch and book it to get to work on time 😭 #i hope these points make sense! i think they all kind of run into one another sorry #basically i HATE how directors are held up as the god of film when the reality is oftentimes #a whole crew is running around doing damage control bc the director is off in their own world and their vision isnt even that good #this doesnt apply to my boy marty whom i love and is the only director in the world etc etc

[gjjokok]

20 - August 27, 2023 (sunday)

Wow it has been a really long time since I came to this Tumblr blog! I guess that's a good thing because it means I've been mentally stable for a while lol. Some things that happened since I last journalled:

Got completely over Syl

Had a situationship with some other people, most namely Royo (i guess)

Had a very serious situationship with Will who I was pretty much dating and really really liked

Moved to new york with EY, made many friends here

Living with Daniel in new york which is crazy since we both thought we hated each other when we first met

In new york, fell in deep LIKE with Kevin Wu who I met when I visited New York last summer with Royo but barely remember meeting. Also have met many other notable boys in new york (ricky, JC) but Kevin is by far the most notable

Anyways, life has actually been going really well and up until about 2 hours ago before I had a nap I have been doing great. But then I woke up from a nap alone in our apartment and feel like crying for unknown reasons so lets see why I feel so bad!

The thing most pressing on my mind is my health anxiety. I feel like this is something a lot of people have, but it is truly so frustrating how I will have (or at least think that I have) 1 major health concern after another. Most recently I was really sick, like insanely sore throat, for about a week where I thought I had strep throat and was stressed because I dont understand the american health care system and didn't know how to get treated or how expensive it would be. It got better last week and I was fine for about 3 days...until now...I just have random double vision. Not all the time, but when I look at something too close to me or if it's really bright in my eyes then I see double. When I close one eye it's totally fine, and a lot of the time I can walk around fine but then I'll rub my eyes and feel like I'm going to fall over because everything is double and I feel a bit dizzy. It's like I've been drunk constantly for the past few days. When I look it up it's either like "GO TO THE ER NOW YOU HAVE A BRAIN TUMOR OR ANEURISM" or "yeah there's not much that can be done other than monitor it and if it persists for 12+ months without improvement then there is a surgery." This is stressing me out so much because it just makes me feel out of it when I'm hanging out with people and walking around doing basic stuff because it takes extra effort just for me to not see everything in double. I would just go to urgent care, but based on what I saw online i dont think they could do much, and I dont know how expensive it would be....anyways if it continues for another few days I will definitely get it checked out, but it's been better today so I'm hoping it's correcting itself..

I think this is more just a result of the fact I feel alone in this exact moment, but I feel so depressy about Kevin not wanting to be with me. In short, Kevin and i met and get along SO WELL and his personality is perfect and I cant keep my hands (and mouth) off of him when he's around me. I never would have came onto him if he didn't flirt with me first, but I'm just so into him and everything about him. However, we have both always said we aren't looking to date - that changed for me about a month in and I realized I really like him and want him to be mine. I spoke about this with him about 5 days ago, and this hasn't changed for him so he still isn't looking to date. To protect my feelings I decided that I need to talk with him less then, but I'm just so sad because I really saw a future for us or I thought we could at least try dating. Since we spoke. I've been generally good and am starting to accept we are just friends and I've been speaking very casually to some other guys. I really thought we were in a good place because we were hanging out at a club on Friday night and we kissed a lot with no strings attached and it felt great. And then him and Tommy, Ricky, Merlin, Chris came over to have dinner with Daniel and i at our place and to play games and stuff. It was so fun and I had no sad thoughts about wanting to be with him. But now I wake up from this nap alone in our apartment, and god I wish I could just hangout with him and cuddle with him and maybe I still have more work I need to do with myself to accept that him and I will never be together. Similar with Syl, I think this is so hard with him because I would have never come on to him first but he started things with me and then decided he doesn't want to be with me after I got so emotionally invested. But, I got over Syl eventually and now we're good friends, and Kevin is kind of more mature and a better person than Syl in general so I know I'll be able to get over Kevin and be friends with him hopefully for a long time.

I was more anxious about this last weekend and earlier this week, but I really feel like I never belong in any group I'm in. After never fitting in with friend groups that are all straight or all girls, I found gay people I love to hangout with in Toronto and New York, but they're nearly all asian so I still feel like I dont belong. This gives me huge imposter syndrome when I'm out with my friends and I kind of hate taking pictures because it is so obvious that I don't belong. It also doesn't help when I feel like I'm always the one reaching out to make plans with people instead of people reaching out to me. For example when I ask people what they're doing for EZoo next weekend, people are very inviting and ask me to join them, but only after I reach out first to ask them their plans. It would be really nice to get an invite to something without being an after thought for one (however as I type that out I remember so many times people have invited me to parties or to cottages or to movies without me asking so many I'm only remembering the times that I don't get invited).

