#I am still utterly delighted by this

[tj-crochets]

Fabric measurements and instructions for making this bag!

Out of the print: - two 20" by 9.5" rectangles (for the outside) - two 7.5" squares (per pocket) Out of the canvas: - two 20" by 7.5" rectangles (for the outside) - two 20" by 16.5" rectangles (for the lining) - two 4" by 28" rectangles (for the handles) Instructions: 1. sew an outside print piece to an outside canvas piece along the 20" edge with the canvas positioned so it will be on the bottom of the finished bag. Repeat for second side and iron both 2. Sew pockets. Take two print squares and sew along outside edge, leaving a few inches unsewn as an opening for turning. Clip corners to reduce bulk, turn right side out, and iron. Top stitch along top edge of pocket 3. Sew pockets to lining. I centered mine on the lining canvas, 3" down from the top edge of the canvas. Sew to lining along side and bottom edges, leaving the top edge unsewn (so that you can put things in the pocket). When sewing pocket to lining, make sure you catch the opening for turning left in step 2 and sew it closed with the top stitching 4. Take the two outside halves from step 1, put them right sides together, and sew along both sides and bottom, leaving the top unsewn. Repeat with the two lining pieces (use pockets to know which side of the lining is the top side). MAKE SURE TO LEAVE SEVERAL INCHES UNSEWN ALONG THE CENTER OF THE BOTTOM OF THE LINING (I forgot to do this and had to seam rip it) 5. Box the corners. Basically, fold one bottom corner of the bag so that the side seam and the bottom seam are lined up and the corner forms a 90 degree (ish) angle. Measure 3" from the corner along the seam towards the top edge, and draw a line there perpendicular to the seam. Sew along this line, and trim the excess fabric from the corner (leave a seam allowance). Repeat for the other bottom corners of both the lining and the outside of the bag. (let me know if photos of this step would be helpful, it's hard to describe but easy to do) 6. Sew the handles. Fold the handle pieces in half and iron (making two 2" by 28" strips). Unfold, fold the outer edges towards the center, and iron again. Fold in half along the original fold line, making a 1" by 28" rectangles that's four layers of canvas with the outer edges of the original rectangle on the inside. Top stitch along both long edges of the handle 7. Baste the handles. I used the pockets to determine handle placement. I lined up one handle with either side of the pocket, and overlapped the end of the handle by 3/4" above the top edge of the lining (let me know if I should add a photo of this step). Baste in place inside the seam allowance, and repeat for the second handle on the other side 8. With the bag lining wrong side out and the bag exterior right side out, put the outside of the bag inside the lining. This will mean the two halves of the bag are right sides together. Make sure the side seams of the lining and the outside line up, pin in place, and sew around the top edge. Turn right side out through the opening in the bottom of the lining 9. Top stitch around the top edge of the bag. As you go, make sure the handles are perpendicular to the top of the bag, and top stitch a square with an X in it on the inch of bag handle that is sandwiched between the inside and outside of the bag (you kind of have to feel for the handle as you go to know where to topstitch) I mean, it doesn't have to be a square with an X, but topstitch the end of the handle in place in some way. 10. Close the opening for turning in the lining. Either ladder stitch the opening closed, or fold seam allowance over, line up the center seam for the lining and center seam for the bottom, and top stitch it closed. This is easier than it sounds like to do because the canvas is really really easy to feel seams in and really extremely easy to fingerpress the seam allowances in 11. Enjoy your new bag! Tag me in it if you want to! I can't wait to see a whole fleet of tote bags in a ridiculous array of colors (I plan on making a bunch of these for like everybody on my list for the holidays this year)

The orange canvas and national parks tote for my uncle is done!!

I’ll take photos with better lighting tomorrow when the sun is up again, but I’m so happy with how this turned out. I made the bag pattern myself, because I couldn’t find one the size I wanted, and it’s got two patch pockets on the inside because I bought way too much national parks fabric and because pockets are useful

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

bruh she just trash compacted an entire room of people. fuckin brutal

[neroushalvaus]

Dominic West in Downton Abbey 3 Never Stop The Downtoning...... the husbands in hollywood will be hollywoodhusbanding.....

[corviiids]

I have found out that all your marvellous works are by the same person!!! Telltale, the funny twitter thread, the uquiz... I thought these were all by separate people

You make all the best death note thingies and I am delighted to find out that you are in fact one person

HEY IT'S YOU!!! AUTHOR OF MY FAVOURITE EVER COMMENT!!! im so happy to see you. thank you so so much for your kind words this made me grin so big

[howdidthisevenhappenanyway]

gladheonsleeps foxquin week master post

just a recap for this week’s efforts, because I’ve never achieved something like this before and I’m still bewildered and very pleased

day 1 SOULMATES Marked for Trouble:

day 2 UNDERCOVER Making it Count

day 3 wing fic but it’s not posted yet sorry :3

day 4 CULTURAL SHARING Isirir be Ijaat

day 5 I.F.H.I.T.D. I’d Love to Keep my Promises, Darling

day 6 MIGRAINE/CHRONIC PAIN ‘Aint no place like a home with you in it

day 7 000 GENERAL QUINLAN Gar Runi be Morut'yc bat Ner Kama

if you read, kudosed or commented on my work this week I want to thank you so much! it was really nice having so many interactions and sharing in our enthusiasm about quinlan and commander fox! rair pair enthusiasts are the best :3c

[okiroash]

OH MY GODD

LOOK AT HIMMMM !!!!!!!

[valeriehalla]

I am so utterly fascinated by “Saki”, the 18-year-running mahjong manga in which you, the reader, become gradually, frog-boilingly aware (over the course of nearly two decades’ worth of mahjong tournaments) that none of these girls are wearing underwear and most of their boobs are slowly expanding.

I need you to understand that I have, like, an anthropological level fascination with this comic. From the perspective of someone who is also a comic artist and writer, two things delight me about it:

the fact that I understand completely how an artist gets from “the fans can have a little hint of skirted asscheek” to “the pussy is completely out on center page” over the course of 18 years; and

the way in which the pussy being out is treated by the characters and diegesis as being utterly unremarkable.

Okay. Point 1. The frog-boiling.

Let me put this in perspective for you. There was already a meme about how the characters in “Saki” don’t wear underwear when I was in middle school. I am thirty now. Okay? And it’s still going.

In the time since, this has stopped being a joke. It is now indisputable canon. This is not because anyone outright says it at any point. It’s because the underwear ran out of places to hide. I’m obsessed with this thought: somewhere in the over 20 volumes of “Saki”, there is a panel in which underwear was objectively deconfirmed. And it would be so hard to figure out where that panel actually is. Maybe the artist didn’t even realize it when she drew it! The frog? Boiling!!

And of course there is also the breast expansion. I don’t know how to put a spin on this. They are just expanding. Like, this happens a lot with artists: you define a character as being, in your mind, “the one with the big boobs”, and over the years you emphasize that trait further and further so that the signal doesn’t get lost in the noise. It’s just that normally—in like a wildly popular manga series about mahjong published by literally Square Enix, for example—normally there would be a point at which the boobs stopped getting bigger. Like, an editor would step in or something. Or you would get to the point where you cannot draw the character in the same panel as her mahjong tiles without her breasts spilling over the tiles, and you’d go, “Well, this is now untenable.”

That did not happen. There is no ceiling. The frog is soup.

Point 2. The complete and utter mundanity of all of this.

It’s like this, okay: there’s no shortage of trashy ecchi manga out there. There’s a million other comics doing wildly bawdier things with wildly more improbable bishoujos.

The vibe with “Saki” is different.

It’s hard to explain this, but it feels like the world of the comic is fundamentally uninterested in the fanservice happening on the page. I cannot describe it as “leering”, because I cannot conceive of a person in the story from whose point of view one would leer. I think the artist is probably into it—I can’t imagine anyone is making her do this—but “Saki” the comic has no opinion on the matter.

There are essentially no male characters in “Saki”. Like, there was one guy? Kind of? At the very beginning? But he is gone now. They put him back in the toybox. He does not exist. It appears to be some level of canonical that in the world of “Saki”, almost all humans are women. Those women are sometimes romantically into each other. According to comments the artist has made on Twitter (which I cannot source), they have lesbian baby technology, so it’s no problem. It’s so much not a problem that the story is about mahjong, instead of any of that.

So, like, the fiction here appears to be this: this is the, like, meta-narrative of the fanservice of “Saki”, right: it’s just normal that they don’t wear underwear and their boobs are arbitrarily big. It’s been normal. It was normal before the story of the manga began. It’s just how things are. Nobody bats an eye about it, and if they do, it’s in sort of a lesbian kind of way so like what’s the problem, we love lesbians here. This is literally normal for girls.

The fanservice simply diffuses into this all-encompassing aura of disembodied, ambient sluttiness. The framing of the panels demands you acknowledge it, and the story demands you already be over it, because it’s mahjong time now, and we’re playing mahjong.

Do you get??? why I’m so fascinated??? Are you not a little enraptured???

Anyway, I have no idea how to end this weird post. I guess the conclusion is that women stay winning????

[pleaseshootthejester]

I don't eat all day and then my partner takes me out for dinner and we eat fish and chips and they're greasy and now it's 3am and I've not slept and my tummy hurty and I have lots of regret

[lostfracturess]

say it again — satoru gojo x fem!reader

you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

You've managed to keep your marriage to Satoru Gojo under wraps for nearly two year now. It isn't that you're ashamed—far from it.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers simply comes with complications, especially given his clan's tendency to meddle in everything.

