#'it is serious' - man with tuxedo shirt on

[beatlblog]

#isn’t after this that john had art Garfunkel back to the Dakota and asked the my Paul your Paul questions? (via @underthecitysky)

#six layers of meaning while high as a kite#brutal where is linda to art#john wilding#another day another slay (via @skylikeaflame)

#he’s so serious! it is serious!#you can’t make this stuff up (via bridgeoverstrawberryfields)

#i would watch award shows if the drama was still like this. i'm sick thinking how hilarious it would be to watch this live#garfunkel accepts an award from simon in a tuxedo print shirt. john lennon cracks abt about the beatles despite no mention of them.#priceless! (via @glennmillerorchestra)

#this is why we need more insane songwriting duos with insaner public breakups 💔#also cannot stress how fucking insane this is. insane#if Garfunkel had said it’s not often that people like me wins awards like this he would’ve been right#first muse/math professor to win a Grammy (via @iwrotemrtambourineman)

#omg when you see your ex at party of a mutual friend#beautifully edited#i love that no artist from the 60s can be heterosexual about their band breaking up (via @tremble-in-the-hips)

#there are LAYERS to those jokes god damn it (via @paulic)

#this is so chaoticccc#john just trying to let out his multiple frustrations all at once (via @wavesofjohn)

#when two divorcees meet to maximize their joint slay (via @autechres)

#how drunk is art garfunkel#and why is he wearing a tuxedo shirt (via @unliikelylovers)

#they way paul and art approach each other like exes that havent seen each other in 2 years (via @cultreslut)

#holy shit#that 'still writing paul?' bro it would be kinder to stab him in the chest for real#was lennon being a little shit and egging them on or genuinely trying to relieve the tension because uh (via @all-rock-and-roll-is-homosexual)

#i love this so much#paul [simon] and john’s senses of humor and personalities are so different and it’s so funny to see them interacting#like they’re two of the most influential people in my development as a person/musician yet in my brain they exist in different universes#so it’s surreal and rlly funny to see them together#and then art comes out in the goddamn tuxedo t-shirt#that’s what you chose to wear to the fucking GRAMMYS? ok#then the whole i thought i told you to wait in the car bit#and which one of you is ringo 😭#just so good all around (via @beatleinthecanyon)

#the toxic petty elementary school cat fight air this clip exudes...... every sentence worse than the previous (via @noianoranoia)

#trying to form words on this#all i can think is WHO ORCHESTRATED THIS. this cannot have been on accident#the fucking tuxedo shirt#the worlds worst handshake#hate and malice and awkwardness on planet earth (via @rustedpipe)

#I'm in awe#Lennon seems kind of drunk#the giant Olivia Newton John coming in from the flies is underrated comedy (via @dnickels)

#so I just want to say that watching this video the first time unhinged me slightly and made me interested in Paul somehow when he smiled#in response to art’s digs#also I think we can safely say that john saw the tension and let loose his own paul-divorce unresolved trauma#but tbh I listened to an old interview with Art from shortly after this and he said it was all planned and he now realized it confused ppl#as people were telling him that he really got paul with his remarks etc. and he was like ‘do you mean it looked like I didn’t like Paul??’#no idea what the name of the interviewer was so I’m not sure where to find it again#also i have always disliked what art is wearing but if it helped him get through the evening (via @frederic-simon-and-ira-garfunkel)

I think this might be the interview you’re talking about in the tags! (The “you really gave it to him” part starts around 3:30.) https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB_cdRBAk1w#so much to unpack with that night#both at the grammys and…afterwards 🤩 (via @more-or-less-the-same)

#LMAOO WHAT#paul and art look so uncomfortable while john’s having the time of his life (via @flourvase)

#videos that make me laugh every time and also turn into a mortified pile of ash#ex wives of pop superstardom club. my god (via @amrv-5)

#IM CRYINGGGGGGG#CUNT ON CUNT VIOLENCE (via @ridin-mp3)

#they look like medieval serfs (via @strawbfields4ever)

#JOHN IS IN AN OSCAR WILDE COSPLAY#PAUL LOOKS LIKE A FUCKING CAR SALESMAN#NEED I SAY MORE ABOUT ART.#FUCKIGN#HELP (via @sufjanista)

#art trying to say thank you and get tf out of there john is like hehe let’s keep it going#nightmareeeeeee (via @preservationaux)

#ex wives club....#horrendous 10/10#WHERES LINDA IS CRAZY (via @moonshynecybin)

shoutout to that time paul simon and john lennon hosted the grammys

[whostheweakersexnow]

Prom Night Reversal

Mike adjusted his bow tie in the mirror, grinning at his reflection. His black tuxedo fit perfectly, and he was ready for his senior prom. Behind him, Kelly—his girlfriend—emerged from the bathroom. She was tugging at the hem of her pastel pink gown, her expression one of pure discomfort.

"I feel ridiculous," she grumbled, glaring at the lace trim on her sleeves. "This isn't me."

Mike turned, his grin widening. "Oh, come on, Kelly. You look amazing." He smirked, his teasing tone kicking in. "Besides, it’s a nice change to see you actually dressed as a girl. You know, fulfilling your role as the weaker sex by being pretty to show off your man."

Kelly froze, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Excuse me?"

Mike leaned against the dresser, still grinning. "I'm just saying, it’s tradition, right? The guy looks sharp, but the girl is the one who’s supposed to turn heads. It’s... biology."

Kelly crossed her arms, fire sparking in her green eyes. "Oh, biology, huh? Let’s talk biology. Girls are outperforming guys academically, professionally, and even athletically these days. We’re the superior sex now."

Mike blinked, caught off guard. "Superior? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?

"Not at all," Kelly shot back. "And if we’re being honest, if one of us is going to be the pretty one to 'show off,' it should be you. You should wear the dress, and I’ll wear the tux."

Mike laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "You’re kidding, right?"

"I’m dead serious," Kelly said, her voice unwavering. "Why should I be uncomfortable just because of some outdated gender roles? If anything, you should try being the pretty one for once."

The conversation could have ended there, but Kelly wasn’t one to back down. She jokingly mentioned her idea to their group of friends at prom, but the idea gained traction. By the following school year, Kelly, now class president, spearheaded a bold initiative: the reversal of the school uniform policy.

The new dress code mandated that girls would wear pants, ties, and button-up shirts, while boys wore pleated skirts and blouses. The proposal stirred heated debates in the community, but Kelly was relentless in arguing her point.

"Tradition shouldn’t dictate who we are or what we wear," she declared at a school assembly. "If we’re so set on equality, then let’s make it real. Let’s challenge outdated norms."

By mid-year, the policy was in full swing. Mike, who had reluctantly supported Kelly’s crusade, now found himself in a navy-blue skirt and knee socks. He felt self-conscious at first, but as weeks passed, he noticed something unexpected—he wasn’t alone. The boys adapted, laughing at how liberating skirts felt on hot days, while the girls reveled in the newfound freedom of movement their pants provided.

Kelly, as confident in her trousers as she had been in her gown, walked through the halls with a triumphant smile. Mike, despite his initial resistance, couldn’t help but admire her determination.

"How does it feel to be the one showing me off now?" she teased one afternoon.

Mike chuckled, smoothing out his skirt. "You know, it’s not so bad. But don’t get used to it. Next year, I’m picking the dress."

Kelly raised an eyebrow, her grin mischievous. "We’ll see about that."

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan Appreciates Taking Things 'A Little Less Seriously'

The actor caught up with L'OFFICIEL at the CFDA Fashion Awards to discuss wearing Thom Browne and his transformative roles in A Different Man and The Apprentice.

by Carrie Wittmer

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Photography: Ryan Lowry Stylist: Michael Fisher Grooming: Amy Komorowski

On camera and off, Sebastian Stan is always aware of what he is wearing, whether he's suited up as the Winter Soldier in Captain America or sporting jeans and a T-shirt on a day off. The actor— who stars in and is winning over buzz for his transformative performances in A Different Man and The Apprentice—represented Thom Browne at the 2024 CFDA Fashion Awards on October 28 in New York City at the American Museum of Natural History. For the event, Stan wore a full Thom Browne look: a classic ticket pocket tuxedo with self-tipping in black, 3-ply mohair; a knit vest in black cashmere; a classic button-up shirt in white oxford; a necktie in black silk faille; and penny loafers in black patent leather.

In A Different Man, Stan plays an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis who has facial reconstructive surgery that dramatically alters his appearance. In The Apprentice, Stan plays former President Donald Trump in a film that follows his rise to power, focusing on his mentor-mentee relationship with lawyer Roy Cohn, portrayed by Jeremy Strong from Succession. Stan received critical acclaim for his performances in both films, and is now a likely contender for the upcoming awards season.

At the CFDAs, Stan told L’OFFICIEL about his look for the night, his connection to Thom Browne, and how clothing and costumes impact his performances. Read on for the interview.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

L’O: Tell me about your look for the CFDA awards.

Sebastian Stan: Thom Browne’s take on black tie-not traditional, polished in a new way and comfortable while being structured. I appreciate taking things a little less seriously, especially during awards season. I love my straight tie and knit vest—less serious, but certainly not less appropriate.

L'O: How would you describe your off-duty style? What do you wear on a day off?

SS: Jeans and a tee shirt.

L’O: What character that you’ve played is most likely to wear Thom Browne?

SS: Carter Baizen would wear the hell out of a Thom Browne suit.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

L’O: Your roles in A Different Man and The Apprentice are very physical performances... and so is Bucky Barnes. How do you approach creating a character’s physicality?

SS: It all actually starts from the inside out. Muscles have memory. We wear our pains, our pride, our truth: the ones we project and the ones we keep hidden from the world. It all depends on what’s driving somebody…The need for love, the need to be heard, the need to prove, the need to hide, etc. Everything influences how you move and you walk. Obviously when you’re playing real people the clues are already there to study. Like an instrument. With something like A Different Man, there’s a backstory and the prosthetics influenced everything. Similar with Bucky Barnes. His past is always in his body.

L’O: How do clothes and costumes enhance your performance?

SS: I love costumes because they speak for themselves. When you walk in a room immediately people look at you and what you’re wearing tells a story. The choices one makes in terms of portraying themselves to the world are very revealing. So costumes are a big piece of the character before any words are even said. They also influence the way you walk. I’m particular about shoes. What kind of shoes a character wears. Sneakers make you walk a certain way boots a totally different way. Maybe you stand up taller as a result and so on. Same with clothes. A suit affects everything. So does a pair of jeans you’ve lived in for a decade.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

[siolixz]

Family

one-shot

Pairings: Oz 'The Penguin' Cobb x reader

You and Oz settle down in a big penthouse and kids arrive. Very self indulging fanfic. This is quite short but I tried my best to give y'all something- I miss him. ( ˘︹˘ )

Enjoy and give feedback if you want :)

Contents: fluff

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you waited for your husband to come home.

Was he going to be happy? 

What a silly question, of course he was going to be happy. He’s been telling you non-stop how excited he was to start a family with you. 

So why are you nervous? 

You paced around the master bedroom you two shared- pregnancy test in hand.

Why is he taking so long? 

You sat on the couch in the living room on your phone while the maids were getting the table ready for tonight’s dinner- you made them cook that cake Oz loved.

He has no idea what’s waiting for him.

Between high society meetings and the usual business your husband has to attend to- he was a very busy man. But he never, ever brought any bad moods he had at work back home to you. 

“There she is” 

You turned around to look at him- dressed in a tuxedo, he looked every bit the rich man he was.

You said hi to him and got up to kiss him:

“You smell nice..” you whispered.

You two talked as he undressed his dress jacket and took off his suspenders, leaving him only in the shirt and black pants he had on- he unbuttoned it a little and got it up to his elbows. 

As you two ate, you tried your best not to interrupt him- to break the news and wait for his face to light up- make his whole night.

As the cake was brought on the table and he got the first bite- you couldn’t help yourself. You just couldn’t.

”I gotta ask you something” you started- your stomach full of butterflies 

He raised an eyebrow at you- mouth full of cake. 

“Do you have any plans 9 months from now?” 

He shook his head no. 

“Why?” 

You took a deep breath-

“Well, in nine months from now- you’re gonna be a dad.”

You smiled at him as you saw him raise his eyebrows in shock. 

“You serious?” 

You nodded- your heart was so full as you saw him break out in a smile as well

“Are you happy?” You whispered at him as he reached across the table to pull you in his arms. 

“I’m the happiest man alive.” 

He kissed you gently as he held your face.

Remembering the day you told your husband about your bundle of joy brought tears in your eyes, must’ve a mix of the hormones and the nostalgia you felt as you waited to arrive at the doctor’s appointment. 

He held your hand in the backseat as your driver rounded the corner. 

Oswald and you already picked out names for him or her. Either way, whatever they were- all that mattered is that they were yours and perfect. 

You tried to calm your nerves as you laid on the table- whatever was to come, whatever the doctor told you, you will be there for them. 

She placed the cold gel on your belly as your husband held your hand next to you. He was nervous too- you could tell, even if he pretended not to be. He smiled gently at you when you glanced in his direction.

She told you everything was ok, the babies were in the right position and their bodies were alright.

What?

Babies?

”What babies?” Your husband interrupted the doctor “We thought it was just one?” 

You couldn’t form any words at that moment, your gaze was fixated on the screen as she turned it around to show you. 

She smiled at you- pointing excitedly at the precious lives you carried inside- “You two are going to have your hands full- you’re expecting two girls, see?”

You squeezed Oz’s hand while it was holding your own- chuckling in disbelief as you looked at his shocked expression.

The months went by quickly and your body changed in ways you couldn’t have imagined- by the seventh month, you could barely walk and much to Oswald’s enjoyment, you had an attitude too: 

He stared at you as you got naked in the bathroom.

You felt uncomfortable after a long day of trying to busy yourself with various things around the penthouse- his gaze on you only irritated you further.

Was he thinking you looked ugly?

He made you this way! 

You turned around at him, angry “What the fuck are you looking at?” 

He started laughing “You look beautiful- can’t I look at my wife?”  

Now not only did you walk like him, you started acting like him as well. 

Oz became way more protective of you than usual as your due date was coming up, you had the most expensive doctors on call and the most experienced nannies ready to help you out once you gave birth, he watched over you like a hawk- you could barely do anything and even if you loved him as much as you possibly could, sometimes you wanted to be left alone too.

 You two renovated the nursery where your daughters will be once they came and you already decided on the names- you picked ‘Aurora’ and your husband picked ‘Frances’ for her sister. 

Aurora and Frances- how loved they are and they weren’t even here yet. 

You talked to them as you massaged your belly at night, told them stories of their grandmothers and their grandfather, you talked to them about their aunt and uncles too- how happy they would all be to see them. 

The birth was a hard one- even with the best doctors, midwives and nurses money could buy. 

Aurora came first and then Frances, pink and gorgeous- perfect. 

Both of them.

The babies cried, you cried- Oz cried. It was all tears in the delivery room. Happy tears.

As they placed your daughters on each side of you Oz kissed your forehead “thank you” he muttered. 

Your life changed for the better in the last years. Sure, it is way more chaotic and raising two children wasn’t easy- the nannies helped.

But you were so happy- so happy and so fulfilled

By the 20th month- Aurora was already running around the house and Frances seemed to think she was a storyteller who had to be listened to at all times .

When you would calm Frances down- her sister would start running, as you would grab the more rambunctious one- her sister would start crying and so on and so forth.

Sometimes they would sync together when crying prompting your husband to announce that they were going to be great singers one day- a duet.

Aurora had your husband's eyes and his smile- the same wild twinkle in her eyes just before she was about to do something naughty. She enjoyed watching you two run around the house after her or when Oz would throw her in the air and play with her.

Frances on the other hand- she observed everything with wide eyes, trying to grab a hold of anything close to her- to find out what it was, she was the more inquisitive one for sure. She still enjoyed playing with her sister but she preferred to stick to the sidelines.

They were both well behaved, you thaught them to say 'sorry', 'please' and 'thank you'. No matter how much their father or you spoiled them, they had to know their manners and you were very pleased with their learning abilities.

God, you loved them so much.

Of course you carried them both in your belly so they could look exactly the same as their dad.

They would start screaming whenever they heard his voice or hear him walk and not only that- but they took his accent too. 

No matter how hard you tried to teach them how to say things the ‘right’ way- prepare them for school next to the other rich kids in their social circle, they preferred their father’s way of saying things- sometimes it felt like he carried them to full term. 

As they grew their father became more and more paranoid- telling you that if he can’t protect you three, then he failed as a father and husband.

I mean, you knew he had enemies, knew he was a dangerous man who shouldn’t be crossed- but having a car full of armed men trailing behind you as you would run errands into town or take the girls somewhere was a bit much. 

Oz loved them so much- they were the light of his life, everything he did, he did it for them and for you.

Every night after he came home he would kiss both girls on their your bedroom, of course depending on when he came home.

Tonight was no different as he climbed in the king sized bed to start the TV- watch the news and get his glasses from the nightstand.

He mumbled something under his breath about the politician talking on the news and turned around to look at you as you joined him.

He smiled and wrapped his arm around you as you cuddled close to him. 

"They were fast asleep weren't they?"

"Yeah- Frances almost woke up but 'Rory was out like a log." He chuckled. "What do you say we try again, huh?"

You looked up at him

“Maybe try for a boy this time? “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!

This was an anon request- I don't think I am that good at writing family fics but hey i tried and therefore no one should judge me. I also have another one-shot in the works, something I am quite proud of so far about an up and coming singer who gets a one in a lifetime opportunity to sing at 'Monroe's', the hottest jazz club who was just renovated- there she meets a very wealthy man and owner of said club. Her friends tell her 'no' and 'are you fck insane?' she sais 'me likey old dangerous gangster'- stuff happens in the Rolls Royce after. (͡• ͜ʖ ͡•)

[lovinglylibelle]

—𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐮𝐩 { pt. 4 }

pt1 || pt2 || pt3

masterlist || navigation

moodboards will be posted after the series<3

✧. FUSHIGURO TOJI

Okay so i know this man is broke as shit BUT thta doesn't mean i cant style him ;) and that he doesn't have a sense of style. He just doesn't have the money to pull it off

ANYWAY, so ofc this dude likes to wear the classic toji combo, black compression shirt with grey joggers. Its something he wears when he cant think of something.