So that's everything I can think of that might be making me feel anxious right now! I just want this double vision to go away...I can deal with heartbreak from Kevin and I can try to strengthen my relationships with friends, but this constant anxiety from feeling like I might die at any time is kind of ruining my life right now. I guess this is in my control though because I can just go to urgent care and at least know that I did everything I can instead of just waiting and hoping it'll go away..

[cherrytea556]

Are these signs/symptoms of neurodivergence?

I'm questioning if im neurodivergent (like autism or something) and i want to know if these are sign/symptoms of it based on my experience;

I tend to notice how i always tend to move in repeat (spinning, rocking back and force, bouncing leg, doing step to step etc...).

I make little eye contact with people. Now i am capable of making eye contact (even if it feels a bit off) though thats a habit i always have.

I dont know how to explain things in my head, i have the idea but i dont seem to know how to actually explain what it is and comes like idk, choppy? Definitely not well, thats for sure. Same with writing like now.

I tend to notice that sometimes i dont understand basic stuff like when my parents asked me to do something in a direction, im confused on what direction they meant until they point it out or a question my friend asked on how much i eat (a lot or little), i try to explain it in my own way because i thought it was in general but it was actually just food on one plate. She wonders why it was harder for me to answer since it was suppose to be a easy question, to which im also questioning as well.

I'm not good at communication. I try to with questions and stuff but i dont think i can have a long conversation unless the other person wants to talk about stuff (and even then i wonder what input i would give). Comforting is also hard for me since i want to make sure that im doing it right for my friends though i dont know how, again i try, and i do understand them if their upset about something, i just don't know how to exactly comfort them.

I use to have poor coordination when i was younger, whether its bumping into things or spraining/hurting my foot, my coordination wasnt up to standard to say the least. It got better as time went on though i find that I cant walk a straight line, its always a bit to the left or right.

I have a forgetful memory. I tend to forget things from my childhood from a large proportion or i have such vivid memories of them but i cant be specific at explaining it. This is also why i have trouble at school at times because whenever a video is playing and we have to write during the video playing, im worried that i wouldnt catch on and answer nothing.

I dont understand comedy and how to do it, im often the last one to get the joke (which is why i probably wont write a comedy, instead focusing on characters and how they bounce off each other)

People tend to tell me that i either talk loudly or quietly even when i dont notice it (especially being loud)

I dont sit properly. I notice that i dont sit regularly most of the time

I repeat stuff like pulling the jacket sleeves to my hands or just generally repeat something if i feel like its not right. Also when i was young, i use to repeat things characters say a lot of the time which faded but hasnt completely stopped)

I dont know if its sensory issues or something but i hate kissing noises, i always tend to swat it away like its a fly

I used (and still do) have weird visions, i dont want to describe them but they were definitely odd. I also notice that i view myself as random characters from media, not that i think i am the character but when im talking, i imagine myself as the character as im talking randomly if that makes sense

I laugh even if i don't actually find it funny

I took online tests and most of the answers were that i have moderate symptoms/chance of autism (not to self diagnose of course, just questioning)

I use to walk around in circles daily when i was in primary and i still do (just not around the whole room/in the oval this time lol)

For some reason, i dont have energy to do things like there was work for health yesterday and i finished it all except for one which isnt hard to answer exactly but i didnt have the energy to do it for some reason. It's very hard to do stuff if your brain just randomly has nothing (which happens at times)

I will play a movie multiple times in the background for some reason, it could just be a decent enough film and my brain will just make me repeat it as background noise (the knives out franchise, 7 women and a murder and now its death of 2021) This should be taken a grain of salt since it could just be things neurotypical people do as well

I dont think i have a special interest though when im really interested in stuff i found, i would look into it and want to share that info (like a creators unknown controversy or a random person i never heard of before having a tumblr call out blog about them) Im just really interested in odd things in general. I also regularly look at specific blogs/tags on tumblr daily like its a thing in my routine lol

I cannot make new friends (similar with communication but in a more general sense) i just dont know how, theirs students that nice to me but i dont know how to make them my friend per say (i dont connect with my year group that much tbh)

I think thats all I have, any answer to this is welcomed

#neurodiversity #autism #questioning #question #question tag #am i autistic?