So you both agreed to keep it quiet. No flashy announcements, no public displays, just you and him. Sure, it means wearing your ring on a chain under your clothes and careful planning for your living arrangements, but it's worth it for the peace and quiet.

That is, until you slip up at the most mundane possible moment.

You're both at an official appointment regarding some property documentation. The clerk has been droning on about paperwork when she asks about your relationship to Satoru for the forms.

"Oh, he's my husband," you reply absently, still scanning the documents in front of you.

The scratching of Satoru's pen stops abruptly. You look up to find him staring at you with the most ridiculous expression—somewhere between absolutely delighted and utterly self-satisfied.

"What was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

You blink, realizing what you've just said. "I mean—"

"No, no, say it again." His eyes are practically shining now. "What am I to you?"

"Satoru," you warn, very aware of the confused clerk watching your exchange.

"Come on," he says, leaning closer. "One more time. What am I?"

"We're in public," you hiss, but you can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes at you in that ridiculous way of his. "For your beloved husband?"

"You're impossible," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Impossibly charming? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly perfect as your husband?"

The clerk clears her throat. "Should I... put down 'married' then?"

"Yes!" Satoru answers before you can. "Put down that I am this wonderful person's husband. Their spouse. Their better half. Their—"

"She gets it," you cut him off.

But Satoru isn't done. For the rest of the appointment, he manages to work the word "husband" into nearly every sentence. "As her husband, I think we should sign here." "My lovely spouse and I would like copies of that." "Do you need both myself and my better half to initial this?"

By the time you leave the office, you're ready to strangle him.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say as you walk to the car.

"Can you blame me?" He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "It's not every day I get to hear you call me your husband in public. Usually it's all 'this is Satoru' or 'we're together' or my personal favorite, 'yes, I do unfortunately know him.'"

You roll your eyes, but can't help leaning into him. "You know why we keep it quiet."

"I know, I know. The clan would be insufferable." He presses a kiss to your temple. "But maybe we should tell them anyway? Can you imagine their faces when they find out we've been married this whole time?"

"They'll have our heads for this."

"Perhaps. But you have to admit, the thought is tempting. No more sneaking around, no more hiding that ring." He catches your hand, thumb brushing over where your ring should be. "I want everyone to know exactly who you are to me. And what I am to you. What was it again?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Come on," he coaxes, "just say it once more."

You pretend to consider it. "And what do I get out of this?"

"My eternal love and devotion?" He gives you a long look. "And I'll do the dishes for a week."

"You're supposed to do those anyway," you point out, but he's already pulling you closer, that insufferable smirk of his growing wider.

"Say it again, love," he says, and the way he looks at you then—eyes soft and full of adoration—makes your breath catch in your throat.

All your defenses melt away under that gaze, the one he reserves just for you, the one that makes you forget why you ever try to deny him anything.

"Husband," you breathe, and feel him tense slightly against you.

"Just like that," he whispers. "Though I prefer when you add my name to it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"That's what I do best," he says. "Besides, my darling wife, I think you secretly love it when I am."

The way he says 'wife' sends a shiver down your spine—something you know he notices from the satisfied look in his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly yours," he corrects, and despite his playful tone, there's something sincere in his gaze. "What do you say? Ready to scandalize some elders?"

Looking at him now, you can't remember why you ever wanted to keep this secret. "With you? Always."

He doesn't wait for more, just leans in and captures your lips with his, and you think maybe going public isn't such a terrible idea after all.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[giamee]

╭┄───────────── 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕! ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

featuring. hsr men 〆 wc. 1.0k

art creds. 海仑 on weibo 〆 contains. mentions of being drunk/drinking, some suggestiveness but still sfw

gia's notes. new layout bc im allergic to keeping a theme 🏰 also i'm writing this while i procrastinate an essay. which is due in like.. 8.5 hours. and i am 2k over the word limit. joy upon joy.

╰┄➤ ❝ request. anon 〆 What HSR men says when they are drunk. ❞

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re SWEET when they’re drunk.

his voice gets a touch softer, a little lower so that you have to crane your neck and lean in real close to him to catch what he's saying over the bustle of the bar that you went to and the chatter of your friends that you came with. it’s like you’re in your own little universe with him, the sweet pinkish tint to his cheeks and the dilated pupils a look that you could definitely get used to- not that his usual more reserved look didn’t make your heart hammer in your chest, too.

but it's just so rare to see him like this, for him to look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like every word that passes your lips is a prayer, whose hands furl and unfurl in his lap like he's itching to touch you (you wish he would).

it's not like he really says much, per se, instead opting to watch your every move wide-eyed and with a slackened jaw. you're growing warm under his gaze, and you stutter out that he'll really have to quit staring at you like that before you get the wrong idea. that does little to stop his actions, though he does flash you a sheepish smile.

"i'm sorry, you just look so beautiful."

you almost choke as you take a sip of your own drink.

gepard, dan heng (imbibitor lunae), moze, luocha

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re FLIRTY when they’re drunk.

it should be illegal for him to be this much of a smooth talker with that many drinks in his system. he's completely and utterly shameless, one arm rested casually against the back of your chair and his whole undivided attention on you as he throws every line he knows right at you hoping that one will land.

you'd be lying if you said that you weren't enjoying this attention from him, though there's the remaining sober part of you screaming how he's just a friend over and over, but when he dips his head low to whisper into your ear you're delighted to find that part of you audibly drown out.

everything about him is just so... tantalising. the way his silver tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, him not missing the way your eyes follow the movement. the way he leans back in his seat, the hungry yet calculating look in his eyes doing something to you. the way you see him deliberating over something before finally opening his mouth to speak.

and when he asks you if you want to get out here with him, it's only natural for you to accept his offer.

aventurine (realistically he gets sad when he drinks but that is not romantical or lighthearted at all) jiaoqiu, gallagher, boothill

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re TALKATIVE when they’re drunk.

even on a good day, he's known to just talk, and talk, and talk if he gets going. that particular quality only seems to be amplified by the alcohol coursing through his system. he's been talking your ear off for the past half hour or so, a never-ending flow of words escaping his lips as he seems to he telling you just about everything that's on his mind.

you see the glances from others, the pity edging its way to concern adorning their features, but little do they know that you don't mind one bit.

while he may not be everyone's favourite to talk to, you've always found something within you compelled to sit and listen while he talks. he's always had something interesting to say, always been wary of if you are feeling tired or bored (not that you ever would be of him), and over your few encounters you've grown to be rather fond of him.

he's still talking now, an enthusiastic gleam in his eye as you smile and nod, propping your chin against your hand as you get comfy and study his features unbothered.

he sees the affectionate look on your face and stops for a moment, smiling widely and stuttering a few times before continuing.

dr ratio, sampo, mr reca, argenti

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re TIRED when they’re drunk.

it's something that happened once, a few months ago when you had drank with them for the first time. you had all been in a group, and you had been chatting away with your friends rather livelily (i dont think that's a word) until you promptly felt a weight against your shoulder.

your reactions are a bit sluggish, but when you do turn to see just what it could be you're surprised to see a head of hair, and your tipsy brain just about manages to realise he's slumped over, dozing off on your shoulder, much to the amusement of everyone at the table.

you find it rather funny yourself, sneaking your phone out of your pocket to snap a rather unflattering-angled photo of him (which he still manages to look good in) that you send to him the next morning (he smiled to himself as he saw your grinning face in the corner of it and saved it to his camera roll).

you don't quite have the heart to wake him up or shrug him off, so you sort of just... let him be and continue talking like nothing had happened. some nondescript amount of time later he wakes up, blinking uncertainly as he gains his surroundings, before jolting up ramrod straight and apologising to you.

you giggle, tell him it's alright and tease that he must be getting old to be asleep this early, which is met with an unimpressed look from him.

but from that night onwards, it happens a little too... often to be some chance.

every time he drinks, without fail, his head drops onto your shoulder. it's somewhat of a routine to snap a photo of him like this, to admire it in secret before sending it to him, and it's somewhat of a tradition now for him to wake up and instead send you a reserved smile before letting himself doze off on your shoulder again.

not that either of you are complaining.

blade, jing yuan, caelus, welt

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... do you want somebody like i want somebody?

[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 (𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂)

— charles’ girlfriend likes to wake up a little earlier every morning in order to take her time getting ready. charles tries to wake up a little earlier, too. (1.2k words)

+ more than inspired by my need to wake up hours before i realistically need to (and then complain about how tired i am)

+ fluff ! mentions of reader wearing make-up but nothing overly specific !

gentle clattering served as charles’ alarm clock as he pried his eyes open, rubbing at them clumsily to rid his vision of the bleariness that came with just waking up. a throaty grumble escaped his lips, the sound coming from deep in his chest as he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

after a long overdue movie night, charles had spent the night at your place, something he would never, ever complain about. somehow, sleep always came to him much easier when he was by your side, wrapped in sheets that harboured the smell of your perfume.

though you'd already left the bed, currently sitting at your dressing table as you laid out your skincare products, charles could still feel the warmth of your body travelling along the mattress and up his body like vines of ivy.

time wasn't important to him right now, but he could assume that it was fairly early.

despite your incredibly sleepy nature, you'd surprised charles towards the beginning of your relationship by revealing to him that you quite enjoyed waking up a little earlier in order to take your time getting ready.

rushing to get out of the door was something that always provided you with feelings of anxiety, and you could never shake the thought that you'd forgotten something important. this way, you could slowly wake yourself up and spend a little more time focusing on yourself, an idea charles couldn't find fault in.

any amount of love and care shown towards you was welcomed by charles with open arms.

whilst charles' job required him to be a morning person, thanks to early training sessions and odd schedules on race weekends, it by no means meant that he was magically transformed into someone who delighted in waking up before the sun rose.

dragging himself into the gym at ridiculous hours in the morning required copious alarms and a boatload of motivation, but somehow when it came to this - watching the love of his life follow the same routine she performed almost daily - mornings felt easier.