Additionally, he is a guy who likes flannels. loves to wear them and pulls them off honestly. I mean obviously

He likes tank tops a lot, would wear them all the time because he finds sleeves restricting.

LEATHER JACKETS btw, he loves those. Wears them with a white shirt and blue jeans combo.

Again, the biker gloves. He wears them for reasons (look cool and to handle weapons better)

He actually likes wide legs (heh) but does get annoyed by how they trail all over the floor. Has them in blue and black and gray.

Wears collared shirts, like the one that show off his biceps and back muscles.

Okay so, he also doesn't mind wearing White button ups with trousers, yk that hot look. He even rolls his sleeves uo to showcase his forearm muscles.

Honestly, has a very all over the place style. One day he would be dressed classy and other day like he is broke. It depends on his mood and he genuinely doesn't care about what he wears.

Overall, he looks good in whatever concoction he puts on. Like idk how, i think its the face that makes anything look everything. Women give him double glances all the time, men too... worms too lol.

✧. NANAMI KENTO

Its honestly very hard to imagine him wear anything other than suits but i still did it HEH.

So of coure first of all, he wears suits. Tuxedos, double-breasted, Slim-fit, Modern-fit etc etc. He gets them hand-stitched, has an entire Kingsmen thing going on. Can name brands according to the make AND only wears original stuff. He is serious about his suits.

He has a lot of ties, cute ones, fun prints, the basic solid coloured ones, patterns and everything. Wears them according to the occasion.

He likes to wear Polo shirts, and i think they actually look quite hot on him. Especially the fitted ones.

His colors of choice usually are sage green, soft blue, dark blue, dark green, emerald green etc etc

He loves the round neck shirts too, the ones without collars.

Wearing button ups is his thing, wears them a lot in black, white, beige and blue.

He alsoooooooo likes to wear joggers at home because they are so very comfortable.

In winters, he wears trench coats (i love trench coats if you cant tell) and highnecks too OMGGGG he looks so good in highnecks i might swoon.

Yk those trousers? which are lightweight and flowy? the ones that you see a lot of East Asian men wearing on pinterest? Yeah he loves those. He gets to be comfortable and look professional and good in them.

He likes to wear sweaters too, like those soft and warm beautiful sweaters.

A WATCH is a must. bro wears watch even at home. Has an entire section in his wardrobe designed for watches. There are silver watches, golden watches, black watches, chunky watches, analog, digital etcetc. Digital watches are just for show tho, will never wear them

taglist 🏷️: send an ask to be added <3

[hellsburners]

soft release

summary: steven got a little rough with this one pairing: steven grant x male reader word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ warning, s3x, top!steven, rough stuff, nods to comic steven, maybe ooc idk a/n: based on this request.

masterlist | more moon knight

His silence was deafening, all you could hear was the sound of the car speeding through the streets of London. His hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. Your hands were cold and clammy. 

You were on the way home from a gala with your partner, famous museum curator, Steven Grant of the National Art Gallery. The gala featured new historical findings from a site in Egypt funded by the Grant Foundation. 

There were at least fifty people in the museum. Everyone was clad in pristine clothing, gowns, and expensive suits drinking equally expensive champagne. You came as Steven’s partner, a surprise to a lot of his colleagues. He wore a dark pinstripe tuxedo with the brightest white tie, his shoes were polished so bright it shone under the moonlight. 

He made you wear a similarly luxurious midnight blue tuxedo that complemented his. He introduced you to the other curators in Europe. You tried not to get bored but it definitely was. Steven said he hated it himself. You anxiously downed a few glasses of champagne, which you eventually regretted.

He was still silent when you arrived at the manor, removing his coat and his tie. He looked at you with his sunken eyes, a glare you would only see from Marc but you knew it was still Steven. He licked his lips and let out a sigh.

“If this is about earlier—” you tried to say, but Steven pulled you into your shared bedroom, your back against the hardwood door. 

“Flirting with my co-workers, ‘Do you think that was nice of you, love?” he said, his face so close to yours you could feel his warm breath on your lips. His hand is above your shoulder.

You shook your head, speechless. “Don’t think so,” he pulled back and went onto the bed removing his silver cufflinks. “Come here,” he gestured to the bed, his voice deep and serious, like a general giving away orders. 

“I’m so sorry—” you uttered. He let out a few tsks before pulling his belt off. On the usual, it would be you who would be the more aggressive when it comes to stuff like this. You went to sit on the edge of your white king-sized bed, Steven looking down on you with shadows in his eyes. 

He caressed your cheek with his thumb, it was so warm against your skin. His thumb went to your lips as he bent down to kiss you. You let out a soft moan as his lips left yours. He smirked. “Can we play?” he asked. You nodded before he placed his tie around your eyes, it was soft against your nose bridge and your temples. 

Steven started to undress you, your shirt, your pants, your underwear. Before he laid you down he took the tie around your neck and wrapped it around your wrists and secured it with a knot. He gently placed you against the wide bedspread, your arms above your head. 

“I hated the way he looked at you, the way he touched your hand as he talked to you,” he whispered in your ear leaving wet kisses around your neck. You could feel the stubble prick your skin. “Is it fair, my love? To let me see all that?” he said. You shook your head before he spun you around so your face faced the sheets, your ass cold against the air. 

He smacked your rear with a loud clap, like a thunderstrike. A red print is left on your skin. He massaged it with a grip that grew tighter and tighter. You let out a cry from impact, tears forming in your eyes. Steven knew how much this might have shocked you, how it wasn’t really like him. But he saw the way that man looked at you, filled with so much lust and want, he wanted to hurt him. “Shit, I’m so sorry love was that too much?” he shakingly said. 

“No, it—it’s good I liked it,” you witnessed a new side to him, your sweet and soft-spoken boyfriend was now all rough with you. You felt your center turn and harden. Steven’s own hardness grew, the visual of you prone on the bed bound and blindfolded, he cursed. It was Marc’s idea. He heard him whisper it in the car. Do it, teach ‘em a lesson.

“You’re so naughty, what will I do without you, love?” he said as he undressed his trousers. He bent down to kiss your nape, you could feel his tip rub against your back, leaving a wet trail. He took some lube and prepared your hole, his big digits inserted in you opening you up. He left kisses against your ass, leaving a few bites. You wince from the slight pain. 

You hear a foil wrapper being opened and an elastic being stretched. “Can I be rough with you?” he said, you let out a whiny yes. He gently pressed into you, his hardness entering you. The two of you let out a loud groan, his hands gripping your waist. 

He proceeded to thrust into you with fervor, he let out loud needy noises. You could feel his fingers press into your hip bones, his skin slapping into yours through each thrust. You could feel the hard tip ram into your most sensitive spots. You cried out curses and his name. The bed started to creek and rock back and forth, your fingers dug into the soft sheets. 

The sheer amount of force he was letting out was enough to push you to the edge, you could feel your cock leak so much pleasure. Stop, he’s close, a voice whispered to Steven. He pulled out, you let out a sob from the loss of sensation. 

“Steven—babe,” you were a whimpering mess.

“Not yet pretty, ‘need to show you how mad I am right now,” he sulked before turning you over and placing hips between your legs. He started to press wet kisses around your torso, his tongue playing with one of your nipples. The lack of vision made your whole body feel much more sensitive. 

Your bound hands tried to touch his hair as he kissed you down to your leaking cock, he swiftly took your wrist and pinned them back above your head. He went to kiss around your neck, his hand going to your cock, he stroked it so fast, and with the precum, it was so slippering you were sure you’d finally cum. He stopped when your legs began to close, you let out another cry. 

“You’re leaking so much, love. No one can make you like this but us.” 

“I know—”

“Just the three of us for you. Is that not enough?”

“You’re m—more than enough.”

“So it won’t happen again?” he sounded like he was begging, pleading for you to only care for him. 

“Yes—”

The moment you gave out your answer he pressed his cock again to your hole and began to fuck you again. He was harder, it was stiff around your rear, but pleasurable sliding across your muscles. His hip bones clashed against your skin, wet sounds filled the room. Your eyes rolled back from the sensation, your legs trembling. 

The constant rubbing loosened the tie from your eyes, you saw Steven covered in sweat, glistening under the moonlight. His curly hair was all tousled and the veins in his hands were visible as it held your waist. He looked at you and noticed that you could finally see him. He placed a wanton kiss on your lips, it was lousy at best but filled with so much want. You placed your hands around his head and pulled him close. 

He untied you and your hands began to snake across his wide back. The feeling of his cock inside you was starting to make your head feel light, your eyes half-lidded and your toes curled. You were a moaning mess under him. 

He whispered that he was close. His thrusts became erratic but still hard. You asked if you could ride him and he obliged. You began to ride him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Your hips moved up and down, his hands clenched on your ass. The two of you shared one last kiss as he came inside you, your own cum shooting on your torsos. You felt the room darken as your eyes closed. 

You woke up to the room still dark, the moon shone on the window. You felt a cold wet towel on your rear. It was Steven, cleaning you up as he pressed soft kisses on the redness around your waist. 

“You’re awake,” he said, placing the wet towel on the basin near the bed stand. “‘Sorry if it was too much.”

“Marc got you into this?” you giggled. He nodded like a scolded puppy. You stroke his wet hair before you place a light kiss on his lips. “Cuddle me into bed then, my body is sore,” you said as he took out your softest blankets and covered your naked bodies. He peppered you with kisses before you went back into slumber. 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[momotonescreaming]

choosing my confessions

Rating: T | WC: 2.2k | Tommy Kinard & Sal Deluca Coming Out, Friendship, Comfort

Inspired by this text post of mine

[read on ao3]

"Hey Sal," Tommy says casually, cell phone clutched to his ear, hands shaking. "Do you think I could come over tonight, crash in the spare room?"

"Trouble in paradise? Megan kick you out?" Sal says with a humourless laugh, more an exhale of air than anything else. It crackles through the phone speaker. He's known Sal long enough to know he's not being malicious. If Sal was, he'd know. "Shit, man, sure."

"Good, because I'm outside." Tommy admits, and looks out the drivers side window of his car at Sal's house. He'd been sitting in his car for a solid 30 minutes before he called, staring at the brick of Sal's mid-century home, daring his friend to come out the front door and discover him waiting. So he didn't have to ring him and ask. But Sal didn't, and so Tommy did.

Tommy sighs, breath shuddering, watching the curtains move in the window. A shadow getting closer, bigger, before ripping the curtains apart. And there, in the window is Sal with his cell phone clutched to his ear and an incredulous look on his face. He spots Tommy, in his car outside his house, seat belt still on, and something in his face changes. He hears Sal sigh down the phone, and sees him deflate in the window, back lit by the light from his living room.

He yanks the curtains shut, and after a second Tommy watches him yank the front door open with just as much force. Lowering the phone from his ear, he can see more than he can hear Sal telling him to get the fuck inside.

They both hang up the phone.

Sliding sheepishly out of his truck, phone back in his pocket, Tommy makes his way on shaky legs across to Sal's front door.

Sal, who's standing there in a worn Lakers shirt and sweatpants, phone in one hand with the other on his hip. He looks eerily like his wife, Gina. Tommy would laugh if he didn't feel like he had been flipped inside out. Stripped raw and shaking on his best friend's doorstep.

The door shuts behind him, gentler this time, and Sal ushers him through to the living room. Past the entranceway, with the coat rack and hall table Gina made Sal drive halfway across the city to get, and the framed photos of them on the wall. There's even one of Tommy and Sal at his wedding, Sal in his tuxedo with Tommy in his complementary Best Man suit. It was a good day. He spent most of the day running around with the groomsmen, coordinating with the Maid of Honour, making sure that Sal had the best day possible — that he almost forgot he had invited Megan as his date.

Gina's in the living room, curled up in a recliner, her wavy black hair tied in a knot at the top of her head. She sees Tommy and smiles, giving him a soft look before she locks eyes with Sal. He must pull a face at her from where he's standing behind Tommy, communicating silently, as she uncurls herself and gets off the recliner.

"I'll be in our room if you need anything," she says, far too casually to be anything other than contrived, her silently communicating with Sal again. Tommy watches as she raises an eyebrow at Sal before disappearing down the hall.

Tommy turns to see Sal rolling his eyes fondly, as he always does with Gina, before turning to Tommy. Something in his expression settles into something more serious, something more searching. As if he could peer into the lines on Tommy's face and figure out exactly why he's here.

"Sit," Sal says, firmly but not unkindly. He takes a seat on the living room couch, a deep brown leather one Tommy knew had come from Sal when they merged their things together. It was old, and worn, but it was incredibly comfortable and neither of them wanted to throw it out. It was comfortable, and Tommy wishes the small relief of it will make the impending conversation easier.

Tommy sits, sinking into the plush leather next to Sal. The curtains shut, blocking out the depth of the night. The living room lit by soft warm coloured lamps, and the shine of the TV. He sighs, looking down at his feet, feeling Sal's gaze burn into the side of his head.

"You know I was mostly joking when I said trouble in paradise, you know." Sal starts, breaking the silence. Hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly wrong." Tommy starts, tilting his head as if to concede his own point. "Hasn't been paradise in a long while. Or at all."

He watches Sal purse his lips, look at him, staring into his eyes. As if he's staring into his soul. He's always been good at that, reading people, really seeing them. Looking past the facade, seeing the version of themselves that they put on for others, and the version of themselves that feels more true to them. He's always been very good at reading Tommy.

"How so?" Sal prompts.

"Have you ever started realising something about yourself?" Tommy starts, looking over at his best friend. His voice starts to waver, and he sees Sal's eyes flicker over his face. Of course he notices, small as the waver was. "And the more you think about it, the more you realise you can't take it back? You can't un-know this thing about yourself?"

"No." Sal admits, and Tommy sort of deflates before he continues. "But I'm guessing you can?"

His voice hitches in his throat, catching there, stopping all air from flowing from his mouth to his lungs. This is the moment. To tell Sal what he realised about himself. He doesn't know if he can do it. He kind of feels like he's gonna throw up, bile churning his stomach. Bubbling and boiling like hot tar sinking in the pit of his gut. Like if he tells Sal it's going to change everything, redirect the course of their whole friendship. Maybe even end it.

A lot like the realisation itself, if he tells Sal he can't take it back.

Sal's relaxed a lot over the years, calmed down and matured. In part, thanks to Gina. He's not a bad guy, never was. Working under Gerrard was hard for them all, and they both fell into the safety of the Old Boys Club. It meant they kept their jobs. Got to live another day with that sense of community. Not that it was, Tommy realising that only once Gerrard was ousted and the whole 118 could settle.

"Yeah," Tommy exhales, throat tight and voice shuddering on the exhale. He clenches his fist, nails digging crescent shaped dents into the calloused palm of his hands. Almost drawing blood. He takes a deep breath, and looks over at Sal, eyes watering. "I think I'm gay."

And then he's being hugged. Being pulled in by strong arms, across the couch and into Sal's embrace. He reaches back, arms wrapping around Sal, letting himself be swallowed by the man's hold. It's nice. He needs it.

Tommy lets out a wet sob, pressing his face into Sal's shoulder. He feels a little silly for the doubt he was feeling before, the nerves pressing the words back down his throat. He mumbles into Sal's shirt. "Thank you."

"Don't have to thank me for anything," Sal replies, rubbing a hand up and down his back. Smoothing down the fabric of Tommy's flannel, soothing him. "You bastard, I should be thanking you for opening up."

"How about a draw?" Tommy proposes, and he feels Sal laugh from where their torsos are pressed together. Sal starts pulling back, drawing his hands across the smooth planes of Tommy's back, and he resists the urge to grab Sal's wrists and pull him back for another hug.

"If it means you accept the thank you, then I'll fucking take it." Sal jokes, resting his hand on Tommy's shoulder, leaving it there. A fact for which Tommy is thankful. He focuses on it, uses it to anchor himself, keep himself in the moment. It doesn't stop his eyes from watering. Sal locks eyes with him, and he feels like he's been cracked open a second time. Like he's gripped his ribcage and torn them apart, exposing his bleeding heart. "Seriously though Tommy? You're still my best fucking friend."

"You too," is all Tommy can get out before he has to sniff wetly, blinking back tears. In his wildest dreams, he could never have predicted this went this well. Not with what they both went through, the culture that surrounded them. At work, and at home. The machismo, the idea of what a man really is, the idea that they have to become it. The macho hobbies, the macho job, the idea that he can enjoy these things — or elements of them at least — and still, maybe, be gay.

"I'm guessing you told Megan?" Sal asks, not unkindly, raising an eyebrow. He's processed what this means in his head, Tommy can tell, running through all the options. The solutions.

"Yeah."

"Which is why you're here."

"Yeah," Tommy repeats, nodding his head. "We talked a bit — not much, mind you. Ripped off the band-aid, but I figured we could both use some space to figure it all out."

"Well you're always welcome here," Sal says warmly, a fact for which Tommy is forever grateful. He doesn't know what he'd do if he and his girlfriend — ex-girlfriend now — were stuck in his house together after dropping the bombshells they did. "Gina would have my ass if I didn't."

Tommy snorts out a laugh, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth — before he lets the expression drop into a frown. He takes another deep breath, looking over at Sal, hand on his shoulder, before looking down at his clenched hands. Knuckles white with tension. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

"Megan's pregnant."

"Shit." Sal says, almost on accident, words coming out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Fuck. What are you gonna do?"

"No fucking clue," Tommy admits, letting out a strained and humourless laugh. "She's further along than expected, apparently, and doesn't know if she wants to keep it."

"Well what about you?" Sal asks, to which Tommy just makes a questioning noise. "Do you want to keep it?"

"I really don't think that matters all that much, Sal." Tommy admits, looking at Sal incredulously. "She's the one that's pregnant."

"Well you're my friend, and I'd argue it does." Sal replies, a teasing lilt to his voice, as if he's a thirteen year old kid about to say so there. His voice drops into something serious."That kid's yours too, you know?"