[sonicboomseason3]

Ok so ik that rol isn't canon to the show, and that the ds games are mostly canon, BUT. Do you have a preference for their lore/stories? Basically, shattered crystal vs rol: which is ur preferred take as a prequel? I love the chaos crystals from rol and I don't like the lost crystal of power from shattered crystal, so I prefer rol for that reason. I think shadow was handled much better in shattered crystal tho, but the japanese dub of rol is virtually identically to shattered crystal wrt shadow's characterization (in the jpn dub, shadow was under lyric's control a la shattered crystal, and that's why he shows up to fight sonic & tails; sorry for mansplaining if u know this already), soooo like yea the jpn dub of rol is prolly my overall fave take on the lyric/prequel debacle. Curious 2 hear ur thoughts. Bc I've got a billion of them.

haha yes im aware that the japanese dub of rol added mind control to shadows situation! (though you said it was shattered crystal in your ask, which im assuming was a typo) digressing a bit here but i hear that overall the jpn version of all sonic media is much better at portraying its characters even with the tonal shift that happened between the 00s and 10s so afaik theres also a lot less discourse about the characters being written "incorrectly" over on the jpn side of the fanbase, and by extension theres a difference between how jp fans and eng fans see the charas but anyway back to boom. keep in mind that i own neither a wiiu nor a 3ds so i wouldnt be able to play either game even if i wanted to, and therefore im strictly going off of the cutscenes that ive watched and hoping that there isnt anything in the levels themselves that i may have missed.

my overall thoughts concerning rise of lyric and shattered crystal can be summed up as this: shattered crystal is the better game, but rol is by far more ambitious. i didnt... really catch any significant lore details in shattered crystal at all tbh? at least, not in the game itself - the prequel comic explains a little bit on what amys doing at the beginning of the game and what lyrics plans are, but at the same time... not really? the comic kind of just hops around from the ancients to shadow to amy to fill in the gaps that the game itself doesnt answer. and i wouldnt really call much of it very interesting, like lyric is looking for the crystal shards because he wants ultimate power? sorry not sorry but thats incredibly boring. also what was he doing during the time between the shattering of the lost crystal and the present day? how is he even still alive? shattered crystal just doesnt go very deep lore-wise. this isnt to say i dont like it because i do and im slightly bitter that its position as the followup to rol made it so hard for people to give it a chance. im not saying its the best game ever or anything, but the gameplay looks very fun and shadows role makes me smile

as for rol....... oh GOD. even without experiencing the infamous glitches in the gameplay, the cutscenes are so awkward and the script is executed so poorly that its hard to care much about whats actually happening BUT i do see. i see the vision. the vision of its lore, i mean. i dont care much about the difference between the chaos crystals and the lost crystal of power (imo the crystals themselves are the least interesting thing about their universe lol) but like i said at the beginning rol seemed to be going for something while shattered crystal wasnt. for one, i think lyrics motivations in rol are better, since we have that one scene that goes into his backstory and why he hates organic life so much. unfortunately, however, i dont think they did the concept justice, because there was so much more they couldve done with that - he couldve been an amazing narrative foil to sonic (someone who was slowly warming up to people throughout the course of the game, as opposed to someone who felt wronged by others and wanted to exterminate everyone) and his view that technology was the only thing to be trusted couldve been challenged when MAIA betrayed him. that just one example of how i consider rol to be a giant sack of wasted potential but if i were to go into every single thought i had watching the cutscenes, id crash everyones dashes, so ill save that for another time. oh and obligatory mention of shadow here, the way they included him in this game sucks, you could take him out and nothing would change, i hate it as much as the next guy but also its genuinely kinda funny that hes just there. did anyone else notice that how important he is in the boom games is sorta the inverse of metal sonics own role? when one has an effect on the plot, the other is there just to be there and fucks off immediately afterwards. there can only ever be one active hedgehog nemesis at any given time which is the real reason the s2 finale went down the way it did

so to finally answer your question, i like shattered crystals story better but my favorite version of boom lore is what rol COULD HAVE been if it hadnt been so poorly made. but to tell you the truth i dont think that hard about how to connect the games to the show? im not saying id never include mentions of lyric in my continuation but the show feels so disconnected from the games (naturally, since they were completely separate projects) that its hard for me to consider either one of them as an official prequel. much love to everyone who puts in the effort to connect them though

#long post #.sbs3 #mailbox #Anonymous #i rewatched all the rol/sc cutscenes and i have so many thoughts #so many that i couldnt include in this answer #hey look i finally answered this one go me #sorry if this wasnt the answer you were looking for! im super open to discussing this topic further

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

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

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

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

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

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

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

Now

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

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

Well…maybe not the best-best.

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

Elain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bragging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

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

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

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

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

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

“Would you like me to show you around?”

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

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

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

“What sort of business?”

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

“Flowers?”

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

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

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

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

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

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

“Um,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

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

“I heard,”

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

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

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

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

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

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

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

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

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

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

Gorgeous.

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

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

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

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

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian

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

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

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

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

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

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

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

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

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

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

Elain giggled.

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

“Only just.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting.

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

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

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

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

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

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

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

“You are welcome, by the way,”

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

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

Now

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

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

He shouldn’t have asked her.

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

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

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

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

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use you?”