"good morning, baby," charles said, deliberately keeping his voice low so as not to startle you. the words were thick with sleep, almost slurred together and syrupy, and a smile immediately rose to your face at the sound.

"g’morning love. sorry, did i wake you?"

a fond expression washed over charles' face as you turned to look at him over your shoulder, moisturiser poised in one hand ready for you to use. he shook his head gently, messy chestnut hair falling a little into his eyes.

"no, no, you're fine," he assured, throwing in a gentle smile to fully placate you.

and it was true. charles wasn't woken by the noise - or lack thereof - that you were making. it was as though his body had subconsciously realised you were awake and moving, and had forced his eyes open so he could savour every last second with you, satisfying his desire to get as much of you to himself as he possibly could.

water, oxygen, food, and you: those were the four things charles was certain he required for survival.

noticing that your eyes were still fixed on him, his upper body bare above the crumpled sheets of your bed, a lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his words took on a teasing tone.

"don't let me distract you, baby. keep getting ready."

you playfully rolled your eyes at his teasing, ignoring the way that his words made heat bubble beneath your cheeks. it was nothing a cooling moisturiser couldn't fix, and you relished in the feeling of the cream on your tired skin as you turned back to face your mirror.

meanwhile, charles was utterly mesmerised, transfixed by the glimpse of your reflection he was granted from his spot in bed. 

how you could be performing a task charles had seen countless times before and still spark flames of awe in his heart should have been baffling, but to charles it all made sense.

everything about you set him alight, provoked a jolt of white hot electricity that ran through his veins and left him breathless. yet at the same time, you were the epitome of comfort and peace. your effect on him was far too powerful, so much so that it could break the rules of the universe and cause his heart to both pound and stop simultaneously. 

charles settled back against the plush pillows, stretching his arms above his head with a soft grunt before letting them fall to rest against his stomach. 

even in your silly fluffy headband, designed to look like a snail and complete with two eye-stalks, you were striking to him. every movement was fluid and precise, and it reminded him a little of himself in the car.

just as he knew every button of the steering wheel like it were an extension of his own body, had learned exactly where the breaking points were on each track and tuned himself into the car's movements, you had perfected your own artistry. your hand never faltered as it moved from product to product, and you barely batted a sleepy eye as you followed the routine you had down to a tee.

the two of you had fallen into a comfortable silence, not wanting to break the tranquil air that an early morning provided. now and again, you would meet his eye in the mirror and stick your tongue out at him, a gesture which he would return without hesitation. 

it took about twenty or so minutes for charles’ body to begin to wake up, finally registering that the man wouldn’t be trying to get back to sleep any time soon. though his eyes were still a little heavy, charles swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to his feet, muffling a yawn into the palm of his hand.

he padded over to you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder and peer at you through the mirror. 

“mm,” you mumbled, relaxing into his warmth. “hi, sleepyhead.”

charles pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before running a thumb lovingly over the spot that his stubble had grazed, attempting to reverse any disturbance to the makeup you’d carefully applied moments ago.

“hello beautiful.”

reluctantly, charles stood up to his full height and flicked one of the headband’s fuzzy stalks with a look of fondness before speaking.

“gonna go make us some coffee. don’t miss me too much”

even with his teasing tone, you almost melted at his words, sure that when charles returned he’d find a pile of sweet, syrupy goo in your place.

charles never needed to tell you how much he loved you - though he never missed an opportunity to do so. instead, your boyfriend preferred to show you, actions speaking louder than words as the famous phrase said.

so, if waking up early on his rare days off to watch you get ready and make you a coffee made your smile a little brighter and your day a little easier, charles would take the mid-day crash he was inevitably going to experience.

anything was worth it when it came to you.

[aventurineswife]

Ratio's Voicelines about his S/O

Inspired by my Aventurine ver lol

Aventurine's ver | Sunday's ver | Luka's ver

A Remarkable Presence

An intellectual equal? No, not quite. They are my emotional equal—a different kind of brilliance, one that eludes logic yet commands my respect. How utterly captivating.

First Meeting: The First Encounter

When we first crossed paths, I was... skeptical. Their demeanor suggested mediocrity, but their words challenged me—sharpened like a blade against my wit. I underestimated them once; I won’t do so again.

First Date: An Experiment in Joy

A strange experience, to willingly divert my attention from the pursuit of knowledge for something so… trivial, or so I thought. Sharing my time with them became an experiment in joy—one whose results I wish to replicate endlessly.

Confession: A Hypothesis of Love

A hypothesis: two individuals, each remarkable in their own right, could produce an outcome greater than the sum of their parts. I presented this theory to them... not as an academic exercise, but as a declaration of my feelings. Their response? Proof that even I can be surprised.

Thinking About Them: A Beautiful Distraction

I often find myself distracted, pondering their peculiar charm. It’s as if their presence occupies an unquantifiable space in my mind—an anomaly even I am powerless to resolve. And yet, I wouldn't dare.

Favorite Times With Them: Sparks of Truth

The moments I cherish most? When we argue. Not out of malice, but out of a shared desire for truth. There is no greater delight than meeting someone who can match your convictions and still make you question them.

My Greatest Discovery

They have a way of reminding me that intellect alone is insufficient. It is their heart that tempers my reason, their laughter that quiets my doubts. Perhaps, in a way, they are my greatest discovery.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 16

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Making Out, Discussion of Sex, some very "human" ideas of sexuality, a quote from Bridgerton and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Sweetheart, she'll love you," Azriel assured his mate. Again.

He wasn't sure what it was about but the idea of visiting his mother for dinner had thrown Eira into a tizzy.

He had reasoned that he would rather not get another lecture from his mother about not keeping her updated on his life choices…and well…he didn’t want to tell her about their engagement in a letter. So dinner it was. Esmeray had seemed delighted when he had suggested it in his last letter. 

He wasn’t worried about his mother disliking Eira at all. She had already adored her the first time they had met, so really…there was nothing that Eira needed to be worried about. 

“How can you be sure that she’ll like me?” Eira asked again, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “She’s your mother and you are still her baby…” He held back a snort. 540 years later and yes, he supposed he still was her baby, but his mother knew that he could take care of himself. “Maybe she'll hate me…”

"You already met her, and she loved you," Azriel said drily. “I am pretty sure, she’s already preferring you over me,” he said, only half joking. Eira stared at him wide-eyed. 

“But what if she…” He was trying really hard not to laugh at the expression on her face. Eira looked almost desperate, almost bordering on panic, her grey eyes wide with worry.

"She’ll love you,” Azriel Assured her again, in a gentle voice. “I promise you, my mother will love you. She’s utterly delighted that I found my mate. You could be half kelpie and she would still love you.“

Eira let out a low exhale, and he could practically see the anxiety and nervousness in her eyes as if she were imagining the worst-case scenarios.

"But what if... what if she doesn’t?" she repeated.

He could hear the worry in her words, and he knew that underneath the surface, there was blubbering something else. Something far older and deeper. 

None of the Archeron Sisters ever really talked about their mother, but Azriel had been able to…patch a picture together of a woman for whom her daughters had been nothing but…nothing but pawns to marry off to the highest bidder. 

Eira had felt lacking for a maternal figure once. She didn’t want a repeat of that, couldn’t have a repeat of that. 

All he wanted to do was comfort her, to hold her, whisper reassurances in her ears.

“She will,” Azriel said again, taking her hands in his. “And I promise, I won’t leave your side. At all. The whole night. It’ll be fine, sweetheart.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, trying to reassure her, to help her calm down, even though she was practically quaking in front of him.

She let out a soft exhale, her hands trembling in his, and he could hear her heart racing far faster than it should be.

"Eira...it’ll be fine,” he repeated. “It’ll be just fine.”

Eira let out another exhale, her breath shuddering as her anxiety got the better of her, and he knew that this would go on for hours if he didn’t do something about it if he didn’t get her to calm down. Azriel let out a low, soft sigh, looking at her, her breathing quick and shallow, her skin pale, anxiety clear in her eyes.

He was going to have to use a different tactic.

"Come here, Sweetheart,” he said, using the nickname deliberately. Sweetheart. It tended to make her fluster, and he could see its effect on her. Her pale skin flushed, her cheeks turned a beautiful pink, and her breath caught in her chest, making her breathing a bit less ragged and desperate. She stepped closer to him and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. She sighed into the kiss, a hand curling into the jacket he wore.

He deepened the kiss slightly, gently running the tip of his tongue against her lower lip, and he could feel her hand's fist against his jacket, a low hum of pleasure escaping her as he pulled her against him, letting her feel the heat of his body against hers, letting her feel the hard planes of his chest, hoping the sensation would soothe her.

He brought a hand up to the side of her face, his palm cradling her cheek, her skin smooth and warm beneath his touch, and she exhaled against him, the sound soft and quiet. He knew that his tactic had worked. Her breathing had slowed, her skin wasn’t as pale as it had been a moment prior, and the sound of her racing heart had finally quieted…

And her scent had gone heavy with arousal. He could smell it on her. He wished he could bath in her scent...in that thick and heavy sweetness.

Gods, she smelled divine, the scent of her desire making him practically lightheaded. Something hot and delicious coiled in him, a need to touch her, to taste her, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from giving in to the impulse…

He let his hand run down from her face, trailing his fingers along the line of her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin, and she shivered beneath his touch, a soft gasp escaping her. He smirked, his breath coming faster at her response, and he let his fingers trail lower, tracing the sensitive skin of her collarbone, feeling the gooseflesh as her skin reacted to his touch.

She leaned towards him, her body yearning, practically begging to be touched, but he couldn’t. Not right now, not when he could smell the arousal in her scent, not when he was so close to losing control, and he had to remind himself that they were still in the hallway of the River House, that she had been nervous just a few breaths ago, that they had somewhere they had to be tonight...

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his voice a low growl as he spoke. “Another time,” he promised, and he would keep that promise. She let out a low whimper at his words, a shiver passing through her body at his tone, and he could practically feel the effect his simple word had on her.

"Another time?" she asked, her voice shaky.

“Another time,” he repeated, low and firm, and he had to force himself to pull away slightly, taking a step back from her, to give her some space, to give himself a moment to recover from her scent, her body, her response.

"We have a dinner to attend, sweetheart," he told her quietly. "Are you dressed warm enough? Illyria is rather cold this time of the year."

She nodded, her face still flushed, her skin still warm, and he could still smell the desire in her scent. 

"Yes, I got a cloak as well," Eira said quickly, and just seconds later the shadows wrapped her in a dark cloak, only to then wrap the fur shrug around her as well. 

His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her wrapped up in that pelt, a soft, possessive satisfaction coursing through him at the sight of the fur shrug wrapped around him, a clear announcement to the world that she was his.

He offered her his arms and wrapped her in shadows. It was easy enough to winnow them both to Rosehall, to throw them through the wards he had placed on his mother's cottage centuries ago.

They rematerialized just in front of the cottage, and Azriel had a moment to take in the building in front of him. The cottage was the same, warm firelight in the windows, the front porch with just as many plants as his mother had always had. It was so, familiar, so unchanged that it felt like no time had passed since he’d last seen the cottage.

The door opened but instead of his mother standing in the doorway, it was Garvan. One of his mother’s oldest friends. Also, one of the first inhabitants of Rosehall as it was now, a haven for displaced Illyrians.

“Ah, Azriel!” Garvan greeted him brightly, his mouth pulling into a smile, crooking the scars that covered one half of his face completely. There was only one sole wing that limply laid at his side and he used a cane to get around, but all of that had never stopped him from being an optimist. “Your mother has been waiting for you.”

Azriel smiled in greeting, something warm and light and fond at the sight of Garvan, a familiar sense of affection welling up in him at the sight of the older man. "Garvan," Azriel greeted him, "It's good to see you."

“Likewise,” Garvan said, his smile widening, his good wing fanning slightly in greeting. “And who is your lovely lady?” His gaze went to Eira, who hovered just behind Azrael, her grey eyes taking in the sight of Garvan and the cottage.

"This is Eira," Azriel introduced her, his hand instinctively wrapping around her again, pulling her closer to him. "Eira, that's Garvan."

Garvan nodded in greeting, his smile turning soft as he looked at her, and Azriel could practically hear the questions the older male was asking in his mind, but instead, he said, "Don’t keep Esmeray waiting."

He gave Garvan a quick nod, and the man stepped aside, moving out of the doorway so Azriel and Eira could step into the cottage, into the warmth of his mother's home…

The first thing he noticed was the fire burning in the fireplace, flames dancing behind the grate, casting the entire room in a warm, orange light, and the second thing he noticed was the sight of his mother, standing in the little clearing between the kitchen and the living room.

There was a smile on her face as she took him in, grey eyes bright with warmth and affection, and he felt a sudden lump in his throat at the sight of her. She looked so young, her long black hair unbound, tumbling over her back like a river of ebony, her skin still smooth and lovely. Of course, she looked so young. She had been half a child when she had had him. Not that she had a choice in that matter.

"Azriel!" she greeted him, her excitement apparent. "Did you decide to finally honour me with your presence once again?" And there was her dry humour, as his mother came to hug him tightly. "At least this time you brought your mate, properly," she muttered under her breath, already yanking Eira into a surprising hug, squashing the flowers, Eira had insisted they bring along to his mother.

"Eira, so lovely to see you again. You look...less traumatised," his mother said drily.

Azriel let out an amused breath at his mother's bluntness, and he could see a wave of panic pass over Eira's face at the unexpected hug. But his mate managed a nervous laugh a moment later, "I do feel less traumatised," Eira said with another laugh. "I…We…We brought you flowers," Eira said quietly, thrusting a bouquet of dahlias in his mother's direction.

"How thoughtful of you," his mother said, her voice warm as she took the flowers from Eira, "And dahlias as well. My favourite. Though I imagine Azriel didn’t tell you that, did he?"

Eira's eyes widened slightly, and Azriel had a feeling that she had no idea his mother's favourite flowers were dahlias, she had picked them purely on instinct. 

She looked up and waved them both in further. "Come take a seat. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes."

"Can I help with anything?" Eira asked immediately, and Azriel couldn't stop the soft smirk that tugged at his lips, the sense of affection in his chest warming as he heard the question. His mother let out a soft laugh, taking the question in stride.

"Not the slightest need," Esmeray told her, a kind smile on her face. "Azriel, however, can make himself useful and bring us some wine."

"I...uh, I don't drink," Eira blurted out. "Alcohol and I...really don't get on," she said with a grimace. 

His mother looked at Eira considering, her eyes looking over her thoughtfully before nodding. "Fair enough," Esmeray said, not looking the slightest bit offended. "No wine then."

Azriel let out a small sigh of relief at that, feeling how Eira relaxed next to him slightly as well, and he saw the hint of a twinkle in his mother's eyes as she said, "Azriel can make us tea instead then."

"Sounds perfect," Azriel said, rolling his eyes. It was almost too easy, the sense of familiarity and comfort as he sat in his mother's cottage, and he found himself loving the moment, the way Eira slotted in so perfectly with his mother, no awkwardness between them. No, instead his mother had already pulled Eira into a conversation as she began to arrange the flowers into a vase, and Azriel left them to it, going into the kitchen to make the tea.

He found himself listening in on the conversation going on in the living room. He could still hear Eira's nervous tone, but even that was slowly disappearing, replaced by a relaxedness instead. By the time he went back to the living room, a tray with a pot of tea and a handful of teacups in his hands, Eira was laughing softly about something his mother said. 

"And tell me, has the kitten gotten used to her new home?" his mother asked.

"She has," Eira confirmed, and Azriel put the tray down on the low table, taking a seat next to Eira, close enough to brush his leg against hers, just to feel that sense of connection, that closeness. "She has gotten quite comfortable in fact," Eira continued, a small smile tugging at her lips as she spoke. "Especially sitting on Azriel's lap." 

"Snow is the most spoiled cat on this side of the ocean," Azriel agreed with a laugh. 

Esmeray smiled in satisfaction, a twinkle in her eyes as she said, "Good. She seemed to be awfully taken with you so when Azriel asked for her for your birthday, I couldn't refuse."

Azriel smiled at that, unable to keep the fond, warm feeling those words gave him, the small wave of gratitude that went through him at his mother's actions. Snow had been the perfect gift, and clearly one that Esmeray had approved of as well.

"She does follow Eira everywhere," he said, and it wasn’t the least bit of an exaggeration. The little white ball of fur would never hesitate to demand Eira's attention, rubbing her face against her whenever possible.

"She's a demanding creature," Eira said with a soft, fond laugh. "She will sit on my lap and demand my attention until I give in." Azriel smiled as she spoke, the words so true. The way Snow could turn into a demanding little monster that would sit on Eira's lap for hours and demand her attention until she caved and started giving the cat head scratches... was adorable to see...

"Sounds like a cat," Azriel's mother agreed with a laugh, a warm expression on her face as she watched them. But there was a hint of something else in her expression as well, something almost…knowing, and Azriel had a feeling that his mother was seeing more than she was letting on. She was watching them, not just a little, but intently...

And then her eyes caught on Eira's hand, wrapped around the teacup, her ring on full display.

Azriel watched as his mother's gaze went to Eira's ring, watched as a slight twitch in her face revealed that she noticed it instantly. Esmeray’s eyes narrowed, her expression growing sharp, and Azriel had a feeling that he was holding his breath as he waited, as it felt like everything hinged on what his mother's response would be...

"Didn't I tell you to write me letters if anything life-changing happened in your life?" his mother asked him, her voice dry. 

"I did," he said, the words sounding weak, and he heard his mother let out an exasperated huff at his answer.

"Azriel, writing letters to me once every decade does not count as writing letters when things happen in your life," Esmeralda all but chided him, her tone as unimpressed as her expression, and Azriel had a feeling her critical gaze would be focused on him if it wasn't for the fact that she was still eyeing Eira's hand with her ring. "You could have at least given me a forewarning!" his mother continued to chastise him. "Just a heads up would have been enough! I would have gotten out the champagne!"

"And leave the element of surprise out of the picture?" Azriel asked with an attempt at a charming smile, and he saw his mother roll her eyes at him in response.

"I can see you still haven't lost your penchant for dramatics, son," his mother said with a slight huff, but he saw the smile that threatened to pull at her lips, that hinted at her amusement at his words, and he knew the lecture was more for show than anything. "Tell me, Eira has my son at least asked you properly?!"

Eira's eyes widened slightly at the question, and Azriel could see the hint of nervousness flit over her face momentarily before he saw her face brighten a moment later, a small, giddy smile pulling at her lips. "He did. It was very romantic," she confirmed.

Azriel's mother let out another huff at that, shaking her head slightly even as a clear wave of satisfaction rolled over her expression. "At least my son has some basic manners," she said, and Azriel rolled his eyes, even as he felt a wave of relief at his mother's reaction. "You are making some progress, son. Thank you for taking pity on him though, Eira."

Eira snorted out a laugh, a hand covering her face.  "I wouldn't call it a pity," Eira managed to bring out between giggles, and Azriel's head snapped in her direction and for a small moment it was almost too much, the sheer warmth twisting in his chest...

And his mother outright grinned in response, clearly delighted by Eira's words.

"Maybe not pity," Esmeray agreed, grinning widely. "But, at the very least, you have chosen to put up with his... oddities. Congratulations to you for that, Eira." Her tone was dry as she spoke, but there was no mistaking the hint of real approval underneath, the affection for Eira shining through.

Azriel let out a huff, rolling his eyes, despite the warm, fond affection still twisting in his chest. "Hey," he protested, without any real heat, his words falling on deaf ears as both of the women simply ignored his protest.

"Now, have you already set a date for the wedding?" his mother said briskly.

Azriel felt a wave of panic rush through him at the question, his eyes widening as he took in the hopeful, expectant look in his mother's eyes, and he was suddenly reminded of all the wedding plans they hadn't made yet. "Uh…" was all he managed to say, words failing him temporarily.

"Sometime after Winter Solstice at the Temple on the grounds of Rhys and Feyre's estate," Eira saved him.

Esmeray's eyes went from Azriel's to Eira’s and her entire face brightened immediately. Clearly, the answer had been exactly the sort of thing his mother had been hoping for, and she looked practically delighted, her eyes almost shining. "What a lovely location to have a wedding," she said with a soft, pleased hum. , and Azriel almost felt like blushing under her clear approval, feeling a mixture of flustered and fond. Esmeray looked over to Eira a moment later, a small, sly smile on her face as she leaned forward slightly as if to tell a secret. "And what about the dress?" she asked, and Azriel knew, even without looking, that her expression was full of clear delighted expectation as she spoke.

"Oh, I am making that myself," Eira answered easily like that was absolutely normal to do. Like Feyre and Rhys hadn’t both offered up every tailor Velaris had to offer, but Eira had refused it all. She wanted to make her own. 

If the expression on his mother's face had been bright before, it was positively radiant now, Esmeray, eyes shining with an almost childish delight. "Are you?" she said, her voice filled with pleased disbelief. "You are a seamstress?"

Just like she was, just like Rhys' mother had been.

"I'm self-taught," Eira confirmed with a short, soft laugh, and Azriel found himself taking in her profile, the fond affection in his chest twisting even harder, even stronger, at the way his mother's eyes practically lit up at her words, Esmeray's face positively glowing in response. 

They didn't really need him after that anymore, swapping ideas and tips, and Eira asking his mother question after question about Illyrian clothing and customs and Esmeray happily answering. And Azriel...well, he was just happy that the two most important females in his life got along so very well.

***

"Why is it green?" Nesta asked her, pursing her lips.

"Because it's my first attempt," Eira said quickly. "I figured if I hate it, at least I didn't use the good fabric," she said with a shrug. "It's still wearable, so I didn’t waste any fabric and I can figure out if I want to change anything..." She stared at the dress in the mirror, mustering it. Granted it looked nothing like a wedding dress right now. It was green cotton, and she stared at the long sleeves that covered her from shoulder to wrist, the neckline that dipped just low enough…

“And you are sure you want to make it yourself?” Feyre asked. “We can still go to a tailor and have it made, so you don’t have all the stress.”

Not that there was so much stress. The wedding had come together quickly, with a single 2-hour-long meeting about setting a date a few days after Winter Solstice and them telling the florists the flowers they wanted, snowdrops, the one thing Azriel seemed to have an opinion about it and that pretty much had been it. 

Granted, they were invited less than a dozen people, with just the inner circle and Azriel’s mother in attendance, but that suited Eira and Azriel just fine. 

Quite frankly, both of them would rather spend their time furnishing their house than plan a huge wedding and invite people they had nothing to do with. 

Though granted, of them all, the shadows were definitely having much fun terrorizing the workers at the house and showing up constantly with one thing or another that they bought. Eira was kinda worried about what they were going to do once the house was inhabitable and they didn’t need 3 more carpets from Sangravah like the shadows had bought her the day before. 

"No," Eira said firmly, the thought of wearing someone else's wedding dress making uneasiness twist in her stomach, her own skin itching at the thought. "I want to make it myself," she said, and she could practically feel Feyre looking her over, studying her expression…

“Maybe widen the skirt a little,” Feyre suggested as she nodded. “It’s your wedding. If there is ever an occasion to go over the top, that probably is it.”

Eira pursed her lips as she looked at the skirt, eyeing the way the fabric fell over her legs, and she had to admit, Feyre was right. "You think it's too narrow?" she asked, and she saw Feyre shrug in her mirror.

"Whatever you'll make will be beautiful," Nesta assured her. "Besides, you could wear a potato sack and Azriel would still want to take it off at the end of the night," she said with a grin. 

She swallowed at that, fingers fiddling with the hem at one of the sleeves.

And that...that the other thing that was making her feel...nervous. The wedding...she wasn't nervous about it. She wanted Azriel as her husband. She wanted to marry him.

But the wedding night...

"He would," Feyre agreed with a laugh, and Eira felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

"Please tell me you aren't still worried that he doesn't want you like that," her younger sister teased her. “He looks at you like he wants to devour you."

She could nearly feel the icy fear that shot through her at that.

Devour her? Devour her? What did that even mean?!

"N-no," she said quickly, the word coming out fast as her cheeks burned. "I'm not." she swallowed hard, the thought of being devoured running through her head, and a wave of nervous fear rushed through her...

It wasn't that she didn't want to be...close to him. She...did. She wanted the press of his body against hers, that warm, heavyweight. She liked his kisses. 

But...the idea of Azriel devouring her... She shouldn't be wanting this. She shouldn't be... a wife was supposed to do her duty. That's what it was about. And she shouldn't get a sense of enjoyment out of it. She shouldn't wonder how...sharing a bed with him would feel. She should...

She should simply go through with her duties, like a good, dutiful wife. Nothing else mattered, and she tried to remember that. Tried to remember what a wife was supposed to do...

But it didn't change how...how she felt. She didn't have the words for it, didn't understand this tangled, hot mess of thoughts in her head, this want that didn't make sense...

"What's wrong?" Feyre asked, and Eira jumped slightly as if she had been snapped out of a trance. She was still looking at herself in the mirror, and she realised that Feyre was studying her, watching her with a look that bordered on knowing.

"Wrong?" Her voice sounded high-pitched, slightly strangled, and Eira swallowed. "What could be wrong?" She asked, forcing herself to sound calm, trying to ignore the tangled mess inside her chest, the way her heart was beating too hard, too fast.

"I don't know," Feyre said, a hint of teasing in her voice as she spoke. "Why don't you tell me? You look like you're having a crisis."

"I'm not," Eira protested, and the words sounded false even to her own ears. And Feyre was looking at her, her sharp, observant eyes studying her intently, a faint frown on her face as she watched her...

"Are you worried about the wedding night?" Feyre asked suddenly, and the words hit her like a punch. The air was punched out of her lungs as Feyre spoke, and she found herself staring at Feyre's expression, her eyes wide.

"No!" she protested too quickly, her voice coming out in a high-pitched, strangled tone, high enough that she was sure both Feyre and Nesta were able to hear the lie in her words.

Feyre eyed her, that little frown not leaving her face, the knowing look in her eyes clearly not convinced.

"You are," she said, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice as if Feyre was having the time of her life watching her fumble, watching her try to deny the fact that she was dreading the wedding night. "You are worried about the wedding night," Feyre repeated, the hint of teasing in her voice making Eira's cheeks heat up even further…

"I'm not," she protested again, but the words sounded even weaker than the first time, even more fake than before. And Feyre's eyes were still on her, studying her, and Eira was sure Feyre knew, she was sure Feyre could see it written all over her face...

"Don't worry, Azriel has 500 years of practice," Nesta said drily.

She didn't...she didn't want to know what kind of 'practice' Nesta was referring to. Her heart began to race in her chest at the thought, and her face was burning, and she could still feel Feyre's eyes on her...

"You will be fine," Feyre assured her gently, and Eira could hear the hint of amusement in her voice. She could see the hint of a smirk pull at her lips, and as if to add insult to injury, Nesta let out a snort of laughter beside her.

"I-I know," Eira said quickly, and she was horrified to realise that her voice nearly trembled at the words. She could hear the way her pulse was pounding in her ears, could hear Feyre's voice echo in her head... 500 years of practice...

"Then what's the matter?" Feyre asked her, still that hint of amused teasing in her voice, and the urge to tell Feyre to shut up almost overwhelmed her. Instead, she clenched her teeth and forced her expression to remain neutral...

"There isn't anything the matter," she protested firmly, but her voice still trembled slightly, and Eira could see Feyre raise her eyebrows at her, clearly not convinced. She could feel Nesta's gaze on her on her side, and she knew that she saw right through her lie as well...

"Really," Feyre said, her voice sceptical, drawing out the word. "You're not at all worried about the wedding night, even after Nesta just told you that Azriel had 500 years to practice...whatever it is he likes to do between the sheets?" Feyre teased, a smirk pulling at her lips, and Eira felt her cheeks flush a darker red...

"No- I- That doesn't matter-!" she protested quickly, and she didn't want to know what Azriel had been practising, how many years worth of experience he had, how many females he had bedded, and it didn't make a single difference- Right?

"Then why are you so nervous?" Feyre asked her, her voice still dripping with amused teasing. "You have nothing to be worried about. All you have to do is marry an incredibly handsome male who is absolutely mad at you and who can't keep his hands off of you. Whatever is there to be nervous about?"

Heat shot through her entire body at Feyre's words, and her heart was nearly beating out of her chest. Eira didn't have the words. Didn't have the words to explain the twisted mess of nerves and anxiety and...excitement...in her stomach at Feyre's words, at the thought of Azriel's hands on her…

Didn't have the words to explain...that she had no clue what even happened between a wife and a husband.

"Have you ever...done it before?" Feyre asked suddenly, the question making a wave of heat shoot into her cheeks at the bluntness of the question. But before she had the chance to answer, Feyre added, "And don't lie to me," her eyes narrowed as she spoke.

"Of course not!" Eira exclaimed. When should she…when should she have had any man? 

She heard Nesta's soft chuckle at her side, and for a moment, Eira wondered if Feyre was about to give a teasing response, but her younger sister suddenly got quiet. There was a moment of silence as she studied her, and her face was suddenly...serious.

"Have you ever...kissed him?" Feyre inquired, and Eira went stock still.

"Of course I-" Her protesting voice cracked slightly, and a moment later, Feyre's eyes widened. Even Nesta started looking at her in surprise, and Eira swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her voice even. "O-of course I have," she continued. "Why...why would you even ask that...?"

She saw Feyre's look of surprise grow even wider still, and the way her gaze flicked to Nesta's, who was looking at her just as stunned. "Why...?" Feyre asked, and her voice was filled with both disbelief and amusement. "Just...how often have you kissed him?"

The question made another wave of heat shoot up her neck, and Eira swallowed again, forcing herself not to let her anxiety show. "I-" she said, faltering. "I-I don't know," The words sounded even weaker than she had thought was possible, and she could hear both Feyre and Nesta hum in response.

"Come on, think," Feyre instructed, still studying her with that look of disbelief on her face.

"A dozen times? Maybe?"

"A dozen times?" Feyre repeated, her voice filled with amused disbelief, and the sound made Eira's cheeks burn even hotter. "That's it? You have kissed your fiancé a dozen times?"

"Is that...is that not enough?" Eira heard herself ask, the words making both Feyre and Nesta raise their eyebrows further, and she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole at the looks on their faces.

"Not enough?" Feyre repeated a hint of laughter in her tone. "Eira, you're getting married. If anything, it's...not nearly enough, to say the least," she quipped, and that...that made her flush with heat again.

"Are you telling me...you have never gone further than that?" Feyre inquired a moment later, and Eira's whole face burned with an intense heat.

"I-what does-what does it matter?" She stuttered, the words stumbling over her tongue and her heart nearly exploding.

"...You do know what...how sex works, right?" Nesta asked her, her voice even. "Like the mechanics. You..."

"Of course, I know the mechanics!" She exclaimed, and a moment later, she realised that the protest had come a little too quickly, sounding a little too defensive. The look on Nesta's face made her feel as if she might as well have admitted that she didn't know.

"You do?" Feyre asked, and Eira wasn't sure how she was able to continue to look at them, with how furiously her cheeks were burning.

"Y-yes," she affirmed, the word coming out almost like a whisper. 

"Well," Feyre said, a smirk pulling at her lips, "care to elaborate on what you know, Eira?"

Eira felt like all the air had been pulled out of her lungs at the question, the panic inside her chest suddenly exploding. "I...I..." She stuttered, her mind frozen, going completely blank. Say something say something say something a panicked little voice in her head shouted, but she didn't have the faintest idea as to what to say. Her heart was beating like a drum, her face burning like someone had lit it on fire, and all she could do was gape at Feyre...

"You...don't know," Feyre said with a mixture of disbelief and amusement in her voice. "You...you have no idea how males and females even work." Eira could practically feel Nesta's gaze on her, and judging by the look on Feyre's face, Nesta's was not the only disbelieving look directed at her.

"Of course...of course I know, I-" Her voice cracked slightly at the words, and she knew she was starting to sound ridiculous, knew that if Azriel was here, he would be looking at her with something akin to disbelief on his face at how completely idiotic she was being… "It's not proper to talk about this," she whispered, her voice weak.

"Not proper?" Feyre repeated a note of disbelief in her voice. "Eira, you are getting married. Talking about this...it comes with the territory." Eira felt as if a wave of cold had washed over her, and when she met Feyre's gaze, she saw something like...was that...pity in her eyes?

"Have you...not talked to Azriel about this at all?" Feyre inquired, and even pity sounded better than the disbelief mixed with...with horror that had crept into her voice.

"I wasn't aware that there was anything we needed to talk about," Eira said weakly. "I'll lay back and think of my duty and somehow babies come out of that as a result."

She wasn't sure what reaction she had expected from Feyre at her words, but for her younger sister to nearly fall off the bed in shock hadn't been among them. "You...you thought that-" Feyre gasped out, her voice strangled by a mixture of shock and...and disbelief.

"What...what else was I supposed to think?" Eira heard herself protest weakly, and she was horrified to realise that tears pricked at her eyes. Something about Feyre's pitying look made her insides twist, and the way her lips were parted in shock made an ugly feeling twist in her stomach...

"Well...for once, the most basic of information on how a baby is made." Feyre finally managed to get out, her voice still sounding absolutely shocked, and when Eira chanced a look over at Nesta, she nearly wanted to crawl under a rock. The look on Nesta's face could only be described as horrified disbelief, mirroring what was on Feyre's face so perfectly it was almost uncanny...

"Maybe we should call Madja," Nesta suggested drily.

"We absolutely do not need to call Madja," Eira protested quickly, and the thought of having to explain this...this mortification to a healer of Madja's experience made her want to die.

"We should," Feyre suddenly spoke up, and a note of determination had crept into her voice. "The fact that you're getting married and going to sleep in a bed with a male and you had no clue what actually...how the entire thing even works - you should have been told long before this."

Eira's heart immediately went into overdrive. "No," she protested firmly, her voice rising, "I swear to the cauldron, if I don't even know how it works I definitely don't want to have to have Madja explain it to me!"

Another wave of heat shot through her body at the thought, and Eira almost wanted to cover her ears and pretend this entire, mortifying conversation wasn't even happening. "Maybe Azriel then," Feyre suggested, and Eira could have sworn she heard Nesta snort out a laugh in response.

"Azriel?" Eira repeated, her voice high. "You want me to...ask my fiance to explain how babies are made?"

"As opposed to having a healer explain, I have a feeling you might fare much better with your future husband," Feyre said, and there was a note of dry humour in her voice.

“Given that he’s the one with which you are going to do all the baby-making,” Nesta snorted. “Alternatively, we can explain things to you, but you are looking like you want to run away.”

"I'm not-" Her voice cracked, and her whole body trembled slightly. She knew by the looks on Feyre and Nesta's faces that there was no way she would be able to deny how utterly flustered she was. No way to deny how utterly humiliating this conversation was.

"Well we certainly can't send you to your wedding night not knowing a single thing," Feyre said firmly, and there was no hint of humour in her voice anymore. Her eyes were focused on her intently, studying her like a hawk, and Eira knew there was no way out. No way out of the mortifyingly awkward, horrifying, humiliating situation...

"I can...I can figure it out on my own," Eira protested weakly, and she heard Nesta snort out a laugh again. 

"There's no escaping this," Nesta told her firmly, the hint of command in her voice. "We're going to talk about this, no matter how flustered and uncomfortable it makes you. It's much better that someone explains things to you than you go into your wedding night completely unprepared."

"How-how do you even..." Eira started quietly, and she hated the way her words were almost a whimper, hated the way her voice trembled slightly.

How do you even begin to explain this?

"Why don't you start by sitting down," Feyre suggested drily, her voice still firm.

Slowly, with trembling legs, Eira sat down on the bed, and she was unable to look at Feyre in the eyes.

"Good start," Feyre said, and there was a note of dry humour to her voice. "Now...take a deep breath, and relax."

Eira took a deep breath, trying to force her body to relax for once, and it took nearly every last ounce of her energy. She couldn't relax, not with the way she was trembling inside, shaking with a mixture of mortification, humiliation, and nervousness...

“Good advice for your wedding night as well,” Nesta said drily. “Relax. Sex is supposed to be fun.”

No, it wasn’t. It was her wifely duty and nothing more and the fact that she wanted more than simply kiss Azriel was already….

“Grandmama would kill us all,” Eira blurted out.

"Grandmama?" Feyre repeated, and if she was surprised by the sudden outburst, there was no hint of it in her voice. The sound of her grandmother's name was enough to make Eira instantly flinch, and even Nesta shot her a look from the side...

”Please tell me you don’t believe whatever utter bullshit she may have said to you,” Nesta seethed. “What did she tell you, Eira?”

“That whatever happens in a marriage is my wifely duty to carry?” Eira said weakly

"That's complete bullshit," Feyre protested at once. "Your so-called duty is not to simply lie back and do what's required of you. You're allowed to...to enjoy yourself. You do know that, right? Please tell me you know that..."

"I-I-" Eira tried to protest once more, and the words caught in her throat again. You're allowed to enjoy yourself...

The words repeated themselves in her mind, and something deep and hot stirred within her, heat shooting out through her veins, burning hotter than flames...

"Eira?" Feyre's voice was soft this time, with no hint of command or sternness in her voice anymore. "Please...please tell me you know that you don't simply have to lie back and let...let that happen. You are allowed to enjoy yourself...you know that, right?" She repeated, her eyes intent on her, studying her.

"I...I..." Her voice was little more than a whisper, her heart hammering so fast that she was surprised it hadn't beaten itself right out of her chest.

It was too much, too much to comprehend right now, to comprehend that she was allowed the enjoy what happened between a husband and a wife. You are allowed to enjoy yourself...

"You are allowed to have fun," Feyre said again, and there was a hint of determination in her voice. "You can enjoy yourself....and Azriel will do everything in his power to make sure you do..."

Another wave of heat shot through her body at Feyre's words, and her mind froze, her thoughts suddenly coming to a screeching halt. Enjoy herself...

Enjoy herself, with Azriel - Her heart slammed so hard against her ribs that she was surprised she didn't break all of them.

The image of Azriel flashed through her mind like lightning, and a wave of heat shot out from the very thought of him touching her, caressing her…

"Breathe," Nesta suddenly said, and Eira hadn't even realized she had started to forget to breathe.

"In and out," Feyre instructed, her voice still gentle. "Slow, deep breaths, Eira." Eira obeyed, and slowly, her heart rate started to return to some semblance of normal.

"Good," Feyre said at once. Now...if you allow it, I think it's time we explained some basic...anatomy."

The words made another wave of heat rush up her spine, and Eira let out a shaky breath. "A-anatomy...?" She repeated, her voice a strangled whisper.

"Basic male and female anatomy for starters," Feyre said, her voice still firm, even if she did take a more gentle tone than before. "The different...parts, as it were."

Another wave of heat shot to her cheeks at the matter-of-fact way Feyre spoke, and a moment later, something inside her crumbled, and collapsed.

"I...I have no clue what different parts you're even talking about," she mumbled, the confession burning on her tongue like hot coals...

"Not a single part?" Feyre inquired, and once more, there was no judgment, no condemnation in her voice.

Only an honest question, one that Eira knew she had to answer.

"No," she admitted after a moment. "I have not even the faintest idea..."

"You...you don't know anything about Azriel's anatomy?" This time, Feyre couldn't quite keep the surprise out of her voice, and an image of Azriel's bare chest flashed through Eira's mind without her even meaning to picture it.

A wave of heat shot up her spine at the thought, and Eira shook her head mutely. "No...I don't," she admitted, her voice strangled, and at the side, she swore she could hear Nesta snort out a breath as if this were something to laugh at. "We are going to need a...visual aid," Nesta announced before either Eira or Feyre could say another word.

“Shadows, could you make yourself useful and bring me the book from my nightstand? And then please leave us alone for the rest of the afternoon.”

There was a flutter of dark shadows in the corner of the room, and after a long moment, more shadows appeared again, one of them holding a single, slender book out for Nesta to take...

“What kind of book is that?” Feyre asked carefully.

Nesta snorted. “It’s a…sex book,” she admitted drily. “With the most adventurous positions you can imagine.”

Another wave of heat shot through Eira at Nesta's words, and for a moment, her thoughts stopped completely.

Positions? What kind of positions?!

"With pictures?" Feyre inquired, and the disbelief was more than obvious in her tone of voice.

"A lot of pictures," Nesta said, her voice still dripped with dry humour. "I don’t think there’s a single position the author hasn’t found a way to put into a drawing…”

"You...you really read that...that thing?" Eira was horrified to hear that her voice was strangled, the words coming out of her mouth in a high-pitched whine...

“Cassian and I get bored sometimes,” Nesta said with a shrug.

"You...you read that thing when you get bored ?" Eira asked, her voice strangled. Just the thought of Nesta and Cassian reading...reading those things, doing... position in the drawings…

"Sometimes the pictures give us... ideas," Nesta said drily, and once more, Eira could have sworn she heard someone chuckle. "Cassian is nothing if not adventurous."

"I don't...I don't need to know that," Eira protested, her face once more flushing a deep red at the thought of Cassian and Nesta together. Doing...what, she didn't even dare to imagine...

"No, probably not," Nesta said in something that sounded like agreement. "However, with the way you react to every mention of anything sexual, I think the pictures in this book might just give you a whole new understanding of the...mechanics."

Another wave of heat shot down Eira's back at the words, and once more, a shiver of nerves shot through her at the thought of...of the pictures. "Mechanics...what do you…I..." she started to babble.

"Calm down," Nesta instructed firmly, and her voice had a gentle, commanding note to it. "We need to get those pictures to make you...understand the anatomical differences between males and females, not to horrify you..."

"We're well past horrified at this point," Eira mumbled, but she nodded mutely nonetheless.

"Are you ready, then?" Feyre inquired gently, and Eira wasn't at all sure that she was.

"I..." Eira swallowed hard. "Yes," she choked out, even though she knew that the lie was more than obvious...

"All right then," Nesta said, her voice still oddly soothing, at least for her. "We're going to skip most of the pictures for now unless there's anything specific you want an explanation for, and explain some of the...parts that are important."

"Parts that are...what?" Eira echoed weakly, and the heat in her stomach felt like molten lava at this point.

"For now, we're going to stick to the basic, anatomical parts," Feyre instructed calmly. "So...let's start with a male, shall we?"

"All right," Eira mumbled, her eyes focused on the slender brown book that sat in Nesta's lap. It didn't look dangerous, but she knew that the things on those pages would most likely shock her to bits...

"Let's start with...the groin, or the...crotch, as some people call it," Feyre said, and Eira could see that she was having a hard time not laughing at the sheer mortification on her face.

"The...crotch..." Eira echoed, and every word coming out of her mouth made the redness on her face grow deeper as if she'd been standing in the freezing cold of Winter for days.

"The crotch," Feyre repeated, "or the genitalia, if you want the official term."

"The...genitalia..?" This time, her voice was so high-pitched, that it was near a squeak. Gods, the thought of Azriel's genitalia suddenly filled her mind like a dark, hot cloud, swirling over her...

“Here,” Nesta said drily, flicking open the book and shoving it towards Eira.

“That’s a cock. Or a prick. Or a penis or whatever else you want to call it.”

Eira glanced at the picture that was now open in the book, and what heat hadn’t already been in her face rushed up in flames.

It…it wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when…when she’d thought of Azriel’s…parts…

“If you want to…make a baby,” Nesta said. “The male needs to insert his…prick into the female.”

"Insert...? Insert himself where?" 

[angelofsmalldeaath]

i'm starving, darling, let me put my lips to something — a.h.b.

cw: this is just...smut — semi-public sex, choking... minors dni i am so serious

“here?” i gasp, burning, panting. the rock solid wall digs into my back, exhilaration courses through my veins. 

“here,” he smiles, wicked and delightful in the faint light of the streetlamp. 

it’s a shitty alley for christ’s sake—in fact, i’m sure i saw a rat scurrying past us just a few seconds ago—but right now, in this moment when i feel his fingers trailing up my thigh, everything else simply fades away.

“do you want this?” he breathes, lips attached to my neck, shivering when i touch him. 

i nod instantly. “you? always.”

“no,” he laughs. it’s a low, deep sound that echoes around in my skull, “us, here. anyone can walk in, you know?”

“that’s half the thrill,” i tease, begging him to kiss me again. 

“yeah?” he challenges, teeth grazing my neck, just a smidge of pressure on my pulse point until it’s wild and thunderous and echoing throughout my entire body. 

i slap his chest lightly, “tease!”

and he laughs when i have to stand on the very tips of my toes and hold onto him just so i won’t lose my balance. it doesn’t take him much longer though, just when i’m about to stumble, he grabs my face, keeping me still so he can kiss me properly—the kind that knocks the breath out of my chest when he grazes my bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has me leaning against him entirely for balance when my knees almost buck under me. 

the kind that makes me moan in his mouth, until he’s pulling my leg up, my thigh pressed against his waist and his hands under my ass. 

“when did you get so dirty, darling?” he teases, digs his fingers into my skin, and i squirm, wishing he’d get rid of all the layers between us. wishing he’d fuck me till all i remember is his name. 

till i suddenly find god in the alley behind the bar.

i grind my hips into his, gasping when i feel him against me, “saw how you looked at me in there. couldn’t stop the thoughts after that…”

“is that right?” he whispers, hands reaching into my hair until his fingers are tangled in the tresses. i hiss when the sting comes, when he tugs on my hair to tilt my face up, and i have no choice but to look right at him, at his almost-black, hungry eyes that look ready to devour me.

he looks ready to devour me, like a man starving. 

“touch me,” i whimper, grab his hand and move it up my thigh until his finger is hooked in the waistband of my underwear. he stills, and looks at me with a grin. 

“beg for it.”

“wha—”

“got a filthy mouth on you, haven’t you?” he whispers right into my ear, nips my earlobe while he’s at it and i moan just from that. “tell me your thoughts. tell me everything you thought about me in there.”

i whimper, thumb the zipper of his jeans until it’s half open. “everything?”

“everything. i won’t do it until you ask for it. until you beg for it.”

“thought about your hands,” i breathe, pull down his zipper the rest of the way and hook my fingers in his belt buckle. “saw your hand around the glass and wondered how it would look around my neck…”

“like this?” he asks, voice almost a growl, and wraps a hand around my neck. it’s warm, i feel every bit of callused skin on me, feel his fingers pressing down on the sides of my neck until the air thins. 

i choke out a yes, trying and failing to focus on his belt-buckle, utterly dizzy from everything—the lack of air, his body against mine. him.

“what else?” he prompts. 

heat coils in my belly when i think of the rest. “t-thought about your fingers too, on me, in me, everywhere.”

if he speaks, the words don’t register. they don’t even fall on my ears. all i feel is his fingers, snaking their way inside my underwear—moving, touching, teasing, anywhere but where i want to feel him. “like this?” he tsks, laughs when i whine in protest. 

“you know it’s not.”

“ooh, feisty.” 

this time when i kiss him, i make sure to bite. he hisses in my mouth, enjoying the sting a little too much, and i take advantage of his distraction. “like that,” i moan in his mouth and grab his hand, pushing a finger inside me and slipping my own finger in right after. i hold his hand in place and look him right in the eyes. 

they look pitch black, blown out wide and so dark, it sends a thrill down my spine. 

he presses on my neck again, more and more and more until i’m close to a blackout and grinding on his hand. my finger slips out of me, he instantly pushes in another to replace it, to stretch me out more. 

“please d-don’t stop,” i beg, moving my hips faster and faster, matching the thrust of his fingers, “i’ll die if you stop.”

my voice is raspy and rough, like i’ve been screaming his name for hours. and maybe i have been; he certainly looks like i have been—fucked out and utterly undone. 

“won’t” he promises, and moves his hand faster, thumb circling my clit, “you’ve been so good, darling, so fucking perfect!”

“ohgodohgodohgod,” i chant like a blind devotee, drunk on him, pathetic and desperate. 

“that’s it,” he groans when i clench around his fingers, “that’s it baby, give me all you got. look at me,” he says. no…it’s almost an order, “look at me when you cum.”

instinctually, i open my eyes, look right at him. he loosens his hold around my throat, and just like that the air is flooding into my lungs all at once—too much, too much, overwhelming until i cry out his name and cum all over his hand. 

our pants echo in my ear, barely even audible over the rushing blood. 

“fuck—” he chokes, utterly speechless. i feel no different. 

instead, when he pulls his hand out, i take a hold of it, place it in my mouth. he makes a sound at the back of his throat—a choked moan like he can’t take it anymore. the moan frees itself when i swirl my tongue around his fingers, licking every inch of them, sucking them clean. 

“you’ll be the death of me,” he groans, “fuck darling.”

only when i let go of his fingers do i smile at him—the same wicked smile he’d shown me before, the same devilish grin. 

“your turn now,” i kiss him, make sure he tastes me on my tongue. “tell me what you want. beg for it.”

and in the alley behind the bar, i get on my knees. 

a/n: idk why i feel the need to explain myself but i do — this was so much harder to write dear god, lets all collectively agree to ignore this if this is bad. anyway back to sappy fluff from now on (for a while at least)(unless inspiration strikes idfk)

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: massage (dubious consent)

☆ pairing: riddler/reader

☆ summary: With the Riddler restrained to a gurney, you test out a new way to get your favourite 'patient' to calm down.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Restrained to the bed with several thick straps digging into his limbs, Edward Nygma was every inch the picture of indignation as he struggled against his bonds. Abandoned to your personal care due to a myriad of reasons which ranged from other staff finding him unbearable to a lack of available personnel, he had only been strapped down to the gurney for around ten minutes but it was ten minutes of a relentless verbal barrage.

“Fools! Cretins! You are all so weak in the presence of such genius that you must keep me held like this? Your stupidity is baffling and the world will not miss your presence when my revenge is had. How dare any of you put your hands on me?”

Spitting the final question with vitriol, the sheer level of irritation in his voice sparks an idea within your mind – one which is bolstered by just how absolutely fed up you are with his goddamn attitude.

“Mr Nygma,” interrupting his rant as you came to stand beside his torso, “I am going to have to ask you to relax.”

“Relax?” Snarling the response, Edward’s green eyes are narrowed at you in such a way that you immediately understand that if his hands were not restrained then they would be wrapped around your neck in a heartbeat. “Untie me now, wench.”

“It’s my job to keep you settled as a patient,” meeting his anger with forced patience, you put your plan into action as you drop your hands to his thin shoulders. Your thumbs instantly go to work, rubbing circles into his tensed muscles as his body goes stock-still at the unexpected sensation.

"What are you- unhand me at once you sour-faced bitch."

"That's not very kind, Mr Nygma. Your muscles are in knots and it would be better to let me rub you down."

Gripping his shoulders, you dig your fingers into the skin there and admire the way his entire body jerks at the touch as he pulls at the restraints with renewed energy. Trapped, he is utterly helpless beneath your hands and the power you hold over him in this instant is heady – your fingers trembling slightly at the smooth out across his shoulder before returning to rub along the base of his neck.

“Stop. Touching. Me.”

Anger giving way to something almost like panic, the shift is what you expected and you take it in stride as you move to stand behind his head, gazing down as his emerald eyes with resolution.

“No.”

Dragging your fingers higher, you rub your digits across his scalp. His auburn hair looks redder than usual against the stark whiteness of the gurney as you disturb the strands. They feel almost damp against your fingers, a mixed result of his sweat-laced struggles and also the natural oils which have built up there between his showers.

You roll your nails against the area just to the side of his ears and you both freeze in place at the low moan which slips free of his lips at the sensation. His eyes, which until now have been stubbornly facing away from your position, tilt up to meet your own and you can see the shame burning fiercely at his own reaction. And yet, his head can’t seem to help itself as it presses firmly into your hands – silently asking for what his pride could never stomach to demand.

Glancing down at his body, a thrill of wickedness lances through your gut as you take in the visible tent which pokes free of the fabric which covers his groin. It catches you by surprise but your plans switch in an instant as arousal joins the cruel delight which is powering your movements and you decide to push your fun to its extremes.

“Mr Nygma!” Feigning shock at the obvious tent, you place your hand on his upper thigh and enjoy the way that the muscles tense beneath your fingers. “I see that you’re feeling more relaxed than I thought.”

His cheeks a wild shade of pink, you can see the shame which is making his features tight as he refuses to look down and meet your eye. All of that earlier bravado is gone, replaced by a woeful embarrassment as his own body betrayed him at your soft touches.

“I’m not cruel like the rest of them, Edward. Can I call you Edward? Eddie?”

Taking it into your palm, a move which draws a sharp inhale from Edward as his fingers visibly scrape against the fabric of the gurney, you stroke along his length with a soft jerking motion. He’s not overly huge but his cock has a slight thickness which feels nice in your hand, as you gently work along his velvety skin.

He says nothing but you can see the twitch in his jaw at the question.

Pulling the waistband of his pants down a few inches, you slowly reveal a healthy patch of auburn pubic hair which curls all the way down to the base of his cock and you unleash a feigned gasp of surprise as his cock springs free – jutting proudly towards his stomach.

Despite the situation, he remains stubbornly silent and you enjoy the peace for what its worth. That said, he can’t hide how much your actions are affecting him. Every stroke of your hand forces a soft gasp from his lips, his mouth forming into a slight ‘o’ as you focus your attention on his strained cockhead – the tip jerking into your palm as it begs for more in a way that its owner cannot.

“You shouldn’t be- this isn’t right.” Panting out the broken words, there is a cuteness to how determined Edward is to continue to try and deny that he is enjoying himself – his throbbing cock making his arousal utterly undeniable as his hips buck into your hand with what little purchase they can manage. “Why are y-”

“I’m giving you what you need, Eddie. You’re too uptight when they try to lock you up in these restraints, so I think a little positive encouragement might help you,” crooning the words, you tighten your hand around the base of his cock and use the fingers of your other hand to polish the head of his cock, spreading his leaking pre-cum to make the movements even smoother.

“No, no,” he pleads, unable to pull away and having to endure every wicked touch you subject him to as he whines, “please, I’m close.” His hair is a mess, the thrashing of his skull against the gurney having knocked most of the coiffed locks free, and you take pity and drop your fingers from his cockhead.

“If you ask me to finish you off I will,” you offer, using your free hand to stroke along his jaw and feel the slight sweat which had developed there. “I’m not that cruel.”

Overworked and overstimulated, Edward can barely wrap his mouth around the words as he shudders against the gurney and cants his hips like a desperate schoolboy.

“Please, nurse. Please let me- let me come.”

Pleased with the request, you glance at him with a smirk, “Okay.”

True to your word, you pick up the pace on your hand and quickly pull him over the edge he’s been dangling on for the last minute. His orgasm hits with surprising violence, his release spurting across your hand hard enough to break free of his cock and splash across the fabric which covers his lower stomach. Unable to control his breathing, the whine which pairs with his release sends a shiver of arousal through your cunt and you can feel the dampness of your panties as they press against your drenched slit.

Knowing that you’ll be replaying that sound in your mind later as you fuck yourself silly on your bed, you settle for rubbing your thighs together gently as you drop his cock from your fingers.

“Now,” wiping your come stained hand off on the inside of your nurse scrubs with a placating smile, you take a moment to pull his pants back up, “are you going to be a good patient for me, Eddie?”

Still attempting to hide how harshly he was breathing; his head moves slowly in an agreeing nod – his gaze refusing to meet your own. You can feel the embarrassment radiating off him, the shame at how easily his own body had betrayed him, how easily he had came with just a little attention to his aching length.

Ruffling his hair with your other hand, a delayed feeling of shock settles in your skin as you realise exactly what just happened, what you just did, but you play it off with a soft exhale and focus on the task of getting Edward back to his cell without incident.