"I haven't really let myself think about it?" Tommy says, words coming out questioning and unsure. "Tonight, or ever, really. Marriage and kids always felt like something that was never meant for me, you know? Now I know why."

"Maybe it's time to let yourself think about it." Sal says with a shrug. He looks casual, but there's that calculating look on his face, in his words. Where there's something underneath the surface he's not saying. Tommy sighs, he doesn't know if he wants to admit if Sal has a point or not. "Kids. No rush."

"There's a bit of a rush, Sal," Tommy says, letting himself snark back at his best friend. "Pregnancy doesn't go on forever."

"Ha ha, wiseguy. I went to health class, I know how fucking pregnancy works." Sal teases back. "I'm just saying this might be the time to think about it. Now that you know more about yourself."

"Maybe." He replies quietly. "I don't know. We have a bunch of other stuff to figure out first."

"Well I'm always here," Sal says. "If you ever need anything."

"Thank you," Tommy replies gratefully. Knowing that Sal's there, that he knows his situation — that's he's gay and his now ex-girlfriend is pregnant — helps ease the anxious vice grip on his heart. He has someone to talk to. He doesn't have to hide it. He has the space to sit down and just be a gay man.

He wants to explore that side of himself, to let himself look at guys, focus on how they make him feel. How he's allowed to look at them. Maybe go to a gay club.

But now he has bigger things to worry about. He and Megan need to talk the housing situation, about the stuff they bought together, and what they're going to do about the baby. He doesn't know if he even has the time to be gay. Which feels a little silly to say, but sadly true.

He needs to think about if he wants to be a father. If he wants a kid.

At first instinct, if he lets himself even consider the thought of it — he kind of wants to be a father. The idea terrifies him, and the thought of turning out like his father terrifies him even more.

But Tommy thinks it might be nice to be a dad.

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Sorry for the long break y'all. Life and all. Here is an update.

Chapter XV

Things Ain’t Like They Used To Be

The beginning of the end started innocuously and unremarkably. There was nothing to suggest that things would be changing. And they shouldn’t have been changing either, because everything was…happiness. 

Azriel had disappeared soon after Christmas dinner was over and the last of the trifle was eaten, and Elain couldn’t find him. However, since she couldn’t find Piglet either, she hoped that her boys were together. 

She had a fun night, singing carols, teasing Nesta along with Cassian, and risking her wrath, because Cassian was hilarious and Nesta was all pissy since Elain and Cassian teamed up for the first round of games. Then, while drinking after-dinner cocktails, everyone played more games, and Feyre and their father won. Rhys and Elain came in second, but Rhys lamented that Azriel wasn’t around because he’d beat everyone. 

“He is wildly competitive,” Rhys whispered to Elain. “Not surprising considering he is a professional athlete, but that man will win any game.”

It was then that Elain realised how much she missed Azriel next to her. After their silly row earlier in the day, things weren’t the same and Elain hated it! She hated that their first Christmas together wasn’t perfect. The fact that she even had him with her here, in Rosehall, with her family, having Christmas with all of them like he was part of the family, part of her, was exhilarating enough! She never thought that it would happen; that she’d be at her ancestral home, with the man she loved, with her sisters, her father, her dog, but here they were. Therefore, while the festivities were still going strong, Elain slipped away from the reception and went to find Azriel and Piglet. Just before she rounded the corner though, she heard Cassian’s voice calling her,

“Hey, petal. Wait up.”

Cassian looked a little buzzed, his jacket off, his white tuxedo shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the bow tie untied and hanging over his neck, his hair flowing just past his shoulders. No wonder Nesta, the icy, prickly Nesta, was all aflutter over him. The man was almost pornographically handsome, in the most primal of ways. This was the man who was going to bend you over, fuck you within an inch of your life, and you’d turn around and thank him. The raw, beasial beauty of him was truly breathtaking.

Elain stopped her thoughts spiralling out of control, because it was probably inappropriate to think of her sister’s new love interest in this manner. But Elain was…horny. Since last night, she was horny (well, she’s been horny and a little desperate for a while now) and the phantom feel of Azriel’s wicked hand inside of her still lingered and offered a pleasant memory by keeping her sore and wet.

Nevertheless, Elain thought that if Azriel wasn’t her soulmate, she’d absolutely give Cassian a lot of attention. Because this man was devastating. 

He came closer, propping his arm against the wall. Elain looked up at him, all 6”6 of him and he snickered, “Well, we destroyed them at Pictionary, didn’t we?”

“We annihilated!” Elain agreed savagely, nodding.

Cassian laughed at her, but then his face changed to a more serious expression, and he asked,

“Az treating you good, petal?”

Elain frowned at the strange question and said,

“He is!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Why?”

Cassian avoided answering directly, instead, saying,

“He can get a little intense, you know,”

Elain laughed at that.

“You think?” she shook her head. 

“Are you okay with that?”

“That he is incredibly intense, barks ‘you are mine!’ and has me saved as ‘Mrs. Night’ on his phone?” she raised her brow at Cassian.

He pressed his tongue into his cheek and after a long pause, nodded at last. 

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

She shrugged, 

“He is also generous, loving, unbelievably inappropriate but also strangely gallant. I have to take the good with the bad and the questionable,” she said decisively.

“He is new to all of this,” Cassian reminded her cautiously.

“What?”

Cassian paused again, until he finally uttered, 

“Love.”

Elain swallowed loudly, unable to respond. 

She and Azriel had never gone as far as the ‘L” word. They’ve exchanged words of tenderness, and Azriel never stopped coming up with new and extravagant endearments for her. But he never said that he was in love with her, and neither did she tell him the same.

“You know his history,” Cassian continued, “he never felt like this about a woman. Never been with a woman long enough to feel much of anything.”

“Cass, I think it’s premature to discuss all of this,” Elain muttered, her tone panicked.

Cassian ran his tongue over his lower lip and said, “Just be gentle with him, Elain. Be kind to his heart. He is not himself because of you.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, worrying her lip with her teeth.

“Nothing really. Just that he is navigating a wholly new territory. He isn’t as confident as he appears to be.”

“Azriel…he is very special to me,” Elain murmured.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t tell him,” Cassian warned quickly.

Her brow furrowed, “what, exactly?”

“Special. Don’t use words like that with him. You either confess your love for him and tell him that you are his. Or nothing, He doesn’t do things halfway. It’s all or nothing with him.”

Elain sighed, thinking. What Cassian was saying made sense, though she wasn’t sure how to approach that conversation yet.

“Thanks Cassian. But we are just fine. Brilliant even.”

He grunted something unintelligible and then said, “well, good night then. Happy Christmas, Elain. I didn’t think that that’s where we’d be for Christmas, but I can’t say that I mind it.”

She smiled and nodded, “yeah, I don’t mind it as well. Happy Christmas.”

Elain turned and she was almost out of sight, when Cassian called after her again.

“Oi!”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching him rub his chin, looking pensive.

“You been to his flat?” he questioned. 

Another odd inquiry.

She nodded, “yes. We went to his yesterday. Why?”

“You liked it?”

“The views were amazing!!” she said enthusiastically. “But Canary Wharf…you know,” she shrugged indifferently.

“Boring, eh?”

Elain grinned, “it is!”

“Did you see a cage anywhere?” he suddenly asked.

“A cage?” Elain looked utterly confused. “What cage?”

“So no cage?”

“Oh, for Piglet? Yes. Az got him three beds and a ton of toys, but also a huge cage! Can you imagine?” she giggled.

Cassian stilled at her words.

“Yeah,” he murmured thoughtfully. “He was talking about it.”

“Pigled isn’t into cages,” Elain huffed. “He’d bite him if he was put in a cage!’

“That’s what I told him too,” Cassian smiled at her. “Well, good night then.”

“Night Cass!”

-

Elain opened the door to the bedroom quietly and tiptoed inside. It was dim in the room, only one lamp illuminating the spacious, luxurious space. She heard Piglet and his little snores first. Then she found Azriel lying on the bed, dressed in joggers and a t-shirt, his arm thrown over his eyes. He was barefoot and looked comfortable in his sleep, his breathing deep and even. Piglet was sleeping on his side next to his dad, oblivious to everything, not even sensing Elain’s arrival. Or if he did, he didn’t react. Great guard dog he was! But she supposed he was trusting Azriel to protect her from serial killers lurking in the garden. He was apparently ‘off duty’.

She watched them for a moment, until suddenly Azriel opened his arms, but not his eyes. Wordlessly, Elain approached the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and burying her face in his chest. His arms banded around her and he pressed her closer to him. She didn’t care that she was wearing her dress and that her voluminous skirt took up half of the bed. She didn’t even care about wearing shoes. 

He stroked her bare back lightly, his harsh, uneven skin and strong fingers sending shivers of pleasure down her body. 

“I thought I lost you,” Elain whispered, her voice sounding desperate.

He sighed and drew his hand along her spine.

“No. Not just yet.”

“Yet?” she gasped and looked up at him.

His face was sombre, but then he smiled at her and caressed her head, and then her face.

“Are we fighting?” she asked, knowing how stupid she sounded, but she didn’t even care. She knew that she kind of freaked out at him in the morning and it was so silly–all because of ‘Mrs. Night’ on his phone. 

“Do you want to fight?” he asked seriously, watching her closely.

She shook her head. 

“No. No I don’t.”

“Alright then. We’ll leave the fighting until after Christmas.”

“But you left,” she whispered. “So you are angry with me?”

He smiled at her gently and lied, “nah, I just have a headache. Pink was also all partied out, so I took him out–sorry, there is a pile of his turds somewhere in the garden–and then we came back here.”

Elain rubbed her cheek against his neck, breathing in his crisp, sharp scent, as she clutched his biceps, feeling her fingers tremble. The stress of thinking that he’d left her, that he got into his car and drove away suddenly hit her so hard, she shivered and felt cold sweat cover her body at once. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, feeling her tension and her unease. He tipped her chin up and looked down at her with a frown.

“Nothing,” she said. “All is good,” she stroked his arm. “All is good now.”

She sat up, still straddling him and then cupped his face in her palm. 

“Everything is good, Az. Because you are with me.”

He gave her an assessing glance, like he didn’t believe her, and then asked, “is that enough?”

“Yes. For me it is.”

She reached into her bag, which was left by the bed, and took out a small box, wrapped in a blue ribbon.

“I wanted to give you your Christmas gift.”

She blushed at the words and ducked her head shyly, handing the box to him. Azriel sat up, cocking his brow and looked at it with interest, and maybe even surprise. When she attempted to slide off him, he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her in place and said, “open it”.

Elain pulled on the ribbon and then opened the box. 

He looked inside and then declared with a grin, “yes, yes I will!”

“Wha…”

“It’s a ring! You are asking me to marry you?” he said definitively. “So I am saying ‘yes’,”

“My god!” she swatted at him. “That’s not what it is! You are a madman!”

“Maybe I am, or maybe I am not, but I am now an engaged madman,” he told her. “Put a ring on it, baby,” and he wiggled his finger at her.

Exasperated, Elain sighed dramatically and announced, 

“It’s for the headaches you get…that everybody gives you. It’s supposed to stimulate brain activity and specific pressure points and relieve your headaches,”

He stared at her and then laughed out loud, startling Piglet, who looked over his shoulder with a sleepy, bewildered gaze wondering what was happening.

“Sorry little lad,” Azriel patted the pug’s side. “Go back to sleep.”

“This is amazing, beautiful!” he exclaimed then. “And invaluable. Between my teammates and Cass and Rhys, this is the perfect gift!”

Elain smiled happily and added, “it’s not the only thing it does. If you press here,” she showed him, “you’ll get background noise to sleep, or drown out any other noises. I imagine that travelling with your team could get loud at times.”

“Yes, indeed,” he agreed, looking at the ring and pressing invisible buttons. 

“It measures all your vitals,” Elain added. “And tells you to sleep if you aren’t sleeping enough,”

“Where did you get this?”

“I had it custom made. Just for you.”

Azriel put the ring on his thumb and twisted his tattooed hand in front of his eyes, admiring the new bring. It was an elegant piece–black, with a silver insert.

“Do you like it?” she asked shyly, rubbing her finger over his thumb.

Azriel cupped her cheek in his hand and pulled her closer to him.

His breath fanned over her bare shoulder, when he placed a gentle kiss on it.

“You are magical, Elain Archeron. A little faery,” he whispered. “I am one lucky fucker.”

Elain snorted and scoffed, “your language is the worst!”

“Sorry, pretty girl, you’ll have to live with it for the rest of your life,” he shrugged innocently. 

“Oh is that so? The rest of my life?” 

He drew his thumb over his lower lip, his expression sobering and becoming more serious.

Elain thought that he’d go on some tangent about marriage and her being his, but instead, he said, “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present…”

He rustled under his pillow and then pulled out a box. It was much too large for a ring, and Elain, who was waiting with bated breath, wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. But whatever it was, she was excited to see it. 

“Stay where you are,” Azriel ordered firmly, insisting that she remain seated atop of his hips. “You may take the dress off, if you so desire,” he suggested casually.

“I’ll decide once I see what you got me,” she told him firmly and he smiled. 

“Well, happy Christmas then,” he murmured and opened the box for her. Elain’s breath skittered over his hands when she beheld a stunning diamond and sapphire necklace displayed against the cream satin of the box. It was a Vacheron Constantin no less–the finest of the finest. Not a trifling thing either–a ‘garden’ necklace of clusters of large diamonds and even larger sapphires, shaped into a chain of flowers. A gift that a husband would give his wife for the holidays (if he were a millionaire footballer that is). 

“Azriel,” she sucked in her breath, entranced by the exquisite beauty of the necklace.

He was about to unleash on her for saying ‘I couldn’t possibly’, but she beat him to it and suddenly–to his utter delight–pulled up her long curled hair and presented him with her long delicate neck. “Put it on me?”

Azriel’s head went quiet. There was something profound about this moment, with Elain allowing him to put this visible ‘collar’ around her neck–accepting him, permitting him to do that to her. For her. He moved closer: her breasts, still contained within her structured dress, pressed into his chest, and he loved the feel of them, while he wrapped his arms around her and fastened the lock of the necklace in the back of her neck.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, watching the diamonds gleam and sparkle in the low light.

“Is it too much?” she wondered, as her fingers slid over the stones.

“No. Just enough,” he decided, admiring her. “A little bouquet of diamonds and sapphires for my pretty flower girl.”

Elain's necklace

Fucking beat a crown that Rhys put on Feyre. Damn peacock. 

“May I remove this unnecessarily big dress for you?” Azriel offered smoothly, and without waiting for an answer, he found the zipper in the back of her gown.

“Az, we can’t do it!” she hissed in alarm.

“Do what, exactly?” he teased, while he slowly slid the zipper down.

Scrambling and bumbling, she muttered, “you know! that…You know what!”

“That and what, huh,” he chuckled. “It’s not like I’ve been anticipating getting laid tonight, sweetness. I mean, I’ve pretty much lost all hope by now, but,”

“Excuse me!” she exclaimed. “We’ve been dating for 3 weeks!”

“I feel like it’s been much longer, since October.” He corrected her, while opening the dress up in the back and letting it fall away from her body.

“October? October?!?!” she cried. “No way! We only met in October.”

“Well, and I’ve been dating you since I’ve met you,” he reminded her calmly. “Not sure what you’ve been doing.”

“Well, I,”

“Yeah, so it’s pretty reasonable for me to expect to have sex with my girlfriend after three months,”  he glared at her.

“I can’t!” she argued weakly. “Not with my dad in the same house…and Piglet right here,”

“Oh, bring dad into this, why don’t you! And Pinky is a dog, who cares?!”

“A dog? He isn’t a dog. He is my son!” she argued fiercely. “I gave birth to him, you know!”

“Uh-uh, did you now? I beg to differ,”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t remember making him, and the only son you’d be birthing would be mine,” he stated definitively. “So there is that.”

“I don’t think that’s how it is,”

“I do. But we’ll have fun making ours,” Azriel promised and gently squeezed her nipple between his fingers.

While she was pontificating about being her pug’s birth mother, Azriel managed to bare her to him and now he whistled softly to himself. 

A fine pair of full, pear-shaped breasts had tumbled from her gown and they were incredible. Azriel has had his share of peeks and glances, but even last night, when he was fingering her, she was still wearing a bra. Now, the titties were out, and before Elain could make up some excuse, he was dipping his face to them and before she could even gasp, he latched onto her nipple with his lips, pulling hard, and sucking half of her breast into his mouth. His hand wrapped around her neck–not choking her, but keeping her keen and at attention–while he circled his tongue around the nipple, as he held her on top of him firmly. Elain inhaled sharply, watching him, while he crouched in his uncomfortable position, and watched her. 

Elain was warm and soft, and her sublime tit was like melted butter on his tongue–silky and soft and rich. She felt so good in his arms, shivering every time he gave her little swollen bud another suck, his thumb stroking her lovely neck, his fingers brushing against the cold of her new necklace. He also liked the way the ring looked on his thumb. Black and sexy.

He pulled away from her breast and then licked her other nipple, nipping on it with his teeth, before biting roughly. She yipped, but he only drew his thumb over her mouth, quieting her down.

“I am not gonna fuck you tonight,” he whispered, sucking on the other nipple as well, making it nice and puffy, “only under one condition,”

“What?” she breathed sharply, her eyes wide, her skin hot in his hands.

“You are sleeping nice and naked. Next to me. Don’t care about Pink here, don’t care about dad, or anyone else. You’re sleeping naked and I am jamming my dick into her bare arse.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Ellie. Although of course you may wear the necklace.”

“Ohhh, you are so magnanimous!” she scoffed, though her fingers tangled in his hair and she very clearly enjoyed what he was doing to her. He kissed each lovely globe with small, tender kisses, then he licked around the nipples, soft and slow, savouring every bit of her skin. Elain panted and rubbed against him, the thin material of his joggers getting pleasantly damp against her pussy. 

“I am that,” he nodded in agreement and then fell back on the pillows. “Go clean up and I expect you next to me, nice and naked and wet, sharpish. Got it?”

Elain rolled her eyes, but climbed off of him and walked to the bathroom, dragging her dress around her hips, while he was chuckling an evil laugh.

While Elain was in the bathroom, Piglet woke up for a few minutes and then demanded that Azriel spoon him. Azriel moved away a bit, and Piglet moved closer, then Azriel moved again, and Piglet sidled up to him. Once Azriel got the message, he tugged the pug closer to him, but the moment he removed his hand, Piglet put his paw on his hand, indicating that he better be snuggled right this minute. So Azriel had no choice but to cuddle the dog next to his body, and Piglet put both of his paws over Azriel’s forearm, keeping him in place. Piglet was going to take full advantage of this situation–he wasn’t allowed to sleep in the same bed with his Elain and while he could nap in her bed–which he often did–sleeping overnight wasn’t permitted. Here, today, he knew he was going to sleep with her and Az, and he was going to require full-on snuggles while he was at it. As soon as he had Azriel in his possession, Piglet fell back asleep.

“Close your eyes!” Azriel heard.

He laughed.

“Absolutely not!”

“Fine, I am not coming out then.”

“You gonna sleep in the tub, Ellie-girl?”

“If I have to!”

He snorted and then said, “fine. My eyes are closed.”

“Truly?”

“Absolutely. Come on, come out.”

Elain tiptoed into the bedroom and gasped, because Azriel was snuggling with the sleeping Piglet, and had his eyes WIDE open.

“I hate you,” she moaned.

But Azriel’s big hazel eyes lit up at the sight of her and she gushed, “you are so fucking gorgeous, Ellie. I can’t believe my stupid luck.”

Elain blushed at his words and wrung her fingers nervously and she silently walked across the carpet. She had kept her word–she was completely nude except for her new gorgeous necklace. 

“You’ll have to be the biggest spoon, baby,” Azriel told her. “I’ve been made to spoon the fur son. He was cross with me when I attempted to move,”

Elain chuckled, secretly enjoying how his eye devoured her. She never considered her body to be anything remotely perfect, but the way Azriel was looking at her made her think that maybe she’d been too hard on herself. Maybe seeing her through his eyes was all she ever needed, because he saw the beauty in her that she never allowed herself to acknowledge. 

She got in bed next to him–his massive body warm and firm, exuding his innate strength, but also calmness, all the while brimming with power. It felt good. Like she was in the safest place in the world. 

“Did you like Christmas?” she asked quietly, kissing his shoulder.

“It’s a good Christmas,” he stated simply. “You and me and the dog. Well, and family, I guess.”

She laughed at that. He was very nonchalant about the ‘family’ bit.

…Surprisingly, even though there was a naked Elain in bed with him, Azriel fell asleep quickly and without any usual struggles. Perhaps, her gift was already working? Or perhaps he was in the place where he always meant to be.

When Azriel opened his eyes, bleary sunlight was already streaming through the windows. From where he lay, he could see the muted pink sunrise, pale light tentatively touching the ground in the vast park of the estate. 

He could get used to it, he thought. The life of a country gentleman: caring for his manor, a bunch of dogs and horses on the grounds, a glass of whiskey at night by the fireplace, his Elain tending to her gardens, being the lady of the house, running charities and organising their social calendar. Yes, he wouldn’t mind that at all. Wouldn’t mind railing her on the daily either. 

Elain’s gorgeous naked body was outlined by the morning light, the lovely curve of her bottom so sumptuous, Azriel had to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning out loud. She stood by the window, her foot tapping softly behind her, her long hair cascading down her back. Azriel was pleased to see that her nipples were still nicely plump and swollen from all the attention that he’d paid them overnight. 

Gently setting Piglet aside Azriel rose swiftly and sat up on the bed, rubbing his face sleepily. He inspected his leg–it looked normal now and therefore, he knew that his little holiday was coming to an end. After the new year, he was going back onto the field. His last checkup was going to be on December 28th. If he was cleared to return to playing, his first game was going to be the first week of January. And it’s not that he didn't want to return to the game–he’d missed it: his team and his boys and the thrill of the game–but he also knew that his time with Elain and Pinky would suffer once he got back on the road. And that made him sad. 

He looked at Elain again, silently observing the sensual heaviness of her breast, the pretty curve of her belly, the softness of her shoulder. With sudden, acute clarity, he also saw her standing in the same spot, but this time, with her stomach round and heavy with his baby. 

Fuuuuuck. He was feeling broody. 

He rubbed his face again, trying to shake off the image. But somehow, it was seared into his brain now. Elain glorious nakedness didn’t help him clear his mind of dreams of impregnating her and watching her get round with his son. 

At last, he stood up and walked soundlessly towards her, startling her when he brashly cupped her warm bare pussy in his hand.

“Az!” she gasped. 

He kissed her neck softly and murmured, “that’s my name, baby. Good morning, my Ellie.”

She melted against him almost immediately, her sweet arse moulding into his cock just like he wanted it. Pink didn’t budge the whole night, and as much as Azriel tried, he couldn’t spoon Elain, because the dog was in the way. Even when Azriel released him a couple of times and tried to turn on his other side, Piglet growled and then crawled over him and planted himself between their bodies. There was no escaping him.

“Our first Christmas morning together,” Azriel whispered, and buried his face in her neck, gently stroking her soft pussy, while he cupped her breast in his palm and teased her nipple lazily.

“Oh…” she breathed blissfully, “this feels so good…”

“I am here to make you feel good, Ellie. That’s going to be my full time job. Fuck football!” 

She laughed and patted his hand, “not yet. I want to have a brawny footballer as a boyfriend for a little while. Before you get all old and become a coach,”

“Old?!” he exclaimed, outraged. “I am going to be 30!”

“Yeah. Old.”

“No respect for your elders,” he shook his head.

“Oh, look, look,” Elain pointed outside, and then bounced on her toes with excitement. 

Azriel looked out, seeing that the garden was covered in fresh snow, just in time for Christmas. Out in the cold, Nesta Archeron was running laps. She was thin, ramrod straight, her hair tied in a severe ponytail. 

“She runs every morning,” Elain sighed, shaking her head. “She never misses a day. Can you imagine?”

Azriel didn’t want to remind her that he also ran every day, and exercised for a few hours too, so he simply said, “she is very dedicated.”

Elain huffed, muttering, “well, I’d rather have a cup of coffee and a croissant.”

Azriel did not doubt that one bit. But he only kissed her shoulder and her neck and caressed her silken breast in his palm. He liked his soft and plush Elain, where he could touch and squeeze her lush body to his heart’s delight, and feel her supple flesh and not a pile of bones. 

“Ohmygod,” Elain gasped. Azriel looked to see what got her so excited and then smirked with amusement. 

There was his brother, in a pair of joggers and a sleeveless hoodie, his long hair tied into a topknot, running behind Nesta. 

Cassian pounded the ground steadily and when Nesta heard him, she turned around and was clearly surprised to see him. He greeted her indifferently, like this was what he did every day. And he did–Azriel knew that Cassian ran too. But he was quite sure that Cassian wasn’t so dedicated that he’d normally run on Christmas morning. No. This was a ruse. Cassian wanted to run with Nesta.

Elain watched the two with rapt attention and then turned swiftly in Azriel’s arms and asked, “do you think he fancies her?”

“Yeah he fancies her,” Azriel confirmed simply and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Can’t you see?”

“You know, she never dates!” Elain exclaimed in frustration. “Never ever. And…well, I like Cassian,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I think he would be good for her. He is warm and funny and good.”

Azriel agreed. And Cassian would be the right person for Nesta too. He could handle her. He liked a challenge, but he was also emotionally intelligent enough to know what a woman like Nesta needed. 

“Alright,” Azriel decided, hauling Elain up in his arms, “let’s go back to bed and make out.”

-

Piglet was overheated.

Which is why he was presently lying on the cool stone tiles of the palace and was being fanned by Feyre and his Elain. They sat next to him with magazines in their hands and were frantically trying to cool him off. 

“You couldn’t have been more careful?” Feyre hissed at her husband accusingly. “And you?!” she snarled at Nesta. 

“Okay, Feyre darling, in my defence,” Rhys said pacifically, “I am not well familiar with a pug’s internal cooling system in a snowball fight,”

Elain couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

Azriel was observing all of this with a disdainful look on his face, as he shook his head.

“This damn pug is more of a diva than Mariah Carey!” he crossed his arms on his broad chest, watching the two girls on their knees, fanning–literally–over the panting dog. “Just in the last 48 hours, he ran into a wall and knocked himself out, then he attempted to poison himself with some flowers, and now he is overheated from a snowball fight. Whatever will the next 48 hours bring…” he pondered.

Dad was being mean of course, but Piglet didn’t even care. Because whatever. He had so much fun during the snowball fight that he’d do it all over again. Hey, yolo and all!

-

So this is what happened:

When Piglet woke up in the morning, it was because dad and his Elain were doing something that looked a lot like wrestling on the bed. They pushed at him, and he woke up, only for the big man–Cass–to burst through the doors the next moment and scream ‘snowball fight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Then all hell broke loose, because dad yelled at Cassian, who already left the room, for seeing Elain naked, and Piglet didn’t know what all the fuss was about, because he saw his Elain naked all the time and it was no big deal. He escorted her to the loo and to the bathroom pretty much all the time, just to make sure that she was okay and didn’t need his help, or that she didn’t just disappear somewhere. 

Everyone had gathered downstairs soon after. There wasn’t even breakfast! Piglet only got some water and a banana, which he had to eat in a hurry, so he trotted to the gathering holding it in his mouth. 

“Couples can’t be together!” Cassian declared loudly. 

“Why not?” Feyre demanded instantly.

“No. That’s not how it works. You can’t be with Rhys. And I can’t be with Nes,” he continued.

“We aren’t a couple,” Nesta reminded him coolly.

“But I want to be with Azriel,” Elain whined, clutching Azriel’s hand.

“Yeah,” Azriel nodded, “I wouldn’t mind being with Ellie too,”

“Like I said,” Cassian rolled over all the objections, “no couples.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Rhys demanded, tapping his fingers on his bicep impatiently.

Piglet watched the humans negotiate for a good ten minutes, while he chewed his banana and rolled his eyes. They were slow and indecisive and kind of annoying too.

“What about Piglet?” Elain exclaimed at last.

Piglet looked at all of them, challenging them with a wordless yeah, what about Piglet, indeed?

“He doesn’t have thumbs,” Rhys reminded her. “He can’t make snowballs.”

At that, Piglet huffed. 

Cassian rubbed his chin and said, “whoever gets him will have a distraction, for sure. He might come in handy actually,”

At least somebody was talking sense. 

Piglet got onto his hind leg and suggested that maybe Cassian take him on his team. But, naturally, as luck would have it, Piglet ended up on the worst team ever–with Nesta and Rhysand. They picked the short straw which egregiously meant him. 

The final breakdown was Cassian and Elain, Feyre and Azriel, and Nesta and Rhys and Piglet.

And so it began. 

Rhys had the audacity to ask Nesta “does he understand commands?”

“Yeah, when he wants to,” Nesta scoffed. “Usually when there is food involved, he is all ears. If not, then they are for decoration only.”

Piglet was upset that he wasn’t on the team with Cassian, who was hidden behind a tree with Elain, designing an honest to god tactical warfare plan. But it didn’t matter because Piglet was gonna show Rhys that he could be an important addition to the team. And he didn’t do everything for food. Like for example right now. He didn’t even have breakfast, but here he was, rushing across the field, distracting everyone, while Rhys sprung on Azriel and pummelled him with snowballs. 

Piglet crawled between bushes and then destroyed stockpiles of snowballs that Elain had made, incurring Cassian’s wrath as the big man bellowed ‘you wily little bastard!’ 

Elain wailed ‘I can’t believe you did that!’ but Piglet only rolled in the snow, completely obliterating her work, before running away.

As far as he was concerned, all was fair in love and war.

Azriel chased Nesta with snowballs, wiping her out, and while Rhys valiantly attempted to defend her, Feyre rushed across the field and kicked all of his snowballs, flattening them ruthlessly, and then ran back, followed by Rhys’s mournful scream ‘you are my wife!!!’

She shrugged and saluted him, while Cassian sprung on her and dumped heaps of snow on her head. She screamed hysterically, as the snow fell into her coat, and unsuccessfully fought back the attack.

Meanwhile, Azriel sprinted towards Elain, and basically tackled her, landing on top of her in a heap of snow. He managed to half-bury her in the pile, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. Azriel melted at once, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her back, which allowed Cassian to sneak up on him and toss a bunch of snowballs at Azriel’s head.

“Sorry, petal!” he bellowed, since some of the snowballs landed on Elain as well, but she gave him a thumbs up and laughed wildly.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Azriel fake-gasped, wiping his face.

“You are defeated!” she announced. 

“Never! With Piglet’s help, Nesta and Rhys certainly had the upper hand. Piglet kept pretending to fall, or be struck by snowballs, he howled and rolled around, he also repeatedly rushed various people and successfully took them down, because they lost footing as they didn’t want to step on him. 

As much as Cassian tried to insist that the couples stay apart and not couple, by the end of the fight, Rhys found his way to Feyre, Azriel to Elain, and even Cassian draped his arm over Nesta’s shoulders (and she didn’t shrug him off). 

That’s when Piglet collapsed for real, panting within his red Arsenal jacket.

Feyre saw him in the snow and hurried to pick him up, crying loudly, ‘Piggy don’t die!! He is going to die!’

Elain was much calmer about this and told her distraught sister, ‘He won’t die. He is just hot. But we’ll need to fan him.’

“Oh and by the way, Feyre and I won,” Azriel shrugged innocently.

“I beg to differ!” Cassian argued at once.

“Yeah, according to who?” Nesta snarled at Azriel, her hands on her hips.

“Okay, let’s reassess what has taken place,” Azriel offered calmly and all of them headed back to the manor, arguing loudly about who’d actually won. 

Piglet felt like he’d won. 

-

Piglet was very pleased with his massive haul of Christmas presents. 

He received not one, not two, not three, but FOUR sticks!! Four. Excellent sticks. 

As expected, dad gave the best presents: in addition to one of the sticks, dad also got him a pack of used padded Amazon envelopes, two pairs of socks, a whole bunch of toys, a Chelsea ball and a small plush tree decorated with shiny balls, which were also soft. All for him to destroy. 

The rest of the gifts consisted of bags of treats, chewys, more balls, and piles of outfits. 

Christmas lunch was incredible and he ate ham and roast beef and then came to the conclusion that Christmas was his favourite.

Now, after closely supervising the loading of all the gifts into the car, including all four sticks, Piglet lay in his seat, having been hugged and kissed by everyone about a hundred times. He was heading home and he was hoping that everything would go just as well as it’s been going. 

-

January 6th was a surprisingly sunny day. Warm for this time of year, the apricity of sunshine dispersing the gloominess of the winter chill. The feeling in the air was almost…innocent. Full of expectation and new tidings. A new year indeed.

That didn’t stop Piglet from being put in air jail, and he was being carried by Azriel. On their morning walk today, Piglet tripped Elain by wrapping the lead around her ankles, then, once in the park, he barked and scared a baby, and then ran with some big dogs, chasing them loudly, until they turned around and began chasing them, and he dodged them, but fell off a retaining wall. After that, Azriel picked him up and now carried the pug like a baby. 

Now they were seated at The Ivy Canary Wharf and having brunch. Piglet agreed to be quiet and discreet and in return, Azriel fed him ham under the table and strawberries from the fruit salad. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Elain said slowly, sipping her Rhubarb Bellini. 

“About?” Azriel sliced into his eggs and looked at her.

“Him,” she nodded towards the dog under the table. “His leg. When we went to that vet here,”

“Yeah, I remember,” Azriel nodded.

When Piglet fake-poisoned himself on Elain’s birthday, the vet that they took him to worked in a fancy private practice. It cost Azriel 1,300 quid to get Pinky to take a laxative, but the vet told them about a new experimental treatment for dogs with missing legs. It was a robotic leg, which would sense his movements and respond accordingly, effectively working just as well as a real leg.

“So what about it?” Azriel pressed.

She didn’t answer right away, and the pause felt somehow important, pivotal. He wondered if Elain was going to ask him for input and they’d make a decision together.

Truly, it should’ve been a family decision.

He and Pinky were tight. They were besties. 

“It would be good for his joints,” Azriel told her. “Right now, his hips and shoulders are stressed because of the extra pressure that he places on them. Since you’ve been pumping him full of longevity shots, he might be living for 20 years for all we know, and you don’t want him to struggle with his joints.”

Azriel spoke from experience. He’s been running for 20 years. 

Elain pouted and muttered, “I am not pumping him full of longevity shots…”

He chuckled. 

“It’s expensive,” he added quietly. 

“I can pay,” she said quickly. “It would be worth it.”

He shrugged and offered an ambivalent nod. 

At that moment, Elain’s phone pinged with an incoming message.

It wasn’t her regular phone, but her work one, and while they typically didn’t use their phones at the table, she smiled at him apologetically and he nodded. 

Who had a matchmaking emergency on a Saturday morning?

Azriel didn’t really give a shit. His mood soured and he was playing with his eggs listlessly, internally annoyed. What did he need to do to fucking make her understand that they were a pair? A couple? What did he need to do to make her yield? It was exhausting and he was irritated and angry and dark thoughts swirled in his mind. What would it take for her to consider him her man? Her partner? Did he need to force sex on her? Steal her away? Lock her in the cage?

“...I’ll see what I can do, Gwyn,” Elain said into the phone.

Azriel had been so absorbed in his unhappy thoughts that he didn’t even notice Elain speaking to this Gwyn.

“No…I understand. I think it will be a bit of a challenge on such short notice, but I will definitely try,” Elain promised, grimacing. 

Piglet looked up at Azriel from under the table, tilting his big round head back and forth, assessing Azriel’s mood and feeling that it had changed. Azriel stroked the floppy black ears and smiled at the dog. Pinky was the only one who understood him. Pinky was the one other being obsessed with Elain besides Azriel, but Elain was also devoted to the dog, and wasn’t devoted to Azriel quite as much.

She put the phone down, her brows knitted. 

“What’s going on?” he queried, taking a sip of his coffee.

Elain waved her hand and replied, “oh nothing. Just a client, in a bit of a bind,”

“What kind of bind can you be in as a matchmaker’s client? That you need to ring on a Saturday morning?”  Azriel was actually genuinely curious because it sounded so ridiculous.

Elain leaned back in her chair and explained, “she is a client and I’ve been having the hardest time matching her with anyone,”

“Why? She ugly? A psycho?”

“My god. Not everyone is an ugly psycho, you know!” she seethed.

“I feel like most people who use a matchmaker probably are,” he noted callously, still annoyed about the robotic leg situation. 

 “Are you an ugly psycho?” she snapped.

He shrugged and looked at his mangled hands, considering for a bit, before saying, “not ugly. But definitely a psycho.”

“Anyway,” Elain grunted.

“Tell me. I want to understand this matchmaking emergency! Indulge me,” he beckoned, smirking.

Elain scoffed at him and his attitude, but nevertheless, began explaining,

“She is a lovely person, really. Very smart,”

“Sorry baby, but this is not a selling point,” he huffed an amused laugh. “You come at a bloke with a ‘I’d like to match you with a very smart woman’ and he immediately starts wondering just how smart she is and would he measure up?”

“So what you are telling me is that you are intimidated by smart women?” she crossed her arms on her chest and glowered at him. “Only airheads for you?”

He drank his coffee lazily, enjoying her anger and then said, “Nah, baby. I ain’t intimidated by nothing. Bring on all the smarts. See, you ain’t an airhead and I am dating you. So I think that I am all good. What about this lass though? What does she do?”

“She is pursuing her PhD in Classics and Philosophy at Cambridge,”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “No wonder you can’t set her up. She sounds like a bundle of laughs.”

“You are so judgy!” she gasped.

“You have no idea,” he confirmed, smiling widely. “And yet it doesn’t stop me from being with you–the Queen of Pearls and Cardigans.”

Elain rolled her eyes and muttered, “I hardly ever wear cardigans! And my pearls are heirlooms, are worth a ton of money and will be passed on to my daughters,” she told him in a firm and decisive tone.

Azriel shrugged and said, “That's fine by me, as long as I get to make these daughters with you, you may give them all the pearls.”

“No comment.”

“So no one wants to hook up with the Cambridge scholar then?”

Elain sighed deeply and gulped on her drink, “she is very picky! And not even so much about the men…but how they’d fit into her life. She isn’t moving from the university and she is very determined to finish her degree–which I absolutely understand. But that makes everything very challenging, because there aren’t many men who want to give up their own lives and careers to be with a woman. Because she’d definitely end up in academia for the rest of her life with a degree like that. So, it would have to be someone who is so completely independent that he wouldn’t care. Or another Cambridge scholar.”

“You are running short on those?”

“I know you are joking,” she was shaking her head in defeat, “but it’s very difficult. She’d need a man like you: someone whose career isn’t stationary and who wouldn’t depend on her.”

“Running short of available footballers too?” he teased. “But what does she need from you right now?” he insisted, making a show of the bustling Ivy on a Saturday morning. 

“She has an event that she needs to attend. She is a keynote speaker. It’s a formal gala,”

“Let me guess, she needs a man by her side? To show she isn’t a lonesome singleton?” he laughed.

“Basically. Yes,” Elain confirmed.

“So I guessed correctly.”

“And how the heck am I supposed to find that?” 

She sighed dramatically and added, “I am almost ready to give up on her and tell her that I am unable to find her a match…It would be my first,”

“I’ll go,” Azriel said suddenly.

She started and looked at him wide eyed, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged and repeated, “I’ll go. I’ll go to the gala with your boring scholar. I’ll wear the tux and I’ll escort her around and shit…”

“But,” Elain began, sounding uncertain. Azriel was pretty blase about his proposal.

“What? What’s the big deal? Besides, don’t I owe you one last fake date or whatever?”

“They weren’t fake dates!” she protested.

“Nuala was okay,” he allowed. Then shuddered demonstratively and murmured, “Mor, not so much.”

Elain thought about his offer. She wasn’t crazy about it–he was her boyfriend, after all. Or was he still a client? Or both? Gah! This was so frustrating. Even thinking about Azriel escorting another woman, even one as romantically clueless as Gwyn, made Elain uncomfortable and genuinely jealous. It was crazy, of course. Azriel was totally devoted to her, and absolutely paid no attention to any other women. Even right now, in the restaurant, some very pretty women walked by and while other men gave them a once over, Azriel only had eyes for Elain and for Piglet, who was now sleeping on his shoe. 

“Jealous, beautiful?” he snickered.

“No! I am not!” she argued defensively.

“Think about it. I am your failed case, so is she. Your two failures, fake-dating for one evening. Face it, it’s kind of poetic.”

“You're not my failure,” Elain glared at him, but her tone was soft and loving. 

“No?”

“You are…you are actually my,” she swallowed hard. 

He was watching her closely, waiting.

“My win,” she concluded. “My reward.”

-

Gwyneth Berdara.

27 years old. PhD candidate in Classics and Philosophy at Cambridge University. Part-time lecturer at Cambridge, otherwise previously unemployed. Moved to London from Inverness, Scotland to attend university. 

Attended a Catholic preparatory school. Initially intended to become a nun.

No previous relationships.

Hobbies: yoga, meditation, pilates, travelling, reading

Azriel read the profile while sitting in Elain’s office. He exhaled a long breath, internally cringing. A nun? A fucking nun?

Supposedly Elain wasn’t a virgin–he was yet to check on that–but this one…yeah, this one definitely was. Not that he cared, but it made him wonder how he was getting set up, even for one evening, with such odd specimens.  

Frankly, this girl needed someone like Elain. Because otherwise, how was she ever going to find a boyfriend? What would be the opening line? ‘Hello, my name is Gwyn and I wanted to be married to Jesus!”

Anyways, he wasn’t here to judge. He was just getting instructions. 

Elain was plenty jumpy as it is, so he wasn’t going to aggravate the situation. 

As it turned out, Gwyn was a keynote speaker, she was also receiving some scholarly award (Azriel didn’t care, so he didn’t ask for any details). The gala was being held at the Museum of Natural History, the dinner was cooked by some of Britain's best chefs and it promised to be quite the event. There would be dancing, a silent auction and all the proceeds were going to go to some animal sanctuary. Azriel hoped that it was going to go to some pug sanctuary.

Elain had informed him that there weren’t many pug sanctuaries out there, which, Azriel, felt was an omission.

Azriel kept most of his comments to a minimum. He knew that it was ridiculous, but somehow, this whole proposal now sounded a bit like cheating. And he regretted having come up with the idea. It was stupid, and he shouldn't have done it, but now, it was too late to back out.

“Okay, you will pick her up at 4:30 pm on Saturday. She needs to be onsite earlier than the rest of the attendees,” Elain was explaining, “because she has to prepare. Cocktails are at 6 pm, and then dinner is at 7 pm.”

He nodded.

“You know you are my girl, right?” he asked suddenly, and when Elain glanced from her tablet at him, his expression was almost…desperate. Pleading. 

She smiled softly at him and nodded,

“I know.”

“I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered.

“It’s okay. I am not jealous,” she assured him. “I trust you.”

-

But maybe Elain shouldn’t have? Trusted him, that is.

-

The next time she spoke with Gwyn Berdara was on Sunday morning following the gala.

‘How did it go?” she inquired, once Gwyn picked up the phone.

“Elain, it was wonderful!” Gwyn chirped excitedly. “I had a brilliant time! Thank you for setting me up with Azriel. He was–is–incredible!”

Umm

Setting her up?

Did she not understand that this was a one-evening only sort of a deal? Elain thought that she’d been clear about this arrangement. One gala. One evening. That’s all.

“I mean, I am not a footie fan,” Gwyn continued saying, “but even I’ve heard of Azriel Night! And honestly when you told me that it would be him, I was unsure. But he was…’ she seemed to be lost for words. “Well, he is lovely, isn’t he? Great manners. Excellent dancer!”

Yes, Elain didn’t argue, he was all of those things, but didn’t Gwyn understand that it was an act? Azriel was rough around the edges, with a potty mouth, a dry, taunting, sarcastic sense of humour, full of abrasive comments and inappropriate innuendo. That’s how Azriel was. He wasn’t some dark gallant knight. Yes, his manners were fine, and he could hold his own in any company, and he knew how to dress smartly and hold a conversation, but Elain knew the ‘real’ Azriel. And she loved the real Azriel. 

“Gwyn, I…” she began saying, but Gwyn interrupted her.

“Thank you, Elain. I didn’t think it was going to happen, and that you’d be able to find someone for me, but you truly are a miracle worker!”

“Gwyn, are you sure that Mr. Night is…interested?” Elain didn’t know how to ask her politely. She didn’t add ‘in you’. 

“Well, yes! I know we initially thought that he’d just be there for the gala, but I want to see where it will go. I don’t know yet, it’s so new, but,”

“I don’t think he is available!” Elain blurted out, feeling confused and anxious. 

“Oh, I know. Not now,” Gwyn laughed. “He is playing today! I am going to watch the game–for the first time,”

She didn’t even like football! 

Piglet trotted into the room, wearing his Arsenal shirt. He was ready for the game too.

“Well, thanks again,” Gwyn said, “I’ll keep you posted on how things go.”

As soon as she hung up, Elain frantically texted ‘ring me!’ and then she added more ‘!!!!!!!’

She knew that Azriel was prepping for the game right now and wouldn’t be available right away, but he’d ring right before, so she could wish him a good game. And she always sent him a photo of Piglet in his kit.

Only this time, Azriel did not call back.

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 14 - The Subway)

4.8K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din take the subway home after Boba’s birthday gala; an incident on the train requires Din to step in.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), public harassment of women (not directed at reader but includes derogatory language), description of physical force, established relationship, dirty talk, major public making out, fingering in the back of a car with a driver in the front (so a little noncon for the driver I guess), minor exhibitionism (to reader's surprise and delight), pet names as usual (pretty bird, sweetheart, baby, etc.)

A/N: An incident of harassment is briefly depicted, but neither the incident nor the aftermath are described or dealt with in depth; not because this type of thing isn't serious, but that wasn't the story I wanted to write (nor do I think I could do it justice). The victim chooses not to report and wishes to put it past her, which others are understanding of; there is no such thing as perfect victims or a "right way" to deal with a situation like that - the relevant belief reflected in the story is that we should just keep on showing up for each other as fellow human beings the best we can. Again, it's not written about in depth or with much nuance in this chapter, but better to tag and be safe. 😘

Series Masterlist

The evening breeze feels cool on your skin as you step out into the street from the hotel.  You breathe in a deep breath of fresh air and sigh happily; it’s honestly been such a lovely evening, even with the incident upstairs after dinner.  You smile just thinking about the remainder of Boba’s birthday party: dancing and drinks, laughing with Din’s friends, and Din’s ever-present attention and whispers of sweet nothings in your ear:

“Prettiest girl in the room tonight, can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“That slit on your dress is such a tease, pretty bird.  Just want to slide my hand all the way up to where I know you want it.”

“Can’t wait to get you home and out of that dress.  Show you how lucky you make me feel.”

To be honest, you’re not sure you’re ready to go home and take this dress off yet.  The last few rounds of champagne have you feeling giddy and there's something so fanciful about being about town in a beautiful gown, a handsome tuxedo clad man on your arm.  On a whim, you suggest that instead of catching a cab, you and Din take the subway home, just so you can extend this urban fairy tale feeling a little bit longer.  It’s a very tipsy suggestion. 

“Are you sure, pretty bird?”

“Yes!  I want to show off this dress a little longer,” you say, doing a little twirl, “Don’t you think my dress is nice?”

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.  You’re a dream.”

You smile gratefully at Din when he drapes his tuxedo jacket over your shoulders, but your expression turns to shock as you take in his broad frame and crisp dress shirt, “You’re wearing suspenders?!”

Din laughs, “What’s wrong with suspenders?  Too old man-ish?”

Shaking your head, you take one in each of your hands, rubbing the soft black bands between your fingers and thumbs before using them to yank him towards you, “Nothing’s wrong with them, old man.  Gives me something to hold on to.”

Din’s mouth meets yours, palms pressing down on your waist to pull you closer, so your hands are trapped between your bodies as he ravages your mouth.  After an evening of mostly sweet and chaste kisses, he is more than ready to have his fill of you; to show you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, his cock just what you and that very nice dress have been doing to him all evening.

You grapple internally with the part of you that wants to skip your subway suggestion and get home with Din as quickly as possible, and the one that wants to extend this magical part of your evening a little longer.  You opt for the option with the most public making out.  The normally short walk to the closest subway station takes three times as long; every few steps taken interrupted to allow for the increasing need to press lips together, to overlap tongues, to grip arms and waists and hold them hostage within needy hands.

On the platform, Din hugs you close as the subway arrives, bringing with it a tunnel of wind; Din holds down what he can of your dress so the fabric doesn’t blow up and instead, flutters harmlessly around your ankles.  Hair blowing gently around your face as Din looks down at you with a goofy grin, you feel like you’re in a movie.

Luckily, the subway isn’t too busy tonight and you readily find seats.  Sitting next to each other in the middle of an empty bench that runs along the side of the car, you twist to face Din and cross your legs and tuck your skirts under so the slit doesn’t cause your dress fall open scandalously.  With your right arm, you rest your elbow on the top of the seat and reach your hand forward to lazily let your fingers trail up and down the back of Din’s neck.  Ever so lightly twirling the curls at the base of his neck around your index finger, you delight in observing Din’s subtle expression of pleasure grow with every little tug.  With your left hand, you’re holding onto Din’s right suspender, slowly running your hands up and down, enjoying the feeling of security it inexplicably gives you.  You really do love these suspenders on him so much; his already distinguished look tonight elevated even more with these two black straps that snugly frame his impressive chest. 

Unable to take your eyes off the handsome man in front of you, you’re well aware of the silly, dopey look of pure satisfaction and contentment on your face.  It’s a look Din mirrors back.  His right hand is resting on the thigh of your leg that’s crossed over, ready to catch any fabric that slips from under your leg; lightly rubbing and squeezing your thigh as a reminder that he’s here (as if you could forget).  His left hand is tenderly stroking your right cheek and jaw, alternating between cupping your chin and stroking it with his thumb, and grazing your jawline with the back of his fingers. 

The two of you are in your own little world.  Eyes only for each other, sweet longings whispered only for the other’s ear, an intimate bubble suspended amidst the bustle of the late-night commute.

“What are you thinking, pretty bird,” Din asks, when you’ve been leaning into his touch on your face, eyes closed, for a minute.

Opening your eyes and giving him a playful smile, you lean forward to whisper low in his ear, “I’m trying to figure out how you’re going to keep those suspenders on when we fuck tonight.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Obviously, you’ll keep them on while I blow you.  That’s a no brainer.  Just pop that delicious cock out of your trousers and I’ll be ready on my knees with my mouth open.  No need to take off your pants or the suspenders,” you feign a look of deep thought, as if pondering a long form mathematical equation.

“Fuck.  Baby, I swear… your mouth…”

You pretend to pay him no heed, continuing with your musings, “Right.  My mouth.  Your cock in my mouth is covered.  But what about when that cock is stretching out my cunt?  How can you keep the suspenders on then?  I want hold on to them and ride you, baby, but if you have your pants on when I sink down on that dick won’t I make a wet mess all over your lap?”

“You can’t just say these things to me in public, pretty bird.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might get so riled up and snap.  Turn you over on these seats and lift up this pretty dress of yours so I can pound into your slutty pussy in front of all these people.”

Fuccckkkkkk.  You let a soft moan slip as you close your eyes and feel Din’s forehead touch yours, his slightly heavier than usual breathing fan across your lips.  You want him so much, and you don’t care if everyone on this subway knows it.  Closing the distance between the two of you, you bring your lips to his.  Gently molding yourself to the rolling plains of his body, you block out every other person and sound on this train and just melt into Din, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins.

You don’t know if it’s instinct, or just too much time in your life as a woman spent being aware, of being cautious, but out of the corner of your eye, the movement of a young woman further down the subway car from you and Din, pulls you out of your daydream state.  Din feels you stiffen before seeing it, a reversal of your roles from earlier in the evening.  You turn your head to see the young woman being walked backwards into the closed doors by the advancement of a man who’s stalking towards her, arms gesturing aggressively. 

“Din,” you whisper.

He stands at your unspoken command; following your eyeline that’s still fixed upon the girl, Din assesses the situation with his trained eye before quickly deciding on a course of action.  Gently pinching your chin as he passes you on his way down the car, he placates your concerned look, “Don’t worry, pretty bird.  Stay here.”  You reach up to hold the same hand, giving it a little squeeze before letting him go with a “Be careful please.”

As Din makes his way towards the situation, the offending man’s voice gets louder and suddenly you can hear his increasingly hostile tone and disturbing words:

“I said you were pretty.  You’re supposed to say ‘Thank you’ when people compliment you.”

“You think you’re too good for me, bitch?”

“Look at me!  I’m fucking talking to you!!”

Your heart is pounding, and you feel so deeply for the girl; she must be feeling so small and scared right now.  You know that Din is on the way and that she won’t be in any danger, but she doesn’t know that.  Din is not the only man that’s making his way over; three younger men who were roused by the ruckus join Din in a makeshift group, striding towards the opposite end of the train from you. 

“Get away from her,” yells the man on Din’s right.

The harasser looks up to see the group of four men making their way over to him, and sneers, “Fuck off, mates.  This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Wrong, mate,” shouts another of the men.  Din reaches the scene first and immediately puts himself between the offender and the girl, bracing his arms outwards to maintain a distance between them.  The other three men busy themselves with surrounding harasser and containing his movements while Din asks the girl if she’s okay.  Once he’s assured that she’s not hurt and that doesn’t want anything to do with this man, he tells her she’s safe and ushers her down the car towards you.  You hold out your arms and call out to the girl; she flees into your embrace, crying.  Stroking her hair, you tell her it’s okay, that she didn’t do anything wrong and she’s safe now.  Meanwhile, back at the end of the subway car, the offender is getting more agitated, clearly not doing the smart thing and settling down.  It’s taking all of the young men to restrain him as he struggles and continues to yell obscenities: “Get the fuck off of me, mates,” “She liked it!  She smiled at me,” “All this for some dumb slut?”

Covering the girl's ears so she doesn’t have to listen to his insults, you’re watching Din reach to get a more strategic hold on the man when, in horror, you see the harasser’s spastic movements break through the arms of the young men and he comes sprinting down the subway car towards you.

In a flash, you scramble out of your seat to round the girl, deliberately sitting yourself down in the seat on her other side and covering her body with yours.  Turning your head, you see Din hauling the man back down the car by the scruff of his neck, never knowing if he even got anywhere near you and the girl before Din took control of the situation.  Din slams him against the partition next to the doors and you hear him growl, “Don’t go near her.”  From the tone of his voice, you know that Din doesn’t mean the girl who’s still trembling in your arms.  Turning your attention back to her, you continuously reassure her that she’s safe and that the man won’t get anywhere close to her.  You can no longer hear what’s being said down at the other end of the car, but you see that Din still has his hand on the offender’s chest, restraining and talking down at him; he holds the man’s now terrified gaze while the other three men form a semi-circle behind them.  When the train comes to the next stop, the offender is shoved off the train, with Din and the three men also stepping off to discourage any attempts to re-enter.  Only when you hear the announcement that the doors are closing and see Din step back on the train do you breathe a sigh of relief, letting the girl know that it’s over, her aggressor is finally gone.  She's able to give a small laugh through her tears and throws her arms around you.  You pull back from her hug only when you feel Din sit down behind you, his palm gently curling around your waist. 

“Oh, thank you, thank you.  I wasn’t even looking at him, and then he just started screaming at me!  I didn’t know what to do!  Thank you so much for helping me.”

Both you and Din smile at the girl and continue to reassure her that it’s no problem and that she’s safe now.  When she’s calmed a bit, she feels better enough to wave her thanks at the three young men that have since returned to their seats; one of the young men gives her a friendly salute and a nod of solidarity to Din.

“Will you be okay to get to where you’re going, hun?” you ask, not sure if you feel okay leaving the girl alone yet.

She looks unsure but nods slowly, “I’m the next stop.  Omigod, I thought he was going to follow me,” before her eyes start to well up.

“Do you want to report it to security?  We can go with you.  There are enough witnesses and cameras-” Din stops when the girl starts shaking her head furiously.

“I just want to go home,” she says tearfully.

You’re full of understanding and sympathy; you know Din’s thinking about it from a security protocol standpoint, but as a woman, you understand what this girl is feeling: the preference to put it behind her, to move on, to get home and feel safe again.  You look at Din and he instinctively defers to you here, understanding that there are emotions and fears that he will never truly know.

“Do you want us to walk with you?” you offer, “We don’t even have to walk together if you don’t want.  We can just hang back until you get to where you need to go.  Be there for you if you need us?”

She seems to think about it for a moment before nodding, “Yes, thank you.” 

The three of you exit the station in triangle formation and continue this way as you walk in the direction the girl’s heading.  You’re holding your skirts in one hand, your other hand clasped firmly in the girl’s, having not let go since she grabbed it when you stood up in the subway together.  Din walks a few paces behind, your personal watch dog, while you keep the girl talking and occupied with light hearted topics (reality tv shows, pets, pop music).  Finally, you reach a building that the girl says is hers, and you give her one last big hug, as well as your phone number; she gives Din a hug as well and many more thanks before going in.

Once you feel like she’s safely inside, you exhale and then turn to launch yourself into Din’s waiting arms, “Oh, thank you, thank you, Din.  Thank you for helping her.”  You love him so much; not only can you always count on him to keep you safe, but he steps up at every opportunity to care for strangers as well.

Din pulls you in tight and buries his face in your hair, “You don’t have to thank me, pretty bird.  It was the right thing to do.”

Pulling back to look at him, you need him to understand what a good man he is, “But not a lot of people would have stepped in.  In fact, most don’t.”  You hold his face with your hands, gently caressing his jaw, “That girl was so lucky you were there tonight.”

“She was lucky you were there, baby.  You saw the problem first, then you took care of her, protected her too.  You’re her hero tonight, sweetheart.”

Putting your hand in the one Din holds out to you, you smile at him, eyes shining and heart overflowing with fondness for him.  Walking back towards the subway station, hand in hand, you reflect on Din’s strength.  How he wields it without fanfare, no false bravado, just a quiet, commanding confidence.  How the other men in the subway naturally deferred to him, unquestioned.  How he took care of the whole room.  Took care of you.  He’s powerful.  Magnificent. 

Din catches you looking at him with a deep-set look of affection, “What’s that look for, pretty bird?”

“Just thinking about you and how strong you are.  So protective and capable.  You’re fearless, Din.”

“I do get scared, though, baby.  Got scared tonight on that subway. When that guy broke away and started running towards you,” he looks at you, with an almost wounded look, “And I saw you switch spots with that girl and cover her, I was afraid he was going to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, Din.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Don’t be sorry, pretty bird.  You put her well being ahead of yours because that’s the type of person you are.  And I love you for it.”

“I learn from the best,” you smile at him, eyes full of warmth.

“I’m never going to let you get hurt, sweet girl.  Ever.”  Din stops walking to look at you, and you can tell he’s being serious.  You lace your hands on the back of his neck, “I know, baby.  I know I’m always safe with you.”  And you kiss him reverently, as if to seal in your trust and belief in him.

It doesn’t take long before your kisses turn passionate; the events of the evening catching up to the both of you and unleashing the long building tension and want you’ve been harbouring.  Your mouth opens up to Din and he eagerly licks in, mapping the slope of your tongue with his own; he drinks in your soft whimpers and gentle cries of pleasure, and when his mouth gives yours a brief respite so he can take a breath, you sigh, “My hero.”

Din braces his hand against a nearby lamp pole, and walks you backwards until your head rests against the back of his hand; his other curving around your waist and pulling you flush against him.  He bends to kiss your neck and instinctively, you tilt your head to allow him more access; pressing soft, breathy butterfly kisses from the base of your neck up to your ear, Din can practically feel your body pulsing beneath his hands.  You whine a little when he nibbles on your earlobe and murmurs, “How do you plan on rewarding your hero, baby girl?  Do I get to play with your pretty pussy?”

“Oh god, yes, Din,” you gasp shakily, “Please. Take me home, baby.  I don’t want to take the subway anymore.”

“No?” he murmurs against your lips, “Want me to call a car?  Or just wait until we see a cab?”

“Whatever gets us home fastest, Din,” you plead, desperation evident in your eyes and tone.

Din looks up and down the street, empty save for some local traffic with no cabs in sight; he pulls out his phone to check the cars in the area and smirks when he sees the make and model of one of the closest cars to your location and selects it. 

It doesn’t take long for the black Suburban to pull up to where you and Din are waiting; Din holding you close with your head tucked into your favourite nook under his chin, perfect for you to press the periodic kiss to his neck whenever the fancy strikes you (constantly).  When the driver confirms he’s here for Din, you look up at Din, amused, “This huge car for just the two of us?”

“It was the closest one,” he shrugs, but you catch a slight uptick in the corner of his mouth before you turn and let him help you in.  Din gently steers you past the pilot seats to the spacious third row seating far back in the car.  With you seated behind the second-row pilot seat, and Din taking up most of the exposed middle seat, you’re afforded a fair amount of privacy for the ride. 

As soon as the car starts moving, Din is on you, hands grabbing at your upper waist, thumbs pressed up to draw circles on the underside of your breasts, mouth licking your neck in hot stripes.

“Din!” you half giggle, half gasp, “The driver!”

Din moves so his body covers part of yours as he peppers kisses across your collar bone; one of his hands circle behind you while the other trails down your body, searching, “We’re all the way in the back, pretty bird.  No one can see.”

Swallowing a moan when Din’s hand finds the slit of your dress, your legs part as he starts to slide his way up your thigh, “Is this why you chose this car? To give us privacy?”

“The privacy is for other people, sweetheart.  I know if it was up to my slutty bunny, we’d be putting on a show for the driver and every car at every stop light.  Isn’t that right, baby?”

As Din’s fingers inch closer to your core, you feel yourself dripping in your underwear, so turned on by the idea of other people seeing Din have his way with you.  You hum in pleasure as Din discovers your soaked panties and runs his fingers over the fabric; he kisses you greedily, murmuring against your lips, “Such a dirty girl, already wet for me.  So ready to be fucked, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Oh, fuck yes, daddy,” you whimper against his lips.

Din’s fingers slide further and press down on your slit, shallow thrusting the soaked lace of your panties into your tight hole before curling his fingers up to your clit and drawing firm circles that leave you panting into his mouth.  He takes great pleasure in feeling you squirm beneath him and hearing your breathy gasps as he repeats this pattern over and over.

“Daddy please,” your eyes widen to beseech Din for some mercy.  His touches are setting you on fire, but you need more. 

Din kisses you hurried and hard, “What does my pretty little slut need?  Use your words, bunny.”  He lightly pinches your clit over your panties and your cry out at the sudden pressure.  After you hear what you think is your driver turning up the volume of the radio in the front, you whimper into Din’s neck, “Need you inside me, Din.”

“Is this what you’re so needy for, baby?”  Din pushes aside the gusset of your panties and glides his fingers through your wet folds, teasing your slit with each stroke. 

“Yes, yes, daddy.  That’s what your dirty whore needs,” you moan softly, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back on the headrest of the seat; spreading your legs further to give Din’s hand more room and full access to your pussy.

Din slides two of his fingers through your arousal, finding and toying with your most sensitive pleasure points; the ones that have you whining with desperation when he brushes over them, again and again.  “Look at my slutty bun, letting her big bad wolf finger fuck her in front of a total stranger.  Moaning like a whore for everyone to hear,” he whispers hotly in your ear as he slips his two fingers deep into your cunt, meeting no resistance with how riled up and wet you are from his filthy words.  As you cry out from the sudden stretch, Din covers your mouth with his, nibbling at your lower lip gently; a sweet contrast with the hard push and pull of his fingers.  Feeling your slick drip down his fingers onto his palm, Din stuffs a third finger into your cunt and is rewarded with the arch of your back and a barely choked out whine of his name.

Lowering his head to suck on the sweet spot on your neck, Din continues to pump in and out of you as he watches in awe as you fall apart from his efforts; your are eyes closed and mouth open, letting jagged breaths and sounds of pleasure slip while your chest heaves and your lower body grinds into his hand.  He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Your eyes flutter open and when they focus, you make direct eye contact with a pair of eyes reflected in the rearview mirror at the front of the car.  The driver averts his eyes quickly as you gasp, half in surprise, and half from the thrill that runs through you of being watched.  It’s depraved, but you feel a fresh wave of arousal coat Din’s fingers as you clench around them, “Din, he’s watching,” you whisper.

Din’s fingers slow, and his voice is soft, caring, “Is that okay, baby?”

Oh gosh you adore him.  Even in this compromising position, both of you heady with desire, his priority is still your comfort, your safety.  You beam at him, “It’s okay, daddy.”

“Dirty girl,” he groans as he crashes his lips to your, pulling from you moans and whimpers as he resumes thrusting into your wet heat with a quickened pace.

Your tongue clashes with Din’s and your kisses become sloppier as passion overtakes your bodies.  The familiar coil in your abdomen tingles as it tightens, your entire body flushed with anticipation and desire.  Din knows your body by now and recognizes the signs of your impending release: the tightening of your walls around his fingers, the shortening of your breaths, the unfocused look in your eyes.  Right hand stretching out to brace against the side of the car while your left grabs onto the suspender closest to you, you hang on for some semblance of control while Din presses down on your clit with his thumb.  Your entire body lurches as far forward as Din’s hold will allow as he draws firm circles timed perfectly to his thrusting fingers. 

“Din, I-I-I’m so close,” you breathe.

“I got you, my pretty bun.  I got you, I got you,” Din venerates, his punishing pace never wavering; the squelching sounds of his hand driving into you over and over, only getting louder, begin to push you over the edge.

As your cunt starts to flutter, he rounds his body over yours, placing himself between you and the front of the car like a shield, growling, “No one sees you come but me, pretty bird.” 

His possessive tone sends you careening over the edge; grabbing his other suspender and pulling him towards you, you come hard.  Your chest presses against his as your body shudders, you cry so high pitched it’s nearly soundless, and you soak Din’s hand with your release.  Din slows his hand as he sees you through your high, kissing you tenderly and telling you what a good girl you are, “You did so good, baby.  Always come so pretty for me.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you watch Din slip his hand out from underneath your skirt and bring his shiny fingers up to his mouth; he sucks his fingers clean with an obscene pop and smirks to you, “So sweet.”

Once clean, he uses that hand to reach behind you and pull his jacket back over your shoulders from where it had fallen.  Snuggling under Din’s jaw, you sigh happily as you feel him pull you closer, “I love you, Din.”

“I love you more, pretty bird,” Din presses a loving kiss to your head.  You close your eyes, boneless and pliant, curling up and resting in the comfort of Din’s arms.  You could have easily fallen asleep in your sated state, rocked to a slumber by the smooth motion of the car, if it did not pull up to the front of your building when it did.  As you exit the car, you bid the driver a soft ‘thank you’ before letting Din help you down; he pulls you into his embrace, making sure his jacket keeps you warm as he closes the door behind you.

Once the car drives off, you slip your hand into Din’s, making to walk towards the front doors, but look back when he doesn’t move with you.

“Huh.” Din’s stands in place, still holding your hand, looking down at his phone with an amused expression.

“What’s that?” you ask.

He faces the phone towards you, chuckling, “He rated us five stars.”

Laughing, you shake your head as you slip your fingers under one suspender, then slide it over to grab the other with the same hand, pulling Din in for a sweet kiss before turning to head into your building with him still in tow, “Come on, Mister Five Stars.”

[makeucrawl]

How about some SFW getting ready for some special event with our fave boys? Like going to Easterman's friends wedding and he makes Coyle wear a fancy-ass suit and helps him tie a bowtie cause Leland don't know how to do it 🥹🥺

Course puppy officer would want to get frisky cause damn Hendrick looks good all dressed up like that but would get told off and sulk all evening >:)

SFW

The morning of the wedding was brisk, the kind of chill that made burrowing under the covers seem like the most reasonable plan. But Leland Coyle wasn’t the type to stay in bed, especially not when he had somewhere to be. He grumbled under his breath as he struggled with the buttons of his shirt, the stiff fabric of the tuxedo feeling foreign against his skin. “Why the hell do I gotta wear this fuckin’ monkey suit again?” he muttered, glaring at his reflection in the mirror.

Hendrick Easterman, already dressed to perfection in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and silk tie, leaned casually against the doorway. “Because,” he replied with a smooth, amused tone, “it’s a formal event, and you can’t show up looking like a vagrant.”

Coyle shot him a glare, his sunglasses perched on his nose despite being indoors. “Ain’t my fault yer friends got no taste for style.”

Easterman sighed, stepping into the room with an air of practiced patience. He held up a tie, the strip of fabric dangling from his fingers. “Do you even know how to tie one of these?”

Coyle smirked, shrugging lazily. “Never saw the need. Figured I wouldn’t wear one. Gives me a roguish charm, don’t it?”

“It makes you look classless,” Easterman said flatly,his irritation growing evident as he stepped closer.

Before Coyle could respond, the doctor was looping the tie around his neck with efficient precision. Their proximity forced Coyle to lean back slightly, his smirk widening. “Y’know, Doc, you got a knack for this domestic stuff. Maybe you missed yer callin’. Shoulda been a housewife.”

Easterman’s hands stilled as his eyes narrowed. “If you’d rather I strangle you with this tie, just say the word.”

Coyle’s laugh rumbled low in his chest. “Nah, I like this version of you—focused, serious. Kinda makes me wanna—”

The sentence cut off with a cough as Easterman pulled the knot snug. “Alright, alright! Easy there! I get the message.”

Easterman stepped back, smoothing the lapels of Coyle’s jacket with a critical eye, ignoring the cop’s pout. “There. You almost look presentable. Try not to ruin it.”

Coyle adjusted the tie with exaggerated care, grinning. “No promises. You know how I get ‘round fancy folk.”

---

The wedding venue was as grand and ostentatious as Coyle had feared: glittering chandeliers, immaculate decor, and a crowd that screamed wealth and privilege. Everyone looked as if they’ve never had a hard day of work in their lives. It wasn’t his kind of scene, and he stuck close to Easterman, his hand occasionally brushing the doctor’s back as they maneuvered through the room.

“Christ,” Coyle muttered, eyeing a man pontificating about the stock market. “These people ever shut up?”

Easterman shot him a warning look. “Behave. Or should I have left you in the car like a dog?” He quickly straightens Coyle’s tie. “Do I need to remind you why we’re here?”

Coyle leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I remember. You’re here for your friend. I’m here ‘cause you couldn’t resist havin’ me on yer arm..”

“In your dreams,” Easterman replied dryly as he looked away, though a faint flush crept up his neck.

They reached their table, and Coyle immediately slouched in his chair, tugging at his collar. “Damn thing’s choking me,” he grumbled.

“Stop fidgeting with it- I just fixed it.” Easterman leaned over to adjust it once more. “You look fine.”

Coyle’s gaze lingered on him, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Yeah? Well, you clean up real nice too. Almost makes me wish we could just skip the ceremony and go have ourselves a honeymoon.” His hand slides onto the doctor’s knee, grasping it firmly.

Easterman froze, his hand pausing mid-adjustment. His expression remained neutral, but a flicker of something passed through his eyes- amusement,maybe, or irritation. “Not here,” he said firmly, finishing the adjustment to Coyle’s tie before he moved away. He even made a point to move his chair away a little.

Coyle pouted,slumping back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “Yer no fun.”

---

The ceremony was a blur, and by the time the reception rolled around, Coyle was thoroughly bored. He nursed a whiskey, his foot tapping as he watched the dancers swirl across the floor. Easterman, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, chatting politely with the other guests and ignoring Coyle’s increasingly obvious bids for attention.

Finally, Coyle couldn’t take being ignored any longer and approached where the doctor stood. He leaned over, his lips brushing Easterman’s ear. “C’mon, Doc. Dance with me.”

Easterman’s flinched, pulling away slightly, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” His eyes glanced at the other people around them but Coyle could care less about them.

“Ya heard me. Come have some actual fun. With me.”

“We’re not—”

But Coyle was already pulling him to the dance floor. “Oh fuckin’ relax! Ain’t nobody gonna even blink our way. Just dancin’.“ Once they were amongst the other dancers he pulled Easterman in close to him, his hand resting on the other’s waist.

“This is ridiculous,” Easterman muttered, adjusting Coyle’s hand to his back then resting it lightly on Coyle’s shoulder, his body tense.

Coyle chuckled, his voice low. “Yer too fuckin’ uptight! Cmon. Loosen up. Ain’t nobody watchin’.”

That wasn’t entirely true—there were a few glances—a mix of curiosity and mild disapproval but Coyle couldn’t care less. He wanted them all to know who Hendrick was with. The cop swayed deliberately, his hand firm on the small of Easterman’s back before sliding slowly down to lightly grope at his backside.

“Leland,” Easterman whispered, his tone warning but tinged with something else. “Stop being inappropriate-“

“Inappropriate is my middle name,” This earned a groan from the doctor that had Coyle grinning. “I know you’re enjoyin’ this. ‘Less ya got somethin’ in yer pocket ya wanna tell me about.”

Easterman’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away, instead he dug his fingers deeper into Coyle’s shoulders. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Coyle murmured, his lips brushing Easterman’s temple, “but you love me anyway.”

The doctor looked surprised by his words and before he could respond, the song ended, breaking the moment.

Easterman stepped back, his expression unreadable. “Enough,” he said. “Let’s sit down before you cause me more embarrassment.”

Coyle sighed as loudly and dramatically as he could, but his grin lingered. As they returned to their table, his teasing mood seemed to shift, replaced by a quiet satisfaction.

---

By the time they left, Coyle was grumbling again. “Well, that was fun.” he said sarcastically as they approached the car. “Remind me to never agree to go to one of yer fancy lil shindigs again.”

Easterman shot him a sidelong glance as he unlocked the car, he slid into the driver’s seat. “You’re free to stay home next time.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Coyle glanced over at the doctor, his sulking expression slowly shifting into a sly grin. “Ya know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “ya still owe me fer makin’ me behave all night.”

The subtle shift in Easterman’s expression and the way he gripped the steering wheel was all the response Coyle needed.

[corvidsocs]

Hey mate can I get some detailed descriptions of like 2 of your ocs because I want to draw them

( my stupid device won't let me scroll enough to see them :( )

I'm not sure I've got properly detailed descriptions of them anyways, so this was a good ask. I think I'll do more than two just to have more available to see, and then you can pick the ones ya like most, if that makes sense?

Dialtone: A tall, mostly humanoid robot. Her head's a screen of about a 3:2 ratio, and she typically displays some relevant symbol or expression on there. She doesn't like to have words on the screen, but it's technologically available. Clothing-wise she's got a purple tuxedo, white shirt, a bow tie that's whatever color looks nice for the art, and some quite standard shoes. She's not got any traits that in humans are examples of sexual dimorphism. She's fairly lanky, and her limbs as well as her neck have that sort of endlessly bendy and stretchy system you see quite often on fictional robots.

Alice: She along with Simon, Edmund, and Elizabeth are all an alien species called Thirlens. Some consistent traits to these are an entirely black, rather goopy looking body, ability to shift and contort pretty much however's convenient, and some degree of control over their physical size that has an increasing upper limit as they age. They've usually got one face, in a faintly glowing white, but if there's some manner of serious emotional conflict or turmoil or such there can be more. Thirlens tend to wear full body cloaks with a mask over the face (one mask regardless of however many faces there are, as well). Alice specifically has a light gray mask rather resembling that of a plague doctor, albeit in a firmer material. Think perhaps along the lines of plastic. Her cloak is more of a middle grey, and she's also got a wide brimmed, flat hat. Size-wise, she tends to be about the height of a standard human. You could look her in the eyes without much trouble.

Simon: He's a great deal taller than Alice, though I've never been much one for comparisons. He's taller than a lot of buildings, but there's a lot taller than him. His mask is a triangle, with triangular eyeholes. His greys are darker, with a trick I often do being to have his mask gray be Alice's cloak grey, thus ensuring an overall darker look while having a nice bit of consistency.

Hyacinth: This one's quite tall, though still within a very understandable range. Probably around 8-9 feet, though that's with a design featuring a lot of slouching. Their head looks rather like a video camera, with a long antenna coming off the back and ending in a red sphere. After the head there's two portions of neck leading to a very boxy body segment. Going down another step there's some rather complicated shaped sections working to make a curve between the body and the treds used for locomotion, which have a triangular cover/connecting piece. The arms hang down to just off the ground, the body is teal, and this one's complex enough I'll have to reblog with an art once I can just to have an example.

Nathaniel Robot: A scruffy looking caucasian man with generous hair both upon his head and upon his face, whitened by age. His clothing is typically a buttoned shirt and standard pants. Lived in the 19th and early to mid 20th centuries if that matters.

Targvenn: Quite tall, mostly in the neck. Reptile, with a very round snout and no tail. Bipedal. Mostly dark grey scales, with teal on his belly and throat. His eyes are in a matching color.

Flitzkel: A short, fuzzy creature. No arms, and legs that only barely reach out beyond the fluff. Four alternating stripes in black and yellow, with his eyes being in a yellow stripe at the second-highest.

Morf Dalilce: looks mostly human. Average height, brown unruly hair of about chin length. The inhuman aspects are blue skin, short orange horns, and a standard triangular demon tail with a chunk out, making a lopsided double triangle. They wear a tuxedo that, while once quite nice, has become quite worn, with a great many patched sewn on in a variety of colors. Smirks.

That's all the big ones, I could add less important ones in a reblog if people want that

[wolves-in-the-world]

Goran Višnjić as Nikola Tesla in Doctor Who 12.4, Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror.

image descriptions below the cut

—

[1] A still from an episode of Doctor Who, showing Goran as Nikola Tesla in front of Niagara Falls with an audience of men in suits and top hats, only their backs shown to us. Nikola is gesturing towards the waterfall as he speaks. He's a tall, slim man of about fifty in an old-fashioned suit with a tailcoat, pinstriped trousers, a waistcoat and watch-chain. He has a moustache, and brown hair parted in the middle, a few inches long and styled neatly with a bit of a wave.

[2] Goran as Nikola Tesla gesturing towards a device I don't understand well enough to even describe except that it's two corrugated metal cylinders and electricity is arcing between them, blue and dramatic, while he gestures like a magician. His other hand is on a lever, his face obscured by a starburst of blue light.

[3] A close-up of Goran as Nikola Tesla with a lightbulb in the foreground gleaming with warm light. He's looking off-screen and smiling slightly, eyes large and grey-blue, eyebrows raised, creases in his forehead and around his mouth. He's wearing a butterscotch-yellow tie with a wing or tuxedo shirt collar.

[4] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola Tesla bent over a workbench doing something with a tool we only see as a faint gleam of metal. He's bent almost double, intent on his work, a curl of hair falling down above his forehead, his coat gone and his shirt sleeves rucked up to the elbow so that his arms are bare and evidently hairy. The scene's dark, lit only by a candle lamp.

[5] A view of Goran as Nikola Tesla looking at a figure mostly out of view, visible to us only as blonde hair at the side of the screen. Nikola's eyes are a little wide, his mouth slightly open, making him look bewildered, and perhaps wary - I thought of it as his "okay, either you or this situation is bonkers" face. His thumb is just visible at the bottom of the screen, suggesting he's gesturing or fidgeting with his hands.

[6] A view of Goran in a crowded street, no coat, standing almost a head taller than everyone else and gesturing with one hand in a way that signals frustration or defensiveness, his eyes closed, mouth open as he speaks. A few bowler hats are visible around him, and a few of Nikola's companions - Dorothy, a serious-faced woman of thirty or so with tightly curly hair and smart clothing; the Doctor, currently a woman with straight blonde hair looking curiously past Dorothy; and just a glimpse of Yasmin in the background in a flat blue hat.

[7] A side-on view of Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor and Goran as Nikola both paying rapt attention to a glowing green mechanical-looking ball in a dish, with the Doctor pointing her sonic screwdriver at it and Nikola bending down to watch at the opposite side of the desk, hands folded together as if he's fidgeting, intent on her work. The Doctor's in a long light grey coat with a hood, incongruous for the era, and it's clear she'd be a lot shorter than him if he weren't currently courting back pain.

[8] The same scene as before, minutes later - the Doctor only visible as blonde hair in the foreground, Nikola's face transformed like he's realised something wonderful, eyes on the Doctor and leaning forward slightly, or still leaning on the desk. His mouth is open as he talks, his eyes bright, skin creasing faintly at the corners with a real smile.

[9] The same scene as before, seconds later. Goran as Nikola is looking to the side, no longer smiling but serious and thoughtful.

[10] The same scene as before, seconds later. Nikola is looking back at the Doctor and raising his eyebrows in a question at something she said, his forehead creasing, his expression perhaps a little doubtful.

[11] A close-up of Goran as Nikola in a room with warmer and dimmer lighting, his hair coming loose a bit as short curls on his forehead, frowning as he talks to someone off-screen. The angle exaggerates his nose, emphasises the lines around his mouth.

[12] A different view of the scene, zoomed out. Nikola is bent over a worktable beside Yasmin, a young woman with curled hair and a smart navy-blue jacket, and they're looking at each other as though discussing a problem, Nikola folding or rubbing his hands together. The desk of a mess of wires and oddments, lit bulbs in metal cages and what might be the odd green ball from earlier.

[13] Nikola and Yasmin in a very different location, dimly lit, with strange red lights in the background and a green light over their faces. (They're on an alien spaceship.) Yasmin is looking down at the floor like she's stunned, mouth open, and Nikola is holding her arm like he's just pulled her back, but his eyes are on something or someone else we can't see. His eyes are wide, his expression startled and openly afraid.

[14] Nikola and Yasmin still on the spaceship, blurry machinery behind them, but Nikola is almost level with Yasmin now and they're standing close, both looking at a third party off-screen. Yasmin's expression is one of distaste and a little anger, and Nikola's eyebrows are drawn down, expression somewhere between bewildered and worried.

[15] A different scene, different lighting - deep blue in the background, warm light on Nikola's face. It's an odd angle, his head ducked as though looking at something, his expression serious.

[16] A different scene, perhaps daytime with electric lighting, Nikola in conversation with someone off-screen who's clearly shorter than him. His hair's a little disarrayed, eyebrows raised and forehead creased, but there's something of a smile to his eyes and his mouth that gentles it.

[17] The same scene, seconds later, slightly zoomed in. Nikola's eyebrows are lower, forehead still creased and eyes a little scrunched, like he doesn't understand yet what the other person means. There's something tender about it still.

[18] A different room, darker, Nikola grinning while the Doctor is mostly off-screen, just a little of her hair visible, except she's raising a hand for a high-five that he isn't reciprocating. Creases are splayed out from his eyes, deep ones around his mouth, his nose sharp from this angle.

[19] A different view of the high-five moment, focusing on the Doctor as she realises he doesn't know to reciprocate - the high-five wasn't invented yet - and starts to lower her hand. Her mouth is wide open, teeth showing, somewhere between a grin and talking, and her body language is open exuberance. The creases around Nikola's eyes are still very visible from this angle, though most of his face isn't.

[20] A view of Goran as Nikola with his eyes closed as if he's blocking something out, and a look of forbearance and faint frustration on his face.

[21] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola, a shorter man in the background and the TARDIS behind them both, its windows glowing white. Nikola's expression is determined and a little grim, more hair curling messily against his forehead.

[22] A view of Goran as Nikola outside, trees in the background, a blurry blue-white sky and what might be yellowish grass. He's wearing old-fashioned aviator goggles on his forehead, where they're pushing his hair up so it's even messier, and he's looking down at something with a troubled expression.

[23] A view of the Doctor and Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS, the scene awash in electric blue and peach-pink, and no other lighting. The Doctor's leant over the TARDIS controls doing something there and looking back at Nikola, who has picked up some sort of contraption and is looking down at it, expression either troubled or focused. The light on his face is blue, throwing his features into sharp and unflattering relief.

[24] A view of Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS still, the lighting blue, the angle of his shoulders suggesting his hands are on his hips, and his expression now one of open joy. His eyes are large, his mouth open and smiling slightly, soft creases on either side.

[25] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, looking with his head tilted at someone in the foreground - barely visible, except for the bowler hat. Nikola's expression is tolerant, a restrained smile with narrow eyes, and his hands are probably clasped behind his back.

[26] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, now talking to the Doctor, only the back of her head visible. Nikola's in the same pose as before, hands behind his back, only leaning slightly towards her now, his expression warm as he talks to her. The creases around his eyes are back, and it's another angle that emphasises his nose.

[27] The same view as before, only now Nikola's ducked his head, almost like he's shy, or needs a moment to collect himself. The creases have gone from his eyes, but the smile's still there at his mouth.

—

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 48

Words: 3.2k

Sorry, I keep forgetting to post this one. Thanks for reading anyone who’s still here 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

When I emerged from the bathroom I was surprised that Van wasn't waiting there at the other side of the door for me. I'd almost convinced myself that he was going to simply barge in, having decided that I was so untrustworthy that I didn't deserve even a shred of privacy, or at the very least I'd imagined him pressed up against the door, his ear flush to the wood, trying to discern if I was up to no good. He was nowhere to be seen but my ears picked up on a faint clattering sound from nearby.

Maybe I was just being paranoid. Although I was most likely in the safest place I could possibly be in the whole country I still wasn't quite ready to completely relax around Van. He'd made his intentions towards me quite clear but there was still so much about him that I didn't know.

"If ya wanna get dressed there's some clothes in the wardrobe." His voice travelled to me from an open doorway further along the corridor. "Managed to break into your place a few weeks back. There's not much, just a few essentials. Should be enough for you to get by though."

He'd been back up to my apartment?

God, how I used to hate that cramped, pokey flat, likening it to a prison cell when I'd been on lockdown due to the investigation. Now I would have done anything to be transported back there so I could delve into my case files and actually do something useful rather than hanging around Van's place like a pretty but useless trinket.

"What, you actually went back there?" I called back, shuffling slowly back to the bedroom. "I can't believe you'd take that risk. I would've thought that Tommy would've had someone staking it out around the clock."

"He did," came the blunt reply. "Slit their throat before they even knew I was there... it's just a shame it wasn't Billy. That's what I was hoping for."

He spoke flippantly like the horrific act was no more serious than swatting a nuisance house-fly and I was surprised that the statement elicited a similar feeling in me. The more time I spent around Van and the more grim truths I uncovered the less human I viewed my adversaries. They were no longer just criminals, felons I was tasked with apprehending and bringing in, but pure evil that needed eradicating at any cost. A lifetime's incarceration no longer seemed punishment enough for them, and if I was being completely honest with myself I was starting to think that even death itself was an easy way out for some. People like Billy and Tommy Chappell and Charles Whitman... if you could even call them people.

I swallowed back the bitter taste of loathing as I slid open the wardrobe door. It was no use letting Van see the burning hatred simmering so raw inside of me. I had to dampen it down and lull him into believing that I trusted him and him alone to carry out his vengeful mission. Maybe I could even soften his hardened edges in the process, tempt him into letting his guard down so I could peek underneath the mask and see the man that was so painstakingly hidden underneath. I'd glimpsed enough to know that I wanted to see more. So much more.

So as I opened the wardrobe door I only briefly let my fingers skim over the small pile of clothing that I instantly recognised as my own despite the tiny pang of comfort the familiar items evoked in me, turning instead to the rails where hung row after row of Van's shirts. I rifled through them even though they mostly looked the same, a uniform in black, until I spotted a tuxedo tucked away at the back and my thoughts were cast back to our sordid liaison in Paris. It all seemed so long ago now, like a distorted dream from another life. Back then he was just a shadowy spectre that haunted my dreams and flitted in and out of my life, never settling, never resting, never lingering long enough for me to fully grasp on to him. Now I was here in his apartment, still not feeling any closer to uncovering his shrouded truths, the feel of him slipping through my fingers still plaguing me as I imagined him out there day after day putting his life on the line whilst I watched on helplessly. But I wasn't about to just sit by and let that happen.

I let the bed-sheets that were still wrapped around my body fall to the floor, kicking them aside, leaning into the wardrobe to slip the crisp white shirt from Van's tuxedo off the hanger. A fresh, comforting scent wafted up to me as I balled the material in my hands and brought it up to bury my face in it, a disbelieving kind of amusement pulling my lips into a grin as I fleetingly wondered whether Van did his own laundry. The notion of such an infamously dangerous and feared man doing anything remotely mundane and domestic seemed outlandish, but the thought that I might potentially be in a position now to glimpse this side of him filled me with a warm glow so alluring that it almost distracted me from my mission. Because that's what it was at the end of the day. A mission... much like any other assignment that I'd been tasked with. I had to view it that way, keep a level head, maintain focus. I couldn't afford to let these ever-swelling feelings blossoming inside me cloud my judgement. If I fell too deeply that's when I'd surely let my guard down and make mistakes... and then people would inevitably get hurt... or worse.

I slipped the shirt over my shoulders and shrugged into it, the feel of the crisp, cool cotton pleasing on my naked skin, humming softly to myself as I started to fasten the buttons from the bottom up. I left several undone at the top, stepping back to appraise my reflection in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door, pleased with what I saw.

Despite the severity of my injuries and my lengthy recovery, the time spent recuperating had been gentle on me. Although my slender frame was more slight than before and my physical strength had ebbed, my convalescence hadn't robbed me of my vitality and my natural effervescence. I was relieved to see the lively sparkle still in my eyes and the same determined poise that I always carried myself with, that alluring seductiveness that I could easily switch on when needed. The one that Van couldn't resist.

I was all set to turn away when something caught my eye, a small pile of sheer fabric on one of the shelves next to my clothes. What had Van said he'd picked up for me? Essentials? That's how he'd phrased it.

I smiled to myself as my fingers trailed over the lace and silky material of some of my best sets of lingerie, hardly classed as essential, imagining him selecting the pieces himself with me in mind. Now here I was, doing the very same thing with him in mind. I gave myself one last glance into the mirror to tousle my hair, then I headed out of the bedroom in search of Van.

The apartment was a lot bigger than I imagined, deceptively so. The bedroom and bathroom were situated along a short corridor which branched into another longer hallway. I shuffled along slowly, mainly due to my injuries but that wasn't all that delayed me. My fingers alighted on each door handle as I limped along, filled with intrigue and curiosity, wanting but not daring to crack open every door and peer inside. I wanted so desperately to see how Van lived, wondering if the rest of the apartment was as stark and functional as the rooms that I'd seen so far, a place to lay low rather than to call a home.

"Lyla?"

His voice rang out and I snatched my fingers away from the handle that I'd just reached for. I had no idea how he'd react to me snooping but I couldn't see him viewing it favourably.

The source of his voice was coming from an open doorway a little farther along, so I limped towards it, pausing before I ducked through, coming to an abrupt stop as I processed the image that I was faced with.

I was in a vast open living area with a lofty ceiling, one wall made up completely of giant floor to ceiling windows that looked out on to a balcony and a cityscape beyond. Everything looked pristine and perfectly ordered, minimalist and sterile, like a show home. I let my eyes trail over the modern and very expensive furnishings, the stark white walls, the state of the art audio-visuals, moving on to the open plan kitchen which was kitted out like something from a home style TV show and looked like it had never been used even once in its life. But it was now.

And that was what had really stunned me into the statue-like state I currently found myself in, disbelieving eyes wide as I took in the scene. Van was standing there beside the huge range stove, stirring the contents of a pan, the mouthwatering scent which emanated from it instantly making my gut clench and rumble. He looked up as I entered, a subtle kind of amusement on his face as he took in my stunned state.

"What's up? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

A small laugh escaped me as I moved forward, not able to take my eyes off him, wondering if I'd slipped into some sort of alternate reality, my mind struggling to compute that the most feared man in the whole country was standing in front of me, not wielding a shotgun or a knife this time, but cooking up scrambled eggs on the stove like it was an everyday occurrence.

"I think I'd be less shocked to see a ghost than you standing there, cooking in the kitchen! I'm wondering if I'm still asleep!"

"You didn't think I could cook?" His eyebrows raised up in a teasing challenge.

I smiled, stepping closer, bare feet padding lightly on the smooth cool flooring. "I just couldn't imagine it, that's all. I mean up until now it's all been blood-spattered crime scenes and stake-outs, clandestine hook-ups in hotels and derelict buildings. Now I'm here with you and you're giving me baths and playing the guitar and singing and cooking up breakfast..."

I came to a stop at the head of the dark-wood kitchen island, grateful to have something to lean on, my legs feeling weak. That's when I noticed a small stack of paperwork on the surface, the pages clipped together. I instantly recognised the agency letterhead on the top sheet, 'Security Clearance Level 10' emblazoned at the top. I quickly averted my eyes, filing away the sighting for future reference.

Van rested the spatula on the side of the pan and leant back against the cabinets, his arms folded across his chest. "So what do you think assassins do in their spare time then? I suppose you pictured me holed up in some dark, dingy hovel, sharpening my knives whilst I compiled my kill-list?"

The playfulness that I'd glimpsed before danced in his eyes, his lips curled up in a small smile as he awaited my response. All I could do was nod, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation, the normality of the domestic scene that I'd suddenly found myself in after the catalogue of horrors that I'd endured.

"Well, I hate to shatter your stereotype love," he continued. "Here I am... cooking breakfast... for you. Now come on, come over here. You need to eat."

"But I don't think I can..." I began, aware that no matter how much my belly grumbled and churned it had still been quite some time since solid food had passed my lips.

"No buts Lyla," he cut me off sternly, his arms outstretched, fingers gesturing. "You need to eat. You need to build up your strength."

I started to move towards him, letting my gaze move around the room, my attention drawn to the tops of the tall buildings I could see out the windows, the strong surge of recognition shocking me. Surely not?

"Are we... are we still in Liverpool?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed with a nod. "It's the last place they'd expect us to be. Sure they'll think we've fled far away. I had considered it but you weren't strong enough to travel. I have these bolt-holes all over in lots of different cities... if we need to move quickly then we can."

"I'd hardly call this a bolt-hole," I observed, letting a finger run the edge of the marble countertop as I shuffled slowly towards him.

He grinned, reaching for me, hands curling around my waist. "Yeah well, whoever said crime doesn't pay was lying."

To my surprise he lifted me clear off the floor in one swift movement, placing me gently down on to the surface next to him. Now I was on a level with him, his touch sliding around my waist, his eyes glowing with warm affection as he stepped closer, slotting in between the space between my parted thighs. His hands trailed lower, down over my hips and then my thighs, catching the hem of the shirt as he rubbed the material between his fingers, a smile surfacing again.

"So I risk life and limb breaking into your apartment to get you some clothes and you're wearing one of my shirts instead?"

I smirked up at him, coyly through my lashes. "Oh, I hardly think you broke in just for that..."

He shrugged, absentmindedly dragging a fingertip lightly across the expanse of my bare thigh, the action making me shiver. "You're actually right," he admitted. "I actually wanted your files, all those notes you made on them... I thought there might be something in there that I missed."

His touch fell away so that he could tend briefly to the pan on the stove and I was pleased that his attention was diverted so that he didn't see the spark of hopeful interest I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide.

"And did you... miss anything?"

He might not have seen the curiosity in my expression but I couldn't omit it from my voice. He chose to ignore it, hands alighting again on my outer thighs as they curled around them as he looked back at me.

"You know you have a brilliant mind... just like your dad did."

"So you did find something then? Something useful?"

The spark was instantly lit and I didn't even try to dampen it down. Interest turned into intrigue, which from there could easily have bloomed into a full-blown all-consuming obsession at the thought of being privy to information that would assist me with tracking down Tommy and his closest allies. But Van wasn't sharing, keeping anything that he'd learnt close to his chest.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," he told me, and as he spoke his fingers flexed on the meat of my upper thighs, tightening his grip.

"Nothing I need to concern myself with?" My voice was high and tight. I felt like knocking his hands away, jumping down from the counter and pushing him aside, but I didn't. "So what are you expecting me to do today whilst you're out there doing god knows what? Lie there chained to the bed, not even knowing whether you'll be coming back?"

"I'm not going through this with you again. I've made my feelings quite clear."

His jaw clenched tight, tension emanating from him, his grip on my thighs tighter still, harsh and possessive. I knew I should tread carefully but still I couldn't resist.

"Please let me help," I implored him. "Even if I can't go with you today, I can do something. All the files you have, I could go through them. You must have so much information... this is what I'm good at. This is what I do."

I trailed off, remembering the stack of papers which were within easy reach. I twisted my body, grasping for them quickly, eyes hungrily scanning the small text but Van didn't give me chance, snatching them away out of my hands with force.

"Fuck's sake," he growled. "Do you ever do as you're told?" He glared at me for a moment and I felt myself recoil, then his face creased, all frustration as he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Why am I even asking you that? Of course you don't."

"I need this as much as you do... surely you can understand that. I can't just do nothing... please."

He closed his eyes, ran both hands through his hair, emitting a deep sigh. When he opened his eyes to look on me again I could see the pain there, dark, stormy seas of unfathomable depth.

"There's some things you shouldn't see. Those bastards out there aren't the only things that can hurt you, you know. Sometimes the truth is just as dangerous."

Frustration raged inside me, a tight fist which gripped my insides like a vice. Learning the truth about Tommy and his part in my father's death had been devastating enough... what more destructive secrets could there possibly be to uncover? The thought chilled me through but it didn't deter me.

"Don't shut me out... please. After everything we've been through..."

He lent into me quickly, his hands moving up quickly to cup my jaw, his face only inches away. "I'm trying to protect you... don't you see?"

"But I want to help... just let me help you."

But my pleas and begs may as well have fallen on deaf ears. "You can help me by staying alive. That's all I want... for you to be safe... now come on... you need to eat."

And that was it. As far as he was concerned the conversation was over, but for me the subject matter was far from closed. I swallowed down my frustration as Van plated up my breakfast and then he was lifting me down and carrying me over to perch next to him at the breakfast bar. I dutifully ate under his watchful eye before he was carrying me back to the bedroom and securing me again to the bedpost, kissing my forehead gently as I pouted sulkily with promises that he wouldn't be long and that he was doing this 'for my own good'. But what did he know? I could handle this. I could handle anything. I'd been preparing for this moment since I was eight years old when I'd watched my dad get taken from me so brutally.

As soon as I heard the door close from somewhere deep within the apartment, silence descended. I waited for a moment, impatiently turning the small item that I'd surreptitiously palmed over and over in my hand. It was the paper-clip that I'd slid off the paperwork in Van's kitchen. It was a small hope but it was my only chance. A key to my freedom... and whatever horrors lay beyond. I was ready.

[smuttysweets]

HSBJKWQDB HII YOU SEEM SUPER COOL AND I LOVE YOUR EVENT IDEAA

✧ — Character : Bakugou Katsuki — 🍭🍡🧋

( self insert bio: ⊱ Kaeda Aizawa. ⊱ Geo (she can manipulate rocks and metals ⊱ Kaeda goes by Kae, Hero name is Rockstar, Bakugou calls her chili pepper bc she loves spicy foods (Indian genes smh), she has green eyes, black hair, brown skin, loves to sing and is like mina and Kirishima's personalities into one - she's also Aizawa's adoptive daughter)

( request: Katsuki and Kae go to the Hero's Gala together in matching outfits and the tabloids are all over it 👀 )

( AHHHH this is so cuteee!! I love hero gala prompts and I LOVE writing for Bakugou. Your self insert seems so cool I might draw her when I get a chance!! )

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Hearts on Fire ࣪ ˖ ⊹

🍭🍡🧋 ꒱ Katsuki Bakugou x Kaeda Aizawa ! ꒱

꒱ fluff, self insert, character owned by: @queenpiranhadon , June Challange!

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⟢ Today is the day of the 2024 hero gala. Dynamite and Rockstar, or, Katsuki and Kaeda’s, relationship hasn’t been shown much to the public. Of course there are people with their ‘theories’. People talk about it all over the internet. But there was never a confirmed answer but the chemistry was there.

⟢ Kaeda hums as she perfectly and slowly finishing her makeup, not even noticing Bakugou, leaning on the door frame with his hands crossed. “You look good.” Kaeda slightly jumps from the sudden voice that cuts the silence like a knife. Kaeda turns around in her rolling chair. “Thanks Katssuki.” she looks him up and down a slight blush appearing on her face. “I always forget how good you look in formal wear!”

⟢ Katsuki, matching with Kaeda, is wearing a black tuxedo with a dark green collared shirt, close to the same color as his gauntlets. A black tie that Kaeda had to tie up for him. Kaeda is wearing a a dress right below the knees. It sparkles when reflected on light. Accessories including a necklace and bracelet matching her hero costume aesthetic.

⟢ Kae stands up and Katsuki walks toward her. “I want to kiss you so bad..” Katsuki says as he softly grabs her chin and raises her head up more. “If you want people to talk about your lips matching my lip tint be my guest!” He chuckles at this. He puts a soft pec on her lips. “I can wait until we’re alone.” Kaeda smiles softly. “Then lets get out of her so we can get this over with! I know you hate these yearly galas!”

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⟢ As soon as the limo carrying Kaeda and Katsuki pulls up paparazzi immediately pull out their cameras and microphones. The door that leads to the red carpet swings open. Katsuki steps out, grabbing Kaeda’s hand to help her get out carefully, some of their old classmates who are now pros following behind. “Dynamite! Rockstar! Is it true that you two have a relationship more than just being work partners?!” “Rockstar, you look amazing! Look at the camera!” “Dynamite and Rockstar having matching outfits?! Are you guys dating??”

⟢ Katsuki absolutely hates paparazzi’s. Majority of videos of him with big crowds of paparazzi is just him screaming at cameras and mics to back the fuck up. Kaeda doesn’t really mind. She’ll answer some questions from time to time and she is just naturally perfect for the camera. The light from the flashes bounces of her black hair so nicely. Its like her emerald eyes glimmer when giving any serious eye contact. She was just like that.

⟢ As they finally enter in the first person Kaeda looks for like every year is her father, Eraser Head. Or Aizawa. “You both look great.” He compliments. “Thanks old man.” Kaeda laughs. “Thanks dad!”

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⟢ Kae and Kats lay comfortably in bed together. Kaeda scrolling on random articles online. And Katsuki reading over recent reports. Kaeda scrolls down on something related to the hero gala: “Hero Gala 2024: Dynamite and Rockstar Matching outfits at the Hero Gala! Communities go Crazy!” Kaeda chuckles. “Kats,” he looks up. “Look at this!” He grabs the phone and you can see how his reaction fades into slight anger and embarrassment. “Get that ‘outta my face!” He pushes the phone to Kaeda’s chest as he grabs the pillow that used to support Kaeda’s head hitting her face. “Katsukii!!”

( a/n : i feel as if i could’ve done better with this but i’ve been going through a lot recently </3 )

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[cmonmansstuff]

Minific! Coworkers au, basically just an excuse to make henry as flirty as possible

“You’re staring”

“Yes i am” henry eyes flicker as he speaks, in this light, they’re more blue than alex has ever seen them, its almost unnerving

“Why are you starting?” He demands again, and its so strange, the henry alex knows, the henry he works with, the sober, profesional, serious, tuxedo wearing henry he’s shared an office with for three months wouldn’t ever be so direct, so shameless. Damn alex, he likes it, henry takes a small step forwards, leaning into alex as he whispers in his ear

“Well, you could say i just like looking at you, but im always more poetic than that when trying to do this” he says, and his voice is honey thick and velvet, alex feels the goosebumps rise to his skin, he almost shudders, he only cranes his neck a bit, henry pulls back finally, looking down at alex, scanning him, and alex cant help himself

“Trying to do what?” He looks up, through his eyelashes, and finally henry falters, huffing ~something~ alex cant quite tell what

“Trying to pick up a very attractive man at a bar”

“A very attractive coworker” alex corrects, and henry chuckles

“Either way, is it working?” He says, and alex can only pull him into the bathroom, totally disregarding the others with them, wont that be a fun water cooler conversation this monday.

He’s kissing henry before he can catch his breath, and when they’re done, or, better put, when the banging on the door becomes too loud and persistent to ignore, they pull away looking disheveled. Alex is sure his hair is frizzy and puffy, and his lip stings, there’s a wet spot at the bottom of his shirt, and speaking of, his shirt is so badly tucked in,he has to fuss to get one of the buttons out of the zipper.

Henry, on the other hand, looks just as destroyed, but he somehow makes it look fetching, lips bruised and cheeks blushed, alex feels it’s unfair, how dare he be so incredibly attractive.

They step out of the bathroom as casually as one can after going to second base sitting on a sink like a highschooler, making a point to ignore the very startled line of tragically straight men, and go straight to Henrys car.

“I am taking you home” henry says

“I really hope so” alex responds, and he has half a mind to be a bit embarrassed by the sheer amount of want in his voice

“No, im taking you to your home” he clarifies and alex is so mortified he thinks he might die right there and then

“Of course, i don’t mean to make you uncomf-“ he starts, but henry cuts him off

“Oh no, alex, i really enjoyed tonight, and trust me its not easy to withhold the border line embarrassing level of horny i feel right know, but i want to do this right. Let me take you out on a proper date… please?”

And alex kisses him again “of course, baby”

[jenifermaison]

How to Style a Men's Moissanite Bracelet for Any Occasion

A men's moissanite bracelet is a versatile piece of jewelry that can elevate your style for any occasion. Whether you're dressing up for a formal event, going casual for a weekend outing, or looking to add some sparkle to your work attire, a moissanite bracelet can enhance your look with ease. Here’s how to style it for every setting.

1. Formal Occasions

For black-tie events, weddings, or fancy dinners, a men's moissanite tennis bracelet is a perfect choice. Its sleek, minimalist design, featuring a row of moissanite stones, offers an understated elegance that pairs well with a suit or tuxedo. Opt for white gold, platinum, or sterling silver to match the formal vibe. The key here is subtle sophistication – you want your bracelet to add shine without overpowering your outfit.

2. Business or Professional Settings

If you're heading to the office or attending a business meeting, you can still wear your moissanite bracelet, but it’s important to keep the look professional. Choose a bracelet that is simple and not too flashy. A chain-style moissanite bracelet or one with small, spaced-out moissanite stones will give you a polished look without drawing too much attention. Stick to neutral metals like silver or black stainless steel for a more serious tone.

3. Casual Outings

For a casual day out, whether you're meeting friends for lunch or running errands, you can afford to be a bit more creative with your styling. A leather moissanite bracelet with subtle moissanite accents adds a rugged edge to your look while still offering that touch of luxury. Pair it with jeans, a t-shirt, and a casual jacket for a laid-back yet stylish appearance.

4. Night Out or Special Events

When you're heading out for a night on the town, don’t be afraid to make a statement with your men's moissanite bracelet. Go for a bold design with larger stones or a unique setting to complement your outfit. You can pair a tennis bracelet with a leather jacket or a sleek button-up shirt to create a modern, edgy look that’s perfect for a night of socializing.

5. Layering for a Trendy Look

One of the latest trends in men's jewelry is layering bracelets. You can pair your moissanite bracelet with other bracelets, such as leather bands, beaded bracelets, or even another metal chain. The trick is to balance textures and sizes – for instance, combine a slim moissanite bracelet with a chunkier leather band for contrast.

Conclusion

A men's moissanite bracelet is an adaptable accessory that can be styled for any occasion, from formal events to casual outings. Whether you're going for a sleek, understated look or something bold and trendy, a moissanite bracelet can enhance your style effortlessly. Its versatility makes it a must-have addition to any man's jewelry collection.