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

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

“I am not a flower expert,”

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

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

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

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

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

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

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

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

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

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

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

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

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

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

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

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

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

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

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

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

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

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

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

“I can take an Uber,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

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

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The third.”

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

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

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

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

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

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

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

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

Elain

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

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

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

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

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

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

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

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

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

She wanted to cry.

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

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

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

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

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

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

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

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

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

“Why?”

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

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

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

He sat up and rolled his neck.

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

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

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

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

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

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

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

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

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

She blinked at him.

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

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

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

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

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

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

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

“Cass?” she smiled.

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

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

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

He then asked, “coffee?”

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

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

“This is what you drink?”

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

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

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

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

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

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

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

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

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-uh.”

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

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

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

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

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

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

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

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

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

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

“So confident, ombre?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now

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

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

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

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

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

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

 Azriel

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

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

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

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

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

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

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

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

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

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

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

Well, they liked it.

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

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

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

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

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

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

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

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

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

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

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

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

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

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

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

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

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

 Azriel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

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

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

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

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

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

[syvspalace]

A/n: So this Is my first post and it’s gonna be Diluc x a Twin Brother Reader Hc (just cause I think it would be interesting and funny lol)

Requested: No

Warnings: Crack, Fluff, Maybe a bit of cursing (Diluc being done with his brothers)

A/n: So let’s begin

Masterlist Rules

- The Ragnvindr Twins, something people called you and your brother when they didn’t know which was which

- While Diluc actually left the Knights of Favonius, you stayed with your other brother Kaeya

- And that, let me just say, could have either been a mistake or the best choice you ever made

- Yours and Diluc‘s voices were identical, his just had a little harshness to it (so people often don’t know if you’re angry or if it’s just Diluc)

- Here comes the funny or rather annoying part of having an identical twin

- Kaeya. Just Kaeya.

- He would take advantage of knowing who of you was Diluc and who you were, mostly in the tavern

- Kaeya would tell the other knights you were Diluc while the one behind the bar for the day was you (since he told you to stand behind the counter for a while), mainly to see their confused faces when you act a lot more like your Twin Brother (rip the knights when they grabbed „your shoulder“ asking to have more drinks with them)

- Lets just say, one knights arm is gonna be insufficient for a while

- But that’s not the end of your younger brother‘s little pranks on his fellow knights (not even close lol)

- He came into Jeans office, literal tears threatening to fall out his eyes telling her you quit being a KOF to become emo like your brother

- She set her pencil down, stood up, and followed Kaeya to this „you“

- Jean had tears in her eyes too, holding some flowers to celebrate you being emo

- What she didn’t know is that Diluc had a shift at the tavern today (and boy oh boy he wished he wouldn’t have gone there that day)

- „C-congratulations (Y/N)…“, she said literally sobbing,”who am I kidding— please come back!“ she threw the flowers hugging Diluc

- He deadpanned. This had to be his work.

- And with his he meant the Kaeya standing behind one of the tavern‘s tables, laughing his literal ass off

- „Kaeya you little sh-“ and here you come, bursting trough the door with the most confused expression to have ever existed in the history of Mondstadt

- The eyes of the whole tavern weren’t on the scene that was unfolding anymore, they were on you…or was it Diluc?? Honestly who cares anymore

- „What‘s this about me having quit the KOF?“ you were boiling in anger, but it might have been the pyro vision hanging around your waist

- All you needed to see was an angry Diluc about to beat up a still laughing Kaeya (who was already clutching his sides) and Jean holding Diluc back to know what happened

- What irritated Diluc even more is that you started laughing yourself, but you knew he was definitely fighting to not crack a smile

- But DONT let this fool you. Kaeya mixes the two of you up too but that’s one of the rarer occasions

- Pretty much if he is either drunk, tired, distracted or all of the above (smh)

- You took the hint when he started teasing you about liking grape juice more than the wine you made

- You help your Twin out making the wine…but you never actually make it

- Soo yeah it took a lot of convincing Kaeya that you weren’t Diluc, mostly because he didn’t wanna admit he was wrong

- That was just three of the funny days, but it’s time to get serious

- You know how sad Diluc has been since the death of your father. It’s not like it doesn’t affect you, you just have better ways of dealing with it

- I mean, the complete shutdown shocked not only Kaeya but you too

- He can be quite overprotective at times but he has his reasons

- You always hug or pat his head because it seems to calm him (but that’s just your soft side)

- Truly intimidating is what people call you. Diluc glaring at them had been enough to make people shake in their boots, but another one too?

- All in all, he would make sure to never lose you

Never

#diluc #diluc genshin impact #male reader #twin brothers #dilucxtwinbrother #reader insert #genshin kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #siblings

[kookingtae]

falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook scenario #bts x reader #bts scenario #i hope this is good enough for the time being!!! im sorry its taking me so long to get pt 8 posted #u guys are the best i love u <